Indelible in the Hippocampus

No, I don’t much remember growing up. If I remember rain, the rain

was always “pouring”—& days? The sun did, or didn’t, “shine.”

An atrophy from infancy.
Days “go” like a river “flows,”
quickly, & altogether in a blur. The rain starts ranting.

Over & over I tell myself the story of my life.

Deep down, I do, I think, want more than being found

at the wrong time of night
in the wrong part of town.