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.
in the wrong part of town.
Issue