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.