Umbrella

The rain curtain has finally fallen on this town

the wet, black and slippery pavement shines and sparkles

sudden reflections of the tax payer public lights

and every now and then, on almost every corner

sudden greens and reds, gifted by the traffic lights

hanging, swinging, dripping

Downtown buildings tower in their opulence

their history, peeking over clouds

dirt and oil wash down to the waterfront

the different characters gather at the coffee shop

along with a gumbo of diversity.

That's when time stops

clocks begin to stutter

and memory rivers flow

the pain taxi has arrived

dressed in fair vomit yellow

with a man with a turban inside

ready to take any unsuspecting suspect

wherever they may go

Me? I'm already there, again

walking down Regret Drive

corner with Anger Boulevard

and in this rain I wonder

if I could have done different

if I should have

if I failed

or if I've simply forgotten the way back

if I am who I think I am

or if I'm tired from trying to fit into this mold

into this worthless, empty, sad, trained mannequin

you wanted me to be