My town is most memorable in the rain.

I think of home in greys and washed out clouds.

I think of wet pavement and dingy windows,

Quiet houses operating under stormy shrouds.

My town has been in sun, of course.

But I don’t remember walking down dry streets.

I rarely recall playing under a cloudless sky;

I only think of rain coming down in sheets.

My town has had more sunny days than rainy

But the sunny days here aren’t nice.

They aren’t pleasant or beautiful or interesting.

They’re hot and gross; the sun only bites.

What’s beautiful is my town’s rainy days,

Sitting outside in the cloudy wind waiting for thunder.

These days were lovely, as were stormy nights,

And these I will remember as I lie six feet under.