My first mnemonic
was a scar,
a gash along my chin,
parallel to the jaw line,
leading to my ears –
It was a failed stunt
down the steps,
only meant to impress myself,
but the blood betrayed my miscalculation.
I remember it like the colors,
‘Richard of York Gave Battle in Vain’;
something heavy that I could carry
to keep me company as I grew into a man.
Can I pass them on to my son,
trace the scar lines so they become his,
like a firm warning he’ll catch cold,
as he kamikazes down the same steps?