ROOSEVELT HOSPITAL

With all the different kinds
of getting clean
is it elegant geometry,
a curse, or just the tiny world
that my old love
strung-out and far away
is banished to those same
bright hallways
of my start.
They say that I
was ten-pounds-plus
and quacking, a bloody mess
that hot may day,
that someone had to call
to find my dad, at Mogador
same spot we’d linger
those broke and happy
winter afternoons
years later, 
pooling tips
for sweet mint tea.