Uniform

The wall is the color of a headache,

a flat, unblinking beige that doesn't care

if I’m here for the night or the decade.

This cotton is thin enough to see through,

a shroud with a blue diamond pattern

that looks like a map of a city I used to know

before they took my shoes and my keys.

I reached for the plastic cup, the water

tasting of pipes and tepid disappointment,

and the slit in the back let the air in,

a cold, sterile finger tracing my spine,

reminding me exactly how much of myself

is currently owned by the wing.