No one’s ever comfortable

In the blue paper scrubs

Patients must wear

Their first weeks on the ward.

Later, after families

Deliver brown paper bags

Filled with swatches of life

Outside, the blingy tops

Go grunge from sobbing,

Air Jordans hobble without

Their laces, and Yankee logos

Lose their bluster pacing

The halls all night. No pills

Or talk can provide real

Comfort, but all your groups

Should make time for tugging

And tucking and rolling up

Of sleeves and cuffs. Nothing

You do can smooth out

The wrinkles or take out

The scent of overcrowded rooms,

But, now and again, someone

Wraps themselves in a blanket

And finds a place to sleep.