He has lived from the start
as a hospital
taking in all
sick arrivals

Lining them up
so deep in his hallways
he can’t help but stumble
between chronic and acute

Rough way to live
he tells himself whenever
the crush of illness inside him
becomes nearly intolerable

Followed at once by
a sigh and a shrug
Reminds himself
it was his choice to let them in

and his fault entirely
that he’s so damn full
of such pestilence that
he can’t walk straight or think 

healthy thoughts
Looks up at the pictures
of his family on the walls
The founders of the institution  

The ones who set the mission
on its path
He trips over an old corpse
and chokes on the facts

It’s not their fault I’m a hospital
he tells himself
I ought to be used to this
by now and the fact that I’m not

is my fault too then he
pulls himself up by the gurneys
and bounces on down the corridor
answering pages and praying

he will code