Brand New  

In the first days when I was rabid and rangy and dead quiet and orange Crush 
Over pebble ice was beyond belief. When I hiked Bear Mountain on Valentine’s Day  
In Jordan 4’s held together by gaffer tape. The world that I could touch. The big blue  
Face of the sky that I could kiss. Come to Pathway, Max said, so I got in Patrick’s 
Pristine Range Rover–no smoking, no eating– and we sped down to Yonkers and sat 
In a long, narrow room, rows of four with an aisle down the center like an airplane. 
Everyone had the same dismal stories. You prayed no one had any new information. 
My thigh pressed against Vinny’s–a bulky Italian guy–and I got a boner nursing a can 
Of full sugar Fanta, and eating dusty butter cookies, which crumbled onto my jacket. 
They made the customary announcements: volunteer for the Alcathon, the Young People’s Social,
Literature is available at cost, Kim said, but if you can’t afford it, see me after and  
We’ll work something out. It was a lot of see me after, catch me after, we’ll talk after.
Vinny got me a job at a mobbed up catering hall built to look like a palazzo and I after-ed
My way towards anything, hopscotch, today, tonight, tomorrow tomorrow and tomorrow.