Inside, arrows to psychiatric care
led me down three corridors
only to end at the amputee desk.
I turned back and headed for reception.
“Oh no,” the person said, “second floor.”

I took the elevator to the second floor
and walked around it twice, seeing no one,
as if I were on a floor that didn’t exist.
Finally, I saw another person.
“I’m looking for psychiatry,” I asked.
“Oh no,” the person said, “third floor.”

I went back to the elevator
and pressed the button for the third floor.
When the doors opened,
I was upside down in the elevator.