Letter to a Young Alcoholic

When I was you, I was
still drinking
from a fountain on the edge 

of some urban park. I was
a city in foreclosure
from itself. You are a better you 

than me. I can wear my sidewalks
with pride today, but the night
once stole my stroll 

towards the dry well, sand
and twigs left to clog the gutters
leading to my heart. Would you want to be
me, would you sip from my cup?