Mombasa

The end of all days. This was
the once. High ceilings, so much so the
fans are ineffectual. The mosquito
netting luffs and blows, no air reaches us. Paradise
become sweaty prison
on this old mattress
and thin blue sheets. You are
feverish
and we are both querulous. I should tend
to you and instead
I throw sticky balls
of annoyance
at you
you always skimp your iodine tablets
they said not to eat fruits that can't be peeled
hand sanitizer
is not the same
as a good handwash. You
sick you
are lightning rod
for my crackling unease
and blame. This is
not home. Afternoon prayers begin
by speaker
mosque to mosque
Allah-u, akbar
you roll to one side
and face away. The
end of all things
I can see it now
immediately
clearly
all stops. My heart stops
you are rolled away
I cannot see your face
prayers
are being prayed
and I will die
and you will die
decades from now.

I pull your shirt
and slide you to me
with the uncanny strength
and surety
of lifting the flipped car
to pull a man free and clear. My hand to your hot brow
and I mouth the words
I do not know. You are mine again
Allah-u, akbar
beloved.

Mosquitoes gather on the netting
a poisonous dark dotted swiss
driven, mindless, seeking.

Not this day. Injured day, the coast, the part of you
the part of me
that hates
as hot as this trap.

End of all days.

Fiercely now.