Insomnia Poem
My eyebrows get scrunched in the dark. I do blind math in my head. I have imaginary arguments with former employers and my wife who snores beside me. I twist my curls and scratch my stubble. I think about how I will die. Cancer? Better than a car wreck? I believe in God’s mercy even in this often merciless world. I think about the Syrian man begging outside the corner store and the five Turkish lira I gave him. He exclaimed his gratitude in Arabic and said Allah numerous times, loudly. Maybe God will spare me now, right? I don’t want to die yet. I don’t want to go to work tomorrow either. It is the winter solstice, literally the darkest twenty four hours in the calendar year. I’d prefer to sleep late and listen to lectures about esoteric religious ideas. Tornadoes and war and the two year ongoing pandemic is killing everybody. Well not all of us. Not me. I’m awake with my eyes scrunched. Too old to close my eyes and fantasize about anything except paying the bills.