2nd stupid poem in as many months

when i answered the doorbell,

i found myself face to face with mustafa,

the maintenance guy who scrounges up

extra cash by selling bottled water.

i have a good relationship with him,

but didn't have any cash on me,

so i ordered two bottles on credit.

he peered into my apartment and asked if i was moving out.

i told him there are more things inside my apartment than when i moved in.

mustafa wouldn't deliver the water until i paid him.  upfront.  and in cash.

a pigeon family has roosted on my balcony.

they nest behind an old bicycle and laundry rack.

the chicks start squalling at six in the morning,

the mother starts calling at seven.

i storm onto the porch, shake the bicycle and the rack

in an effort to get some peace and quiet.

the chicks stop making noise but can't fly away,

unlike the mother, who wings away in fear and rage.

in the later hours of the morning i feel terrible

and throw pieces of bread to them to make up for my sins.

the dance continues.

i told the taxi driver to take me someplace to eat.

where? he asked.

i don't know. someplace good.

you like american?

no, i don't. take me to where you eat.

it's far, sir.

it's ok.

he took me to the outskirts of town,

where the buildings melt into the dunes

and streetlights are merely an afterthought.

a concrete block struggled up against the horizon,

industrial fans whirled like falling angels in gash-like windows.

two callow lights glimmered in the blighted night.

here is where i eat.

oh.

i expected him to take me to a place that had running water.

there is a simplicity to cooking rice i never understood:

put your finger into a pot, pour rice in until it's even with your cuticle.

place your finger on top of the rice and add water

until the water is level with the first knuckle of your finger.

boil. perfect rice, every time.

i asked her if she had a simple recipe like that for everything.

she smiled and said “only for food.”

food was the only thing i was asking about.

if i knew i only had twenty four hours to live

i would shoot someone in the leg, just to see what it felt like.

i would pet a dog, hug my sister, feed someone,

and tell that one girl i still love her.