After Nisrine Mharki Ben-Ayad



has sat on the couch next to me   eating Cheetos and waiting.
before I moved to the U.S, I argued with Americans

who said progress only happens   when blood is spilt.
I laughed them off. until one unpandemicked year

when the unlikely future had a female’s smiling eyes
the civil war came to live with us.
he left his loafers in the hall

hung up his houndstooth blazer
& snuck in during the presidential debate.

from the first day I met him, the civil war
never looked me in the eyes. I followed suit.

I was afraid. my husband wasn’t alarmed
so I tried to pretend it was fine. this is how

we came to co-exist like we do today.
we start watching SNL & he ignores the skits

but pays special attention to Weekend Update.
he buys rolls of stamps for letters to newspapers,

but never signs them with his own name.
in the summer, the civil war is unseasonably depressed

the way a child feels when it rains during recess.
the civil war’s size grows imperceptibly – his preferred diet

Dr. Pepper & raw poultry.
the grey mass of him spills over

the lip of the couch. I can no longer concentrate
when I’m scrolling TikTok or journalling

a fog of his hot breath floats heavy
& omnipresent near my temple.
I overhear the civil war whispering

into a phone I didn’t know he had – to who?
a morning traffic jam

from a protest distracts me.
until lunch when people in the break

room discuss breaking news of another shooting.
when I get home the couch is empty

& the civil war is sweeping the kitchen
whistling to the tune of Humpty Dumpty.
one night of taking out the trash,

leads to small talk with my neighbor.
she asks if I’ve noticed the price of poultry going up lately
says she knows a butcher with great prices.

I don’t know how she knows what meat I buy
I play dumb & ask

but she mumbles & heads back inside
full trash bag in hand.
fed-up with bullshit niceties

I storm inside to ask the civil war:
what are you waiting for?
he reaches into his pant pocket to withdraw

an uncooked chicken wing, with a bloody joint
slaps it onto his left palm with a thwack

& replies: 
a good host.