To that amazing guy across the street

Night falls. The moon
cold and in solitude, envies you
as it peppers
the stagnant air above your bed
with lunar dust, thinking
“that looks pretty cozy”.

Perhaps it doesn’t know
the air you breathe is mustard gas
and those are not
creases on your cotton underpants.
They are colossal tears
of sweat.

You lie awake
on your soaked moonlit bed.
The dusty curtains hanging heavy
As if you are inside
gravity herself.
Your sand-filled lungs wheeze quietly.

Intruders watch you
From the sill
Your windows flung ajar.
One nears your bed
attracted by your potent smells
his shadow
travelling across your hairy belly.
You look.
A giant cockroach.

Who are you
hero of the night
the bravest man on earth.
You have achieved
the unimaginable.

Through the open windows
I see your moonlit legs
Shifting in the night.
And I think
“How?”

You truly are
A legend
the one and only
most audacious creature
who lay in bed at night
in August
without aircon.
This is an ode to you