Read Poem: “Upper Egypt”, by DiscoWolf

He’ll smile at me,
when he sinks his knife deep into my chest.

His hospitality
is second to none.

“The food is great”
I scream to him,
Over the hookah smoke,
The noise, the din.

Not to cross my legs or show the bottom of my shoe.

Dark tea that scolds, but still I drink. Who needs a tongue?
Do you?

I don’t fit in here.
Yet… somehow belong.
The tension is building.
Violence will come soon.
It won’t be long.

Smokier now, more men yelling.
Chairs upsetting.
Cards are on the table, an ancient game of betting.

I inhale deeply,
a strong tobacco.
I begin coughing,
he gives me a swift smack though.
Must act brave, it’s all a big cock show.


I watch my host, and that fat man in the corner.
He wears a Gallabeya.
It’s like a long dress, I don’t tell him that though.

The earth moved.
Or was it me?

My eyes turn to the hookah,
They could barely see.
Out here they call it sheesha.
What was in it… Hashish.

This beating heart,
making sense now.
Paranoia real.
The fat man in the corner,
in his gallabeya,
that looks like a dress,
looks at me.

The men playing cards,
with the upset chairs,
don’t want me here either.

Do I
To be
Right now.

I take inventory.
My hands do the work.
Patting, they search.

Legs still there.
Face still there.

Wait. Where are my lips?
Fingers fumble.
Am I falling out of this chair?
I am on the floor.

People around me, angry.
Did I say something?
Was I stammering this whole time?
I don’t have lips, how could I speak?

I ask my friend,
But his beard is a bird’s nest.
His nose a sharp beak.
It was weird.
I began to protest.
I tried to stand,
I was too weak.

I coughed again.

And I could swear,
that smoke came out and filled the air.
A dark rain cloud
that rained fruit flies.

A thousand of them there.

Upon me were many eyes,
Never had they seen, a man with no lips spewing fruit flies.

It must be a dream.
I began to scream.

The birdman jumped on me.
And then, my biggest fear:
The fat man, in his dress,
yelled in Arabic, “You should have never come here”

I was on the ground again.
The fat man,
his acid breath stink,
fat air polluted,
weight full upon me.

It must be the fruit flies. They HATE them here, I concluded.

That’s when he smiled…
And sank his knife deep into my chest.


Author: poetryfest

Submit your Poetry to the Festival. Three Options: 1) To post. 2) To have performed by an actor 3) To be made into a film.

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