Kerfuffle in sanatorium

She wears kitsch prints and looks
Like a gouache made with knife and glue.
Clueless I look as a poet’s note placed near a grammarian’s
Notebook in blue ink and Hebrew. we talk all night
Like dying patient of meningitis in ICU
Singing in delirium.
‘Flu is far away.’
‘I’m her pneumonia and she is my tuberculosis.’
We are dying. We just want to exchange grey sheets on
Bed with chequered neckerchief. A drug addict wants three
Wings; when she asks me for a kiss. We play postman’s knock
And she knocks and knocks and knocks until cough makes her
Weak.
Everyday we dream of an arson attack but our nurse miss Kurian
Brings us an apple cake. They curse they curse all time.
We laugh and curse in turn ‘kiss our arse.’ She has a matchbox
In her purse and I have a plan.