A POEM - ALI'S NEST

ALI’S NEST (for the mentally insane)
It must have been some weird, sick joke.
“I’ll give the old fucker props,”
I mumbled to myself,
While sitting at the kitchen table,
In Ali’s Nest.
“I really didn’t see it coming.”
What had come about was me
Staying in a fucking madhouse!
When I’d arrived in Singapore,
I’d spent about ten minutes
Trying to figure out where I was.
The old man attendant gave me a flyer,
For this place called Ali’s Nest.
The rates were about half the ones
I’d seen advertised elsewhere,
And I was always looking for a deal.
So I went in, got a dorm bed,
And set to getting some errands taken care of.
When I came back Terrance,
Some kid from Kansas
Who was surely off his nutter.
He was just sitting out front,
Sweating and nodding and pouring over
Some papers with words on them.
“man,” he said to me,
His teeth moving even when he wasn’t speaking,
“man, I’ll not only teach ‘em the difference,
Between monosyllabic and multisyllabic words,
I’ll teach ‘em how to count syllables.”
“that’s right,” I said, walking past him,
Thinking he was just retarded,
And had somehow ended up in Ali’s Nest
By luck or chance or fate or whatever.
Then later in the room,
He was there, showing me
This full-body para-jumper suit,
Which he said he wore on his jogs around the city.
In walked Sarah,
Rushing and hustling about,
Showering and coming back in the room,
Rubbing some sort of spray all over herself
While saying, “no, that’s not right,”
To whatever Terrance said.
But then she’d rush right out again,
Like she was on speed or yabba or something,
Like everything had to be done as fast as possible.
“I gotta do some writing,”
I said, and set up shop in the kitchen,
Which was also the common room.
A few of the people who were supposedly Ali’s
Family members came and went,
Not thinking much of me sitting there,
Pecking away.
But then Ali came up and showered,
And making to go to sleep said,
“well, good morning then.”
I thought it was maybe one of Ali’s jokes,
This being his “nest” and all.
But then Terrance came in,
And Terrance always wore these headphones,
Even when he was talking with you.
He came in and started talking about
Anything and everything
From how he was bisexual
To his fights in airports
And how he knew people that sometimes just lost it,
And went around kicking ladies in the face.
He left for a bit,
Then came right back with some food,
And began going on about how he wanted to get a whore,
But he felt weird going about it alone.
“well, I’m not goin’ with you,” I said.
“I got my writing to do.”
He wanted a male midget whore in a bath tub,
Being fucked by another whore,
Who was simultaneously giving him head,
Or something like that.
It was hard to follow Terrance’s train of thought,
Or more like train wreck of thoughts.
So he sat there talking,
About starting a construction company,
And then being a techie for a movie studio,
And I sat there tapping at the keys,
All the while this rat
Was running around the kitchen,
Out of the same hole on one side of the wall,
And into another hole on the other side.
Every now and then a cockroach
The size of a golf ball would wander by,
And I had to keep my feet in the air,
To be able to concentrate at all.
Finally Terrance left me alone,
Saying before he ducked into the dorm room,
“say hi to your uncle for me.”
Other members of Ali’s family
Began to come in and out of the kitchen,
Pouring cups of tea or using the bathroom.
One, a big, pale Chinese guy walked in,
Wearing only his boxers and a frown.
He sat down on the sofa next to the table,
Where I was doing my writing,
And he just stared at me as I wrote.
I looked over at him,
And he stared back.
I turned back to my keys,
And he continued to stare.
“oh, what the hell,” I thought.
He sat there for fifteen minutes
Left, came back and sat back down,
Turning over to me and staring again.
I had the feeling like there was something in the water,
Like acid maybe,
And that everybody was out of their fucking minds.
It got so much so that I wondered about myself,
Or if I’d been poisoned,
And not only just led to a lunie house.
“but the words must be written,”
I kept saying to myself,
Under the watchful eye of the big Chinese man,
My stern task master who spoke no words.
“this isn’t a homestay,” I realized,
“this is a fuckin’ mental house!”