Ramadan Kareem

By Mohja Kahf

Ramadan is an annoying guest
who comes too often and stays too long
(“Him again? Isn’t it too early?”)
but you can’t say so because
he’s an old friend of the family,
goes back a long way and
it wouldn’t be polite, and so
year after year
you put up with his coming:
the cheery announcement that makes you grouse,
the inconvenient hours,
the special foods and services he needs,
all the headaches
he gives you
(“God, when will it be over?”)
and he just takes and takes, and you wonder
“Where did Ramadan get this reputation
for being a generous giver?”
And Ramadan sticks it out
to the gritty end, by which time
you fantasize daily about socking it to him,
about blurting, “I wish to God
you’d go away!” and not even
the little unexpected gifts
he tucks away for you to find
here and there make any difference,
in fact they strike you as cutesy,
and only add to your irritation,
and you just want to get ugly in his face
but he’s so pathetically sincere,
and kindly and gruff, you never do,
and besides, by then he’s sucked
the last remaining drop of energy from you
so you slump over your last iftar,
forfeiting the game, acknowledging you are
conquered once again by mild-mannered Ramadan