Sleepless Night in Iceland

I wake quickly
The mattress growling
Like an animal below the bed
The light blazes a second
He maps his way to the bathroom
We are in a small room
Six sleeping crates
Bunk beds like coffins
Ours a double.
Sweating in our hot tomb I strip off my socks, fling covers aside
Touching my sleeping book
Angry at the world.
What do I care about foreign assassins
Shooting their victims three times in the face
My own domestic killer
Home grown, up close and personal is
Right here in our bed
Pointing his gun in both directions
One bullet for his body
One for my heart.
I don't need fiction
Reality tells its own horror story.
Returned, he soon snores softly
Gentle, like he is.
I pull the quilt across us like armor
And turn to face the demon of this night
Slayer of my sleep
The Goliath in the room.
With bare feet and fists
I sling my first stone.