Last Day at Al Udeid (a poem)
This search for gods has ended
with nothing to show for it.
My theology and spirituality books
rest dog-eared in a dumpster
behind the barracks,
along with anything else I own —
which isn’t much.
The only things I’m hungry for
are fire and darkness —
anything else is fiction.
I drift around in the Persian heat
like a masochistic tourist —
take a last look at things
with a profound sense of relief.
This is all nearly over.
I’ve the luxury of only one
single plan —
one thing left on the calendar.
I’m on a voyage now,
swept helplessly downstream
in a strange current, and I don’t
even glance over at the shore —
there’s nothing there for me.
On the uncertain horizon,
beyond the grey gauntlet of fog,
ferocious islands bloom —
a future unasked for.
And beyond …
Good waters, carry me —
see me through this.
Author’s note: Like all of my poems dealing with my time in the Middle East, this too was a difficult one to write. Special thanks to the Bearlodge Writers critique group for whipping this poem into shape.
