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.