Wish You Were Here

This week has been to hell and back,
the Battle of Siffin, seventy thousand dead
and a box of turkish sweets from the man below,
a gift from his mom in Homs.
Our movements restricted today, the Ouzai
a swamp of irritated driving, taped up
Datsuns and big black Hummers,
entourages at three, who was that?
The big boss somewhere and the way they go!
Little painters and plumbers flying
out of the Combine. To hell and back.
I tried to get off but it just wouldn't let me.
Like all rivers, it has a mind of its own.
The daytime bewitchments, the billboard girls
their silly panties blacked out. Their languid
stares and adornments, tall cowboys
smoking cigarettes, and roadside tomatoes, -
which one, which one! Racing to heaven
or to hell, trying hard to get off it
but the eddies run into back alleys
and stay in corners full of more back-up,
what the city ate for the day.
Makes the Siffin look gorgeous.