Late afternoon, yellow light sideways across sand
            September sidles up to the season
            Days disappear into dust
            Kicked up by convoys conducting presence patrols

                                                In villages

            Seven GMVs go out
            Sometimes only six return
            Brown Adder sunning itself

                              A forgotten length of rope

            Along the dirt road
            The local Mullah calls the faithful to prayer
            His is a train whistle drawing a line

                                    Across the prairie

            Behind my house in front of the Faltirons
            Now even tens years hence
            That place like all landscapes only exists

                                          Inside of me

            How many times for five times a day have I heard his wail
            Slither like that snake over earth filled HESCOES
            Through gates blown apart

                              by VBIEDs

                                          Repaired twice

            The Marines now behind double barricaded bunkers
            By which the vendors and merchants in their Jinga trucks
            Drive facing into the expectant mouth of the 50 cal.

            Colors grow mute and a sliver of moon

                                    Visited by a single star

            Signal time for radio watch
            I walk into the TOC

                        Close the flap behind

            Dust settles back in the sand

Copyright © Richard Ostrander, 2006. All Rights Reserved.