Our convoy pushes South past Abu Fayyad and
 into Al Samir 

along  the tourist road ,            
           That long dry route 
east of the Diyala river 
      between Baghdad and Baquba 
Where shepherds wander through sand
like Ghosts on the dim horizon
             With the voice wailing from the minarets
Of the Al-salaam Mosque

       I am pacified for 
a moment at the thought.
That  when the floor beneath me
                         Shatters
Giving  way to a flurry of fire
 and shrapnel
 I would  never see it coming.
 Neither would I have time to pray 
for forgiveness nor remember
the Cooing smile my newborn son gives me in the morning.
 
Because any moment now
I might be thrown screaming from this
gun turret                
 to the cracked dirt mounds in a             
          slumped over pile of blood       
    and Charred Skin 
Driving South
Along the broken concrete