Servant of the Reckoner

“Never think war, no matter how necessary, no matter how justified, is not a crime.”
Ernest Hemingway

I will see you tonight
With pills and cheap wine.
You are the burning
My lasting impression, the definition
You will stare at me from the inside of a darkened closet.
So I shut the door.
My eyes water and my mind races with radio chatter
Call signs and confusion.
So I have to turn on the humidifier.
It just makes noise now.
The air is still dry and there is dust on everything.
What should I call you? When last we met I did not ask
I will call you Abdul Haasib -- “Servant of the Reckoner”
And there will be a reckoning for what we have done.
You are too young to hate me
Your brother is not.
There is a stink in my nostrils that is unfamiliar to me.
I laugh at you Abdul Hassib, because you are too small to carry that shovel.
Big brother glares at me and hurries you along.
It’s so hot here and everything is on fire and the women won’t stop crying.
Noisy, hot, dusty fuckin country.
Come here Abdul Haasib, I have candy for you.
I have come from America to bring you candy and school supplies and to trade you for your heart and your mind.
“Shukran”
“Afwan”
It’s cheap candy.
Somewhere my son is running barefoot in the grass and this makes me smile.
I have candy for your brother but he refuses me.
“Fuck you then”
I have a whole bag.
Its hard candy because the chocolate melts.
Get back to your duty Abdul Haasib because your brother has a heavy load.
The trash bag slung over his shoulder is burdensome.
Remember my face,
Because we all look the same.
I scan the rooftops for a glint.
But it’s so hard to pay attention all the time.
That is probably why I did not notice.
Abdul Haasib if I had noticed I would not have laughed at you, or smiled, or given you candy.
I would not have thought of my son running barefoot in the grass.
I would not have thought of water, and leaves, and the wind, and cows, and red barns, and mountains, and skyscrapers.
I would not have arrogantly labeled this “an Arab problem” and thanked God “for America.”
Your chores are hard and your brother’s load is heavy.
I would guess you are four or five but nine or ten now.
And I wonder if I am your burning as you are mine.
For hatred or fascination.
If I was the moment your life changed,
Or was I commonplace.
Were you battle hardened?
Were you indifferent?
Was the burning hatred and the hopelessness,
Not your brother at all, but your future.
Someone had to carry the bag.
And you the shovel.
And now The Reckoner curses me,
Always with you.
So I have to shut the door.
These women swarm and wail like great black vultures.
or angels.
A shapeless sorrowful mass.
And now I am Lucid! See blind Paul! And know that I am Vengeance and Wraith and Sorrow and Murder and a Liar and that all of this you ran for will be your Great Undoing! See this! And let it follow you the rest of your days!
Abdul Haasib, you are the REAPER!
Amidst the mess you collect the dead with a shovel,
And a hefty bag.
Because in Baghdad, a scythe won’t do…..
I will see you tonight Abdul Haasib,
Your brother stares at me from over your right shoulder.
Knee deep in the pieces.
Now that I am alone, there is no one to block my view, so let’s lie here and look at one another all night Abdul Haasib…and we will remember the dead.
What will they look like on the Day of Resurrection Abdul Haasib?
You and your brother have mixed them all up,
And will they remember that I smiled and gave you candy,
And laughed at your labor and thought of home.
Abdul Haasib, you should know…
That the peace I arrogantly thought I would return too
Was carried away in your hefty bag
And I will never get home... and that the horrible misfortune
That you have suffered will claw at my chest the rest of my life.
And when you take a step from my closet door to take me with you
I will only say that I am sorry---for being a witness to your plight---and nothing more.