Po'try
Something I wrote in the Persian Gulf.
Outchop
The day is breaking on the bow,
The night is dropping swift astern,
Behind we leave the Gulf and its dhows,
The heat of the sun and the red of his burn.
We've marked the ports we cannot enter
And moored at the ones that we can,
We've haggled, and thought ourselves winners
With the sons of Dubai and Bahrain.
We've kept sharp watch upon the oceans
For things like "Freedom" and "Maritime Trade"
Daily repeating our motions,
And wondering what difference we made.
The seas of the Gulf are salty and hot,
The water is filthy and often it reeks,
But here fortunes were made and empires bought
And centuries of men rode her troughs and her peaks.
The dark eyed Arab and his cousin the Persian,
The smuggler, and his brother the thief,
Thousands of small bearded fishermen,
Exporting their catch and religious belief.
Amidst all the chaos and myriad races
The captains of tankers sail in and line up
Look at the wells with greed on their faces
Their cut of the profits shows up at our pumps.
Because we are America and we've come for the oil
(And democracy too, until your wells all run dry)
We don't expect thanks for our blood and our toil
But Cadillac Shiekh, don't let the price get too high!
The night is falling on the bow,
And the sailing from here on out is all clear,
No more sweat and forced isolation
The months without love and the weeks without beer.
Outchop
The day is breaking on the bow,
The night is dropping swift astern,
Behind we leave the Gulf and its dhows,
The heat of the sun and the red of his burn.
We've marked the ports we cannot enter
And moored at the ones that we can,
We've haggled, and thought ourselves winners
With the sons of Dubai and Bahrain.
We've kept sharp watch upon the oceans
For things like "Freedom" and "Maritime Trade"
Daily repeating our motions,
And wondering what difference we made.
The seas of the Gulf are salty and hot,
The water is filthy and often it reeks,
But here fortunes were made and empires bought
And centuries of men rode her troughs and her peaks.
The dark eyed Arab and his cousin the Persian,
The smuggler, and his brother the thief,
Thousands of small bearded fishermen,
Exporting their catch and religious belief.
Amidst all the chaos and myriad races
The captains of tankers sail in and line up
Look at the wells with greed on their faces
Their cut of the profits shows up at our pumps.
Because we are America and we've come for the oil
(And democracy too, until your wells all run dry)
We don't expect thanks for our blood and our toil
But Cadillac Shiekh, don't let the price get too high!
The night is falling on the bow,
And the sailing from here on out is all clear,
No more sweat and forced isolation
The months without love and the weeks without beer.
