Friendly Fire

I was welcomed to Baghdad
By the piercing staccato
Of gun shots echoing
From the street outside,
But it was merely
The local police
Telling drivers
Gridlocked in traffic
To get out of their way
In typical Iraqi style,
So that a police convoy
Could pass through.
Who knows where
Those spent rounds
Might eventually fall,
But it was reassuring
To know that I was
Safely sequestered
Within a concrete building.
No sense in becoming
A casualty of so called
Friendly fire.