At the entrance to Petra you're struck by the smell of horse manure, but as you're still reeling from the shock of the entry fee, you stumble past the gauntlet of horse and carriage guides toward the Siq. A few hours later you realize they all bear a resemblance to Johnny Depp in Pirates of the Caribbean and speak English like Chico Marx. And no matter how fat and tired and old you are, you're going to walk all the way back and have an ice cream cone at Mövenpick.

the empty tombs
of Nabatean kings—
in the dim light
nothing but graffiti
and my nagging cough