Woodstock or Saudi Arabia

Al-Khobar 115 degree 3:00 PM streets

from nowhere

Saudi Abdullah riding my bumper

40, 60 mph

horn blasting

zig-zagging

in and out of traffic,

a middle east French Connection scene

but this time the other fellow’s Gene Hackman

and I’m the guy being chased,

this time it’s Toyota pickups and electric rickshaws everywhere

with Abdullah glaring at my rental license plate

banging his sweaty red fists on the steering wheel

a traffic light interrupts the hunt

he’s ready to yank me out of my car

by my neck,

white thobe flapping

red checkered Ghutrah unraveling

gnashed green prayer beads spilling,

“Yella! Yella!” I hear him screaming

cursing at me

admonishing the traffic,

and then to my horror

he’s there at the window

clenching a crowbar

face ripping livid

beard dripping saliva

the language of the aggressor:

“Amerika Man Fuck Go!”

firing Arabic idioms in my face

shredding my sweaty western clothes,

Feudalism confronting Capitalism

Theocracy avenging the infidels,

dissenters, and

biblical rebels,

bellowing: “death to the kaffirs!”

***********************************

and I could not look into this man’s face

acknowledge his rage

my shame dominating my fear…

sure, he could have beaten me

ripped me apart

set me on fire

it was his Kingdom,

but instead he spit into my face

through the busted window,

then lumbered off

swinging his crowbar,

unsatisfied

or satisfied,

abandoning me,

deserted

in my hipster world,

now unscrewed beyond comprehension,

confined in a place way too simplistic

too visceral

for my multifarious utopian Western mind

to again try fabricating tolerance

to again try embracing Woodstock

(based on a 1995 event during my 3 years working in KSA)