Car Wash

A friend had asked me to detail some expatriate experiences and this is one of those isolated, scary memories:

“Yes, what do you want?”, he shouts
in a hate-filled,menacing tone,
“Isn’t this a car-wash?
Isn’t this what you’re all about?”, I ask.
“Yes, ma’am that is our task”,
he sneered,
and suddenly I felt afraid,
all alone.

“You want me to wash your car?”,
a flash of bad, gold-capped teeth,
stressing ‘me’ and ‘your’
he seethes,
as he violently kicks in
my door.

“I had a job! I had a life!
I drove a fancy car,
Now you’re in here,
You demand a wash,
When I’d rather
Slash a tire,
with this knife!”

“This is my country,
my home!
Go back!
From where you came!
Leave us alone,
leave us in peace,
go back
where you belong!”

I step out,
feigning calm,
Examine the dented door,
note down his name,
and warn him
in a steely tone,
(I barely believe)
of the next legal game
of charging him with
a minor misdemeanor
and a call
from my insurer!

"For this is my home
as much as yours,
and the law is,
on my side,
take control of your
so called life,
and carve a niche for yourself
with your knife!"