The Flea-market

When I went to the Flea-market, I didn't expect anything remarkable.

Perhaps I thought I might find, an old Beatles album or an ode to Mr Toad

That might bring me joy

But instead I found a horror that mankind cannot comprehend

The sight of women clad in a headscarves, almost as if concealing snakes for hair or a color out of space

Their man, their master with his own Turban and wildly grown beard, like the Ahab the mad Arab

or that even darker Prophet of evil Mahomet

I heard the sounds of an alien incomprehensible tongue escape their lips as they spoke amongst themselves

And the feeling of the unknown behind these alien sounds, made my mind wander

Perhaps they were terrorists ready to destroy the market, a symbol of western capitalism

I never believed the official story about 9/11 as strongly as I did in that moment

Only 6 feet apart from existential destruction in my own backyard

I wish Trump where here, or perhaps even Dick Cheney

To defend me

But I got lucky

The Muslims where not here to blow me up....Today

But after such a close call,

I could not sleep

for weeks