I can’t drive a bus, never mind an ambulance,
said the taxi driver, with menace in one eye.
Did he know, merely a coincidence
that we were finely tuned, ready to fly?
We ignored him, as you do, piled in
the back of his fur lined mobile;
As we shrunk in he said I regret to inform you
your eyes are outrageous, and your language unreal.
He never spoke again, as far as I know,
but I don’t know him so who’s to say.
He dropped us off where he thought we should go,
snatched our money, and drove silently away.
The night closed in like a paper bag; the air
crunching to the sound of our feeble escape.
I forgot my name, and cried about it, Woz said
it didn’t matter who I was anyway, my arms
grew longer to thank him, and Hendrix twelve
stringed along barbiturate way.
The Paisley moon came around too soon,
We just floated away…