that was the night
Posted: February 26th, 2014, 3:58 pm
that was the night we took those "Quaaludes "
Dougie Z made in his bathtub, that VW bus roared
north over the seven mile bridge,
we picked up a flaxen-haired troubadour that knew
all the Jimmy Buffet songs, his Gibson was bleached
by a million sunrises
his traveling companion had the tannest, longest, smoothest
legs I had ever seen, her lime-colored cotton sundress
was hiked up in the backseat as far as was humanly possible,
she said her name was Joanie
before the night was over we had seen Dr. John
and his feathered boa-ed entourage in Hialeah, that bus
rolled over one time on the way home, came up on its wheels
minus its windshield, the saints of the highway had cradled us
in their bosom, we didn't feel a thing but laughter, so we lit a joint,
drove back to Key West slowly like we were all riding motorcycles
the salty air pushed at our foreheads like fingers of guardian angels
I nodded out with my head in Joanie's lap, the heat from her thighs
swaddled me into psychedelic dreams,
when I awoke in the back of the bus it was almost noon,
sweat ran down my cheeks, my wallet and camera were gone
a week later I saw that Joanie woman at the beach, she said
my name's not Joanie, it's Fannie !
I said, Oh, Ok, honey....whatever you say.
Dougie Z made in his bathtub, that VW bus roared
north over the seven mile bridge,
we picked up a flaxen-haired troubadour that knew
all the Jimmy Buffet songs, his Gibson was bleached
by a million sunrises
his traveling companion had the tannest, longest, smoothest
legs I had ever seen, her lime-colored cotton sundress
was hiked up in the backseat as far as was humanly possible,
she said her name was Joanie
before the night was over we had seen Dr. John
and his feathered boa-ed entourage in Hialeah, that bus
rolled over one time on the way home, came up on its wheels
minus its windshield, the saints of the highway had cradled us
in their bosom, we didn't feel a thing but laughter, so we lit a joint,
drove back to Key West slowly like we were all riding motorcycles
the salty air pushed at our foreheads like fingers of guardian angels
I nodded out with my head in Joanie's lap, the heat from her thighs
swaddled me into psychedelic dreams,
when I awoke in the back of the bus it was almost noon,
sweat ran down my cheeks, my wallet and camera were gone
a week later I saw that Joanie woman at the beach, she said
my name's not Joanie, it's Fannie !
I said, Oh, Ok, honey....whatever you say.
