Somewhen in the middle of February...
Only drizzle on the menu today -
better with prompts to eulogize school mash,
or compose an ode to hair in curlers.
Picked up two hitchhikers,
in Wagnerian costume,
lay-by before the dual carriageway.
‘Woden’ and ‘Frige’, they said, a little stiffly,
and I could hardly see past his horned helmet
in my rear view. She did doff hers,
and held it in her lap covering the nice
topography of tight leather crotch.
Gave me the horn it did, glancing sideways.
Flaxen plaits , deep blue eyes. Swerve!
Eyes on road, now.
He started spouting Germanic. Sprouting!
He was handing daffodil after daffodil,
as he intoned these foreign verses,
over my left shoulder to his missus.
Regular magician! She stowed em,
about the seat and her lap; he stuck
them anywhere they might find purchase
and soon Frige was nigh covered in ‘em.
She didn’t mind a bit. Put on classic FM.
They were soon both singing along -
Lohengrin, Overture to Act Three.
They near deafened me with their
amazing bass baritone and mezzo duet
impro. Then I jammed on the brakes
as the guy took out a horn and blew it.
Let them off near the junction of the A34.
Frige jammed a metal bracelet round
my wrist. Said. “We need you to have this.
Thank you for the lift. Now you will soon
be thanking us.” They marched round a corner
gone. What was that about? Took off the bangle,
glove-boxed it, went to my lesson, carful
of daffs.
Well, houseful now, pretty yellow
trumpets loud in vases, jars, jugs -
Just a sec. WTF Is that noise?
The police at my door? Who?
Pounding. Pounding. “Stop that!!”
Better deal with this now. Finish the
poem later......