A Wicker Basket

Comes the time when it’s later
And onto your table the headwaiter
Puts the bill, and very soon after
Rings out the sound of lively laughter

Picking up change, hands like a walrus,
And a face like a barndoor’s,
And a head without any apparent size,
Nothing but two eyes

So that’s you, man,
Or me. I make it as I can,
I pick up, I go
Faster than they know

Out the door, the street like a night,
Any night, and no one in sight,
But then, well, there she is,
Old friend Liz

And she opens the door of her cadillac,
I step in back,
And we’re gone.
She turns me on

There are very huge stars, man, in the sky,
And from somewhere very far off someone hands
me a slice of apple pie,
With a gob of white, white ice cream on top of it,
And I eat it

Slowly. And while certainly
They are laughing at me, and all around me is racket
Of these cats not making it, I make it

In my wicker basket.

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A Wicker Basket