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141 portland taxis If I were on Mars, and wanted to get back-to-home, I would Hail a taxi. There’s nothing I like better Than hailing a taxi; they have saved me many times From the spectre of fiscal responsibility. From the bottom Of a well comes my voice, hailing a taxi, Get me Out of this oubliette! Beside the bed where I make love The business cards of taxi companies are tacked up. Taxicab salesmen surround my every motion Hinting I’d be better off as a driver, but it’s Hailing a taxi I relish, not threading my way All day through the midtown traffic. Busses won’t do Either—the exquisite squalidness and rash of Public transportation is not the point—but Something about these little moving cubicles Filled with me on demand. I feel crammed-in on a plane Because there is no room for me to lift my arm, there, To hail a cab. In a cab there’s no room to hail A cab, but then you are already in one; it’s ridiculous To even think of, unless you have the hots For hailing a cab, thousands of cabs, as I do. But then I Digress; I wish a taxi would come, grind and screech To a halt, and take me someplace, anyplace else, and get me out of this, Such as, to Portland. ...

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