His friends call him Major Tom
because he's a space oddity
even among their mishmash group of
intergalactic backpackers.

They stop at an Andromeda station for fuel
and Major Tom sneaks out through the hatch
stardust glitter over his eyelids, tulle skirt pooling
around his legs, one flesh, the other long eaten
by his family's pet shark.

The room is empty but the barwoman,
a tentacled krakenmaiden of neon green smiles,
makes him a deal: she'll put on any song he likes
if he guesses how many teeth she has in all her mouths.

Leaning his weight on his prosthetic leg,
he guesses right on the first attempt.
A twelve-string guitar strumming its supersonic tune,
he twirls around himself and around the vacant stage.
The Earth spins too, far away from here, a phantom limb
and Major Tom hopes he never reaches ground control.