At Home with Jixxa-nan-Ramba

Who was Jixxa-nan-Ramba?
Where did he come from?
I asked someone who knew him
when he lived at the house he called home.
He was an alien, crash-landed in Gloucester,
got a job in a pharmacy on the high street.

The alien had never seen a high street.
The sight of it confused Jixxa-nan-Ramba.
Then again, he had never seen Gloucester.
It was the opposite of where he came from,
and wondered if he could ever call it home.
He decided the pharmacy would best suit him.

Journalists asking questions at him,
following him down the high street
as he went to work, and on the way home.
Who are you, Jixxa-nan-Ramba?
Where do you come from?
The questions echoed all around Gloucester.

The alien working in the centre of Gloucester,
with the daily routine now familiar to him.
He almost forgot where he had come from.
He grew used to being seen on the high street.
Lots of people were friends with Jixxa-nan-Ramba,
but this familiar new place still wasn't home.

The alien decided he must go home.
He started work in the smallest garage in Gloucester,
and people began searching for Jixxa-nan-Ramba.
They looked everywhere but couldn't find him.
He wasn't to be found anywhere on the high street.
They wondered where all this madness came from.

With a loud crash, and scorching light, they saw him
one last time, as he took off in his ship over the high street
and went back to where he came from.

(This poem was my most recent attempt at writing a sestina, and when I say recent I mean last year.)