Umbrella’s lighter offshoot


Lexanoia on the Roads

by Henry Quince

It’s borderland season, wing or sprinter;
billboards convie to exploit us;
the slickery highway has snirt on its verges
along with the rusting detroitus.

The kids in the back either speak in whinese
or read me a riddle’s prescription.
I’m all riddled out, asphinxiated,
and the tyres aren’t finding much gription.

At the traffic lights I’m impatient, pregreening.
I fume at the thought of that hag,
the checkout woman who packed the smushables
under the cans in my bag.

And those medical tests: there’s a quackmire ahead
of the X-rays and needles I hate.
Next week I might be fatally ill;
for now I’ll precuperate.

But then I recall the espacular lady
beside me, who heads my agenda;
she is the one who daily sinspires me.
Oh woot, when I see her nudenda!

Henry Quince has been an academic, jazz pianist, editor, copywriter, and voiceover man. He’s moved around, but now lives in Australia, near Brisbane. He’s had the odd poem or two published in The Susquehanna Quarterly, Modern Haiku, and Folly.   Visit his Website.