On Rendezvous Road: A Constrained Nonsense Rhyme

Like bald-faced Bacchantae, 
we amble andante,
most oft in flagrante, 
disfiguring Dante. 
Well-oiled on chianti, 
we're todo avante:

me, Jimmy Durante 
and Moliere's Oronte, eh...? -- 

     which well-travell'd uomos now make their abode

in their coachhouse-cum-bed sit on Rendezvous Road.

Shall I check out chez Chaucer...? 
The husband's a tosser!

His penchant...? To boss her. 

Hers...? Hurl cup and saucer. 

     Their Prime-the-Pump Pub (gone the days its mead flow'd)

now's their gated gazebo on Rendezvous Road.


Past Latinas -- plump nannies, 
jet tresses in rollers,
au pair girls (I'm one 
of their avid extollers)
advancing their prams, 
pushing buggies and strollers,

some happy as clams, 
others down in the dolors -- 

     I gawk as they walk through my area code.

"Hasta pronto"s...? We've plenty on Rendezvous Road.

I shall not stroll with Polo,* 

nor Genevieve's Golo,**

nor -- cor! -- Señor Cholo:*** 

I'd sooner roam solo.

     When plodding empartner'd, all passion's plateau'd.
(Plus, one's rarely forlorn along Rendezvous Road.)

     * Explorer Marco. ** Genevieve de Brabant and "her" Golo appear
in Proust's In Search of Lost Time. *** Footnote to come.

I pass Phileas Fogg, 
exercising his dog.
(Phil refuses to jog: 
calls us dudes who do "wog!")...
     All our neighborhood's rank'd with a crude color code.
Oh, the redlining's rampant on Rendezvous Road.

Best give Argos a miss. 
Fido's faithless. Ulys-
ses preserves the mutt's fec-
es -- no mission for sis-
sies -- to compost his lawn. (My analyses show'd
how the grass is much greener on Rendezvous Road.)

Should I happen on Gilgamesh, 

flashdancing in the flesh,

should I suggest we mesh -- 

though our names lack a resh...?

     Reshes occur, as is commonly know'd,
in some old Hebrew spellings of 'Rendezvous Road.'

"Mississinbads" -- Huck, Jim -- 
leave their tiny pal Tim,

a lad lame in one limb 

(who'd forget about him!)

     as they raft Bigly River, whence charlatans go'd.
(One now rarely spots rafts running Rendezvous Road.)

    
Henry's pup Peter Fonda, 
dark Daniel Deronda,

a fishwife called Wanda -- 

all stuff'd in my Honda:

     my heart-felt homage to the Family Joad.

'Tis one wrath-fill'd grape harvest on Rendezvous Road!

Of Ms Dorothy's dog Toto, 
"The Marsh" (Marshall Tito),

"The Bish" (Bishop Tutu), 

the tug Little Toot o-

     -nly one is a trav'ler -- which tends to explode
all those myths that we're drifters on Rendezvous Road.

Here trods Tortoise. There's Hare. 
Yonder's Toad: all dwell there.

While I'm taking the air -- 

as I mostly do bare --

up jumps Toad, "Have a care: 

folks be racing here, Herr.

Amble nude if you dare." 

Opine I: "C'est la guerre!"

Nonetheless, fair is fair, 

talking toads being rare,

though the outcome, I swear, 

is a foregone affair:

     as per u., the Hare's sped while the Tortoise has slow'd --
in their annual run along Rendezvous Road.


The Good Book's Ol' Man Moses 
haunts Rendezvous' closes,

grows bushels of roses, 

maroon quelque choses

which tickle our noses.

He eaus 'em with hoses:

each hose, one supposes, 

a hose which he knows has

been lifted from Lowe's. Is 

he blind? J'hovah knows! Viz.,

in gardening shows, his 

(those blooms he exposes)

     win ribbons -- and yet the man's lawn goes un-mow'd.
(Do I smell some rebellion on Rendezvous Road...?)
   

I spy knights call'd Quixote, 

Ms Foster, call'd Jodie,

one Goodman dubb'd Dodie, 

one Perfect 10 (Bo D.),

Ken Kramer's chum Brodie, 

historian Claude E.,

-cologne salesgirls (eau de-), 

four forgers of faux d.,

kid-lit wit Collodi, 

Dutch Dorsey's new roadie,

a whale christen'd Moby, 

two tree surgeons (Bodhi),

a donkey named Hodie, 

Denzel (nicknamed 'Bro D.'),

Durante (still throaty), 

Ms Fields (that was Totie),

the sous chef at Roti,

Lugasi (call'd 'Moti'),

a yogi named Joti,

five farmhands from Noti --

     from each one Cantabrian tales ala mode
flow -- let slip as they trip...along Rendezvous Road.