Cairo to Coney

All aboard my autogyro,
park’d between row Z and Y row.
Pilots…? Guys from Spyra Gyro.
Join 'em not if you're some tyro.
(Now departing Cairo!) 

Boarding now's my bumper car.
Though slow, it ranges wide…and far.
Your steward, one Ben Patatar,
brews coffee, tea and Kristallklar.
(Next stop…? Zanzibar.)

Cabs uncopious…? Catch my currach.
Neither's cake, but, "not to worrach."
Share with me (and Van “Ace” Turach),
s'long as you're in no great hurrach.
(Now departing Li’l Rock.)

"Dammit, Dog, don't drive dat dogsled
down dem dork-deep drifts," Sir Snoop said,
hoisting (how...?) one whole half-hogshead.
"Now dig what ya’ll’s done: dat dog's dead!"
(Let's revisit Brideshead.)

Entering my escalator,
guests encounter "SmorgasSeder."
"Matzo first," rants Reb D. Vader.
"Have your afikoman later...
once we've cross’d th'equator."

Fairer…? Nothing than my ferry.
Friends float free, but Fie! Don't tarry!
Challah-bears from Bali Harry
serve warm buns (they're "buerre-y"...very!)
(Lunch at Brundonderry.)

Guidebooks call guests "gondolees," a-
gondola'd by Gondoleezza
Vice, my gondoliere-cum-visa-
mater here in Greater Pisa.
(Next stop: San Theresa!)

Heading eastish…? Hire my handcar;
booking agent's Ralph V. Shandkar.
Best for guests who ramble and car-
een. (In Greenland, it's a bann’d car.)
(No more stops till Kand'har!)

Board my Mitsubishi "I" Car! 
Didi Eisenhower ("Dyke") ar-
ranges for his look-alike car
to be mine when he drives my car."
(Next stop: Isle de "Rikar"!)

Join me in my jade jinrickshaw,
though its pilot, Bob ("The Mick") Shaw
(under "M" in Webster's Dicshaw-
nary) often "phones in sick." Psh-a-a-aw!
(Skip "The Res": too "Chick'shaw.")

Killer rapids…? Book my kayak.
Back-up fry cook Steppin’ Fry, back
from Key West suggests guests lie back,
chill…and try his Brie on Zweibach...
named "Best 'Nosh in Nayak."

Loop-the-loopin’ in my luge...? Herr
Barry Lege,'* illustr’ous luger.
Beggarlike, I hire this Hoosier
'cuz I cannot be more choosier.
(Next stop: Newport News...hear…?)
     * Pronounced 'ledge,' the reference is to
Barry Legend aka Barry Lurd, NBA Hall-of-Famer
hailing from the Hoosier State. 

Mot'ring in my Morris Mini,
maitre d'auto Al “Burt” Phinney
brandishes a mandolin he
made with aid from Barnes (Ms. Binnie).
(Next stop: Olde New Guinea!)

Now let's "nav" my Nucl'ar sub. Ya'
heard its "nom-de-vro-o-o-oom"* by Dubya
mispronounc’d for years. Oh, Shrub! Ya'
stunk as Pres, yet lunkheads "lub" ya.
(Next stop: Suburbubya!) 
     * Ala the "nom-de-plume," the so-called
"nom-de-v'ro-o-o-oom" is an alternate name
for any power source. Of course, W was
notorious for, among his many creative
uses of the language, a chronic metathesistic 
mispronunciation of 'nuclear,' regularly 
rendering it as 'nucular.'

Outings in my Oldsmobile,
once cater’d by Coquille St. Neal,
now’re cater’d by poor Howard Beale.  
(Imagine how that makes Coq feel:
like losing at Deauville.)

Plant your pants seat in my punt.
A poling pair, recalcitrant,
provides the paddling. Frank's* up front.
(In back, I've posted Allan Punt,
plu-polester from Ft. Hunt.
     * Fran "Sizzle" Bertsin-Aftra

Quiet, kids! Don't quit my quint.
It's old, but in condition mint.
Shout "'hoy" to helpmate Captain Flint,
My water-worthy wunderkind.
(The next stop: New Orli'nt!)

Regarding William Butler Yeats,
who fits guests' feet for roller skates
and elevates the going rates
down at my Rink. (A-12's he hates!)
("We serve all fifty states!")

Stop! Occupancy max'mum's three
aboard my solitary ski.
There's (1) you; (2) man Friday Lee
von Klee; plus one more...hey! It's me!
(Next stop: Menomonee!)

Try my tourist-class toboggan! 
Travel blogger U. Dazs-Hagen
damns with faint praise on her blog in 
comments like, "This "bogg'' beats joggin'!"
(Next stop: West Sheboggan!)

Unrivaled artiste Lee Mahorne
waits tables on my unicorn,
shares tips with all the foreign-born
garçons. She shouts, "What's mine be your'n!"
(Next stop is Californ.')

"V'ro-o-o-o-oom" goes my velocipede.
That's why my chauffeur, Hari Reede,
warns, cautions, pleads, "Be sure to heed
all traffic signs...plus, ple-e-ease don't speed!"
(Next stop: East Runnymede!)

Welcome 'board my welcome wagon.
Welcoming you…? O. J. Dragon.
Sometimes fun; sometimes an agon-
y: Best pack your flask…or flagon!
(Next stop: Bilbo's Bag En'!) 
   * Oliver J., noted Kuklapolitan and good
friend – but just a friend! -- of Fran Allison,
and no relation to isoinitialed scofflaw
Orenthal Simpson. 

Xebeceers who crew my xebec
(one's V. Beckhand; t'other's Glenn Bleck)
urge all guests, "Avoid the poop deck!"
Who’s that asking "Are we there yeck…?"…?
(Third-to-last stop: Tea Neck!)

You're invited: board my yacht!
Invite a guest; invite one not!
I'm bringing Phnom Penh pal Paul Pott.
As to the fare…? How much you got…?
(Next stop: Connecticott!)

Z-z-z-z-z-z-zs guests grab in my Zamboni
follow snacks of Rice-a-Roni,
b'loney stew and roux'd spumoni
served by Mitchells (Shad and Joan E.).
(Last stop: Isle of Coney!)

Attention, please! Passengers must exeunt.
Every vehicle is now out of service.