Ho Hum’s Quadrant
Quiet quibbles with silence and hushed wind’s quackery.
Have nonsensical need for an ice cold daiquiri.
Chicanery of leafy season, coursing slowly,
before its blustery countermand uplifts wholly.
Monotonous quarrel needs a quaff of arctic air,
an unquestioning brisk of maple burning its flare,
Like brandy, in quiescent afterglow’s flirtation,
ho hum’s quadrant equips me for intoxication.
I’ll not be a crone, with quaking bones, beneath a pad
of sunset quilt. I’ll be cold. I’ll brave it. I’ll go mad
with cacophonous joy, kick the crispy depth of leaves.
Removal of sequacious grin. Broad smile Fall retrieves.
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