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Bluey's Reflections

Blue was feeling melancholy and was far from feeling jolly 
by the window of his quarters on that moonlight night in May. 
The old mate was broken hearted since young Jess and he had parted: 
that’s the Jillaroo from Bancroft who had jilted him that day. 
 
And old Blue would really miss ‘er, as she was a bonzer kisser, 
and he told this to a large green frog perched on the window ledge. 
This poor Ringer quite horrid, as his hand held up his forehead, 
and he gave the frog the run down like it was some privilege. 
 
“Do you have a girlfriend, froggy,  that just leaves your mind all foggy 
when she puckers up to kiss you and she makes you feel on high? 
As a kisser Jess was real hot and I reckon by a long shot  
she was up there with the best of them … except perhaps for Di. 
 
“She’s the blonde girl that’s a Nanny, on the place where my mate Danny 
breaks in horses every summer, and a looker, that’s for sure.  
Mate, this Di she was a goer and I’m glad I got to know ‘er, 
as that girl could suck your lips off and she’d leave you wanting more. 
 
“But we broke up in the summer, which I thought was a real bummer, 
so I hitched up with her cousin who’d come out to stay a while. 
This gal was a city floozie and her name I think was Suzie 
and her tongue it darned near choked me, but she certainly had style. 
 
“Then she went back to the city, which I thought was a real pity, 
still, I met young Katie Swenson at the rodeo that night. 
Sucking face was that girl’s passion, but I soon went out of fashion, 
as I found she kissed near anything that came within her sight. 
 
“So it’s hard, mate, just to pick one that I fancied as the best fun, 
as they all bring back fond memories but they all slipped through my grip.” 
He just sat there quite dejected and it came quite unexpected 
when a moth alighted on the top of poor old Bluey’s lip. 

The frog’s tongue flew into action, but his aim was down a fraction 
and it rattled the old tonsils in the back of Bluey’s throat. 
The old Ringer’s eyes went teary and his sight went kind of bleary 
and the words that bushman uttered I’m afraid I cannot quote. 
 
To this day it’s told by bush folk and believe me, this is no joke, 
it is ritual when Bluey goes to town and hits the grog, 
that he tells the same sick story, how no girls can match the glory 
of that moonlight night in May when he was tongue-kissed by a frog.

Copyright © Merv Webster | Year Posted 2005

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