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Morning Toad
In a leaf-strewn garden bed,
a toad reared up its head,
then jumped into my sight,
giving my face an awful fright
my heart almost giving out –
as I buckled to my knees just about!
His leap was like a sprint,
likely triggered by sheer dint
of seeing me, landing with a plop
like a stone in a pond might drop.
Bloated in distended skin,
its belly stuffed with things within –
flies and insects, worms and slugs,
and a mix of other creepy bugs.
What then I was forced to see
sent shivers rippling through me –
a cricket’s leg protruding
from the toad’s mouth, alive and moving
or rather kicking hard,
the toad without the least regard!
And then with a sickish frown,
I watched that only leg go down
unwillingly, reluctantly,
still kicking frantically.
With that the toad hopped off,
with not so much a gag or cough,
while there I stood about to chuck
my just downed breakfast up.
Copyright ©
Maurice Rigoler
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