Competition

First Prize

The Ballad of Lazarus, The Cane Toad
by Julie Lynch
Kholo, Qld

 Up north where cane farms are the flavour
Lazarus, the cane toad was King of Misbehaviour
Procreating with abandon
In the water and with sand on

With eyes wide open, in the nuddy
In brown bogholes, hot and muddy,
Sideways, on top, underneath
(Or so he’d like us to believe)

Huge and crass, this master populator
Would yell (when parting company) “I’ll cop-u-later”
He had an insatiable appetite
Anything with warts was his delight!

He was crude and ugly, rough and loud
Far too confident, far too proud
His offspring were thousands in number
He’d get his hops off, then he’d slumber

Now Lazarus was never troubled by
Progress, cars and trucks roaring by
Knew nought of the trappings of civilization
Apartments, concrete, population

UNTIL by accident one day
He found himself, to his dismay
At a truck stop close to Brisbane
High-rise jungle, consternation!

The night before he’d partied hard
Drank too much bog-juice then expired (temporarily)
In a pot-plant which apparently
Was bound for the markets at Rocklea.

He hopped up high, surveyed the view
Was horrified (you would be too)
To find no cane, no trees, no grass
He was far from home. Alas!

Home was where the action would be
So he clambered down precariously
From his vantage point atop the truck
And rallying up all his pluck

Bravely decided to hit the road
The city was no place for a toad.
Lazarus was a country boy
Noise, cars, crowds gave him no joy.

He hopped (in circles?) – hopped and hopped
He ate while hopping, wouldn’t stop
He hopped a long, long, long, long way
Minutes grew to hours; hours days

He hopped for days, for weeks, for years
The word spread, crowds would come and cheer
Him on, as he hopped by, intent
On reaching home, so on he went.

Sleeping only when essential
Lazarus showed great potential
For leadership, like John Howard
He was tough; no weakling coward!

He'd gotten the hopping to a fine art,
While hopping he could eat, drink, fart
His resolve won him, the admiration
Of all true Aussies – the whole nation.

Of narrow escapes, he had his share
Fast cars would catch him unawares
Especially at night-time when
Their high-beam lights they didn’t dim.

His photo graced the front page
Of the Courier, Sun and Age
His story of persistence spread so wide
He felt great pangs of kingly pride.

One memorable, fateful day
A big truck hit him – there he lay
Splayed out, pink guts everywhere
Flattened – but it’s true, I swear!!

Next morning, Gosh!! How unexpected!
Lazarus had resurrected!
The only hint of his close call
Was a slight limp. That was all

Time passed. Laz hopped, until one day
When the sun was high and the birds were gay
He finally made it Home at last!!
(The female toads were all aghast!!)

No time was wasted on small croak
(He was a Macho Aussie bloke)
He was eager, so let’s just say
That he mounted for the fray.

His former ways he soon adopted
Young innocents he soon corrupted
Still he was crass, vulgar, vile,
He’d learnt nothing from his trial.

So I guess it’s got you pondering
This true story of his wandering
What’s the moral that is here writ?
It’s important. I will share it:

When next you go out driving on any type of road,
On dirt or tar of highway and you chance to see a toad
Slow down, give him the time of day; if you have one, raise your hat,
Then line your tyres up carefully, and squash the bastard flat!
(And if not sure you’ve done him in, don’t dither, blame or curse
Just slow your wheels down to stop – and put them in REVERSE!)