Toad Ode

I submit this with my already-given apologies to Liz, our poet of note. Italy does strange things to people. It made me write a poem. About a toad.




Ode on an Umbrian Toad

O beige spotted rock
Whose skin gives to the touch,
Alligator shoe without laces,
Purse that blinks and bears no money,
There you rest in a grassy hole
Hiding in full view,
Startling those who mistake you
For dirt or anything other
Than what you are.

We, the lumbering tourists, stare down
From our height and fuss over you
So that our landlord Aldo
Comes with fireplace tools
To spare us the unsightliness,
Which is actually what we love
In all that expanse of photogenic countryside,
You with the toxic sweat,
You with the warts.

Disclaimer: No toads were harmed as a result of our tourism.