A Frog Called Freddo

TRAVEL MEMOIR | POETRY

Friend from the Road

Our little green mate
We met on a dinner plate
Not headed for our tummies
Instead we became rather chummy

A love of music we share
Yourself a croaking extraordinaire
You used our van as a place to stay
Dry season was still months away

Humidity making the air thick
Spray bottles and a fan did the trick
Giving us all some cooling relief
Even if it was only extremely brief

Our time together phantasmagoric
Historic yet still euphoric

A liminal being you were perhaps
Although my knowledge of such things is lapse
Or maybe as our spiritual guide
As our lives took upon a new stride

Your webbed feet would be handy
While I grasp my odd modus operandi
For the mixing and fixing of never-ending prompts
While imagining you happily stomping in swamps

Oh I miss you our little green mate
I smile remembering our seasonal date

We met Freddo one night when he decided to join us for dinner while we were in Kununurra — top end of Western Australia. The wet season in full swing.

Floodwaters made being outside a battlefield of midgies so we sought refuge inside to eat.

As I took out a plate, Freddo introduced himself.. we assume he was a he.

He sat on Boj’s knee one night the whole time Boj was practising his guitar. Another night he jumped on Boj’s face as we were drifting off to sleep.

He was lucky Boj stayed calm. “Oh, Hi Freddo!” is all he said.

I don’t believe I would have handled the visit so gracefully had it been my face he landed on.

During the wet season, green tree frogs were everywhere, including the toilet bowls. Going for a visit would…

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