GREEN ANTS AND YAM
Paul Vander Loos
Copyright 2012 Paul Vander Loos
CHAPTER 1 – CREATURE HUMOUR
GREEN ANTS AND YAM
A parody of Green Eggs and Ham by Dr Seuss
I am Mick
I am Mick
Mick I am
That Mick-I-am
That Mick-I-am
I do not like
that Mick-I-am
Do you like
green ants and yam?
I do not like them
Mick-I-am
I do not like
green ants and yam.
Would you like them
in or out?
I would not like them
in or out
I would not like them
out and about
I do not like
green ants and yam
I do not like them
Mick-I-am
Would you like them
in a stew?
or rather have them
as a brew?
I do not like them
in a stew
and rather not
as a brew
I would not like them
in or out
I would not like them
out and about
I do not like
green ants and yam
I do not like them
Mick-I-am
Would you eat them
on a plate?
would you eat them
with a mate?
Not with a mate
Not on a plate
I would not eat them in or out
I would not eat them out and about
I would not eat green ants and yam
I do not like them, Mick-I-am
Would you, could you
in a Ute?
Eat them! Eat them!
they’re really beaut.
I would not, could not
in a Ute
You may like them
that’s the rub …
You may like them
in the scrub.
I would not, could not in the scrub,
Not in a Ute, now just go jump … you little grub!
I do not like them on a plate
I do not like them with a mate
I do not like them in a stew
and rather not as a brew
I do not like them in or out
I do not like them out and about
I do not like green ants and yam
I do not like them Mick-I-am
A road-train, a road-train!
could you, would you
on a road-train?
Not on a road-train! Not in the scrub!
Not in a Ute! Mick! Go jump … you grub!
I would not, could not, on a plate
I would not, could not, with a mate
I will not eat them in a stew
I will not have them as a brew
I will not eat them in or out
I will not eat them out or about
I do not like them, Mick-I-am
Say!
In a cave!
Here in a cave!
Would you, could you, in a cave?
I would not, could not,
in a cave.
Would you, could you,
in a drain?
I would not, could not, in a drain
Not in a cave. Not on a road-train,
Not in a Ute, not in the scrub
I do not like them, Mick, that’s the rub.
Not on a plate. Not in a stew.
Not with a mate. Not as a brew.
I will not eat them in or out
I do not like them out and about.
You do not like
green ants and yam?
I do not like them
Mick-I-am
Could you, would you
with a dingo?
I would not
could not
with a dingo!
Would you, could you
at the bingo?
I could not, would not, at the bingo
I will not, will not, with a dingo
I will not eat them in a drain
I will not eat them on a road-train
Not in a cave! Not in the scrub!
Not in a Ute. Go jump … you grub!
I do not like them on a plate
I do not like them with a mate
I will not eat them in a stew
I do not like them as a brew
I do not like them in or out
I do not like them out and about!
I do not like green ants and yam
I do not like them, Mick-I-am.
You do not like them.
SO you say.
Try them! Try them!
And you may
Try them, and you may, I say.
Mick!
If you get lost.
I will try them.
and you’ll pay the cost.
Well I’ll be!
I like the crunchy little beggars
I do! I like them, Mick-I-am!
And I would eat them at the bingo!
And I would eat them with a dingo …
And I will eat them in a drain
And in a cave. And on a road-train.
And in a Ute. And in the scrub.
They are just bonza, so bonza, that’s the rub!
So I will eat them on a plate
And I will eat them with a mate
And I will eat them in a stew
And I will eat them as a brew
And I will eat them in and out
Blimey! I will eat them out and about!
HOUDINI CROCODILE
He rested at the Gooseponds,
Sunning himself with glee.
It was Houdini the crocodile
Who had come to stay for tea.
Houdini was a cool dude…
Nothing bothered him
And when people saw him sunning
They stopped to see him grin.
He posed for the paparazzi,
Dined on fresh duck and fowl.
And when he felt too crowded
Took a dip to escape the howl.
The people of the city
Decided he must go;
“There’s no room for such a crocodile
as crocodiles do grow!”
So the National Parks and Wildlife crew
Baited up a trap.
“He’ll soon be caught and relocated.
Rest assured of that.”
But Houdini’s tastes were special.
No rancid meat for him.
He ignored the trap and dined on fresh
As fresh is best, by Jim.
Days went by, and then the weeks
As Houdini’s fame did spread.
No-one could catch this crocodile
And faces soon turned red.
The people lost their fear of him
As he lounged in the midday sun;
The cameras clicked at this Gooseponds star
And they gave him a run.
But the National Parks and Wildlife crew
Were not about to give up chase.
They’d harpoon this wily demon.
It was an open and shut case.
But true to his name, he escaped the barb
And took to the waters cool
Where he remains to laugh at people
In his giant paradise swimming pool.
The crocodile that the National Parks and Wildlife dubbed “Crafty” was finally cornered in one section of the Gooseponds, and trapped. He was taken to a croc farm in Far North Queensland.
THE ANT POEM
I’
ve got a bee in my bonnet
about ants in my pants ...
In my pantry
In my sink
and everywhere you think
a self-despising ant may care to ...
make a link.
They have no care for human beings
and every time I turn around
I see these crowded scenes
of ants making off with breadcrumbs,
making tunnels through my greens,
eating all in sight,
even the foam of the kool-lite.
They’ll eat the sponge
out of my scourers,
the silicone of the fish tank.
They’ll find the tiniest trace of food
and march to it in a long rank.
Little orange buggers
barely a millimetre or two;
they are the biggest bane
and how their numbers grew ...
‘Hey, come over to Paul’s place!
‘He’s got some food for you!
‘So don’t miss the banquet,
or you’ll really spew!’
Well, I tried to bait the little buggers;
some died but others knew
the bait would just run out one day
and so their numbers grew.
Some entered in the microwave
while it happily zapped away
but all they did was dance
while I just sat and prayed.
The war against the ants
seemed to go forever.
Perhaps I should move out
so this relationship will sever ...
But I’ll never give up
against this minute foe!
I’ll fight them in the kitchen
I’ll fight them in the dough
I’ll fight them on the window sill
on every sliding door.
I’ll drown their scrawny bodies
and squash them on the floor!
I’ll smash them with my own bare fists
as they stream into my domain.
I’ll not take their tawdry trespass
Not let them make their gain
I’ll rain upon them from above
like a beast insane.
Those dirty little critters
will hear my voice profane!
Yet ... let me not give you the idea
that I don’t care for nature’s lot.
Why, every time I sit on my rear
I give it ALL I’ve got!
GECKOS
I see them here
I see them there
I see those geckos everywhere
They rush up walls
They race down halls
Those geckos with their cheeky calls
They eat up moths, mossies and midges
with a slip of the tongue out behind pictures
They check my mail
through rain, shine or hail
then whisk away with a flick of the tail
I hear their calls both day and night
cheek—cheep—cheep—cheep—cheep!
A twirl of the eyes
and they’re out of sight
cheek—cheep—cheep—cheep—cheep!
THE QUEENSLAND PESTS
They make ‘em big in Queensland
They’re the biggest pests you’ll see
and in numbers you can’t count
They’re more than thirty-three!
Why, the flies will make the sky go black,
the fleas will drive a dog insane,
the mossies are so big and fat
they look like an aeroplane!
One landed in Mackay one day
Staff moved to refuel it ...
it was half tanked on Avo
before they knew it!
My mate said he got a caller ...
fella in a big brown coat.
‘Didn’t say much ... and smelt,’ he said.
Then he saw that insectine jaw ...
It was a cockie, not an in-law.
Then there was that nasty scare
when I woke up in a tree out there ...
surrounded by green ants throwing up their bums
They carried me out of bed ... you do the sums!
Yeah, they’re mighty big in Queensland
You can’t tell the ticks from the cows
The males look like ATVs
and the sheilas like big fat sows.
Now, the midges are small
I’ll grant you that ...
but not in number, not at all ...
a million will bite you ‘round the feet
and you’ll end up like you have measles
... red as a beet’
But the worst of all is that invisible mite
that will make you itch like crazy into the night.
Just watch it when you walk the bush
The scrub itch will get you
whether you’re tough or a wuss.
THE PLAGUE OF CROWN STREET
Out of summer’s kitchen, they came
Came upon tiny black feet
Came upon the burring wing
Came upon the dirt,
the dust, the mouldy fruit,
the scraps,
the leftovers.
They came and they multiplied:
two, four, eight, sixteen,
THIRTY-TWO!
We threw the scraps outside,
cleaned the sludge away,
swept the floor clean
but still they came.
Midges sprung up around ankles,
flies played cat and mouse
with legs and frantic arms;
cockroaches creeped up venetians,
cicadas committed suicide
on lino floors,
moths flew hectic formations,
landing on essays,
honey-coated cups
or tonight’s dinner.
Hairy huntsmen hurried to their deaths,
crushed under heels:
these trespassers of fear
Yet still they came, this plague,
the insects of Crown Street.