A horny toad lizard wearing
A waistcoat and leather-soled shoes,
Shook his cane at the moon,
Apparently singing his blues:
I’m tired, he shouted, of these clothes and hard shoes,
And all of the blathering nonsense that I hear in the news.
I’m done with it all!
I’m going back to the sand . . .
And the rocks, and the sun,
And give my warts a good tan.
Somewhere out there
It all makes some sense,
And there’s no one who cares,
And they won’t take offense—
If I go running and screaming around there awhile,
Wearing nothing but my cane and a wide, silly smile!
I’ll go without cable, and wi-fi, and phone,
Where there’s no stoplights or traffic—
And I’ll be quite alone . . .
I’ll  pick up a book that I’ve been meaning to read,
Then kick back in my hammock and pay absolutely no heed
To the moon as it goes spinning by . . .

But sadly, that night, the horny toad died.