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The Frog in my Fridge

There’s a frog in my fridge,
Who drinks all my booze,
Then recounts bawdy poems,
Before singing the blues.

He bellows croaky songs,
From dusk until dawn,
An amphibian Tom Waits,
Wallowing in my garlic prawns.

I’ve still to catch a glimpse
Of this elusive green imp.
And suspect he’s in hiding,
Between the mackerel and shrimp.

Although he’s very vocal,
He’s obviously quite shy,
Content to ribbit, ribbit, ribbit,
From behind the steak pie.

The frog in my fridge,
Drove me to pen this short ode.
But things could be worse,
He could be a slimy wee toad.

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Jack Montgomery

Jack is an author, travel writer, photographer, and a Slow Travel consultant who has been writing professionally for twenty years. Follow Jack on Facebook for information about his writing, travel tips, photographs, and tales of life in a tiny rural village in Somerset.

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Welcome to my Canvas

Some of the items on this site won’t be to everyone’s liking, I get that. Basically this is my place, my wee studio to mess around in – experimenting with words and thoughts. I’ll be chuffed if you enjoy it, but if you don’t, c’est la vie. As a friend used to tell me “it would be a boring life if we all thought the same.”

Jack Montgomery
A wine press,
On a farm at the end of the dirt track,
The Setúbal Peninsula,