The Salamander Man (or A Can Full of Crickets)

After telling my son about how my dad and I used to collect crickets to feed some salamanders I had brought home from a creek as a child I was inspired to write the following poem for my father.

Night had fallen

On a midsummers eave

Warm winds were blowing

Through trees full of leaves

 

Street lights lit

A soft yellow glow

Would illuminate what

Neighbors called “The Show”

 

Out in the street

A man and his son

Already at work

The Hunt had begun

 

The wife-The mother

Stayed upon their land

Looking out upon

Her son and her man

 

Armed with an empty can

Of Maxwell’s Best

Weapons tucked tightly

Into their vests

 

Listening intently

For the call of their prey

A sound rarely heard

In the light of day

 

With cat-like quickness

And tremendous skills

The hunt…a success

The beasts were all killed

 

The air filled with laughter

And howls of glee

For not one or two beasts killed

But thirty-three

 

A can full of crickets

Two hungry mouths can’t wait

To wrap their salamander lips

Round their favorite salamander bait

 

Half of the street

Never understood

But on quiet nights

In that neighborhood

 

Words are whispered

The legend lives on

Of “The Salamander Man”

And his “Salamander Son”