YABBY CREEK

In 1962 or perhaps ‘63
Old Alfie came home late one night,
And promised everyone a treat
To all the kid's delight.
But delight soon turned to dismay
As from his bag he pulled,
A dirty, bulging plastic bag
With water and yabbies full.
“What the Hell can we do with them?”
Asked Dorothy, his wife,
“They're well and truly on the nose
Unsafe for human life!”

So with the bag still in his hand
We set off down the road,
To Kingsville's dirty, smelly creek
Where jet-black waters flowed.
"No, please, Dad, not in there,"
We pleaded for the yabbies,
Convinced that nothing could survive
In waters so foul and muddy.
But unperturbed by our protests
Old Alfie would not relent,
So tearing open the plastic bag
Into the murky water, the yabbies went.

Feeling sad that even yabbies
So cruelly had to die,
We staggered home to Vernier Street
And on the way we cried.
But as the years they passed away
No more did we kids cry,
For in the murky, muddy depths
The yabbies survived and multiplied.
Till millions of yabbies swarmed
Far as the eye dared seek,
Till the grubby, unnamed waterway
Was christened Yabby Creek.

© Copyright 2021 Philip Roberts
Melbourne, Victoria, Australia