The Mystery Door

Hello.

The Green Grocer Cicada can barely see her.

Hello, is it time....?

Not for me yet, says the Green Grocer Cicada. I have two weeks.

Then what? asks the Baw Baw frog, sleepily.

I may never go back, says the Green Grocer Cicada.

You can stay here with me, yawns the Baw Baw. In the spring, I do mating.

With your own kind, says the Green Grocer Cicada.

Preferably, of course, says the Baw Baw. But we are endangered. What are you?

The Green Grocer Cicada is about to say: I am a Green Grocer Cicada.

But hey. It's dark. She won't know any better.

I'm a Blue Moon Cicada, he says. We are the rare ones. I am turquoise.

You may as well be whatever, says the Baw Baw. It's so dark here. But turquoise is pretty. Will you mate?

With you? says the Blue Moon Cicada. It depends how you do it.

I lay between fifty and a hundred and eighty eggs, says the Baw Baw. In a sphagnum moss nest. It's so comfy.

What do I do? asks the Blue Moon Cicada.

He is feeling excited.

You watch me, says the Baw Baw. I use my feet to beat the eggs into a foamy mass, then you fertilise them externally.

That might be difficult, says the Blue Moon Cicada.

Yes, sighs the Baw Baw. I thought so.

The Blue Moon Cicada gives up the idea of mating. He remembers his task, and his Honourable Mention.

Do you see me at all? asks the Blue Moon Cicada.

I see you vaguely, says the Baw Baw. You seem to be wearing a hat.

I am. It's a poetry hat, says the Blue Moon Cicada. I am a wanderer who has found you by chance. If I leave I may never find you again. Will you come with me?

No, says the Baw Baw. It's cold out.

Just to the door, my sweet? wheedles the Blue Moon Cicada.

(My sweet! Catch a male Baw Baw saying anything half so romantic!).

Okay, just to the door, says the Baw Baw. Make me a poem, as we go.

The Blue Moon Cicada emits a high pitched buzzing sound. He is spinning a poem.

Walk with me sweet one
to a sphagnum moss bed
make a foam omelette
in which I will tread
nor you nor I
deserve to be dead
the mystery door
lies ahead

But no mystery door lies ahead.

Terence has muddled it.