A Council of Frogs
Who let these dank princes loose in my world?
These frog princes in swine makeup,
this council of nasties, these sons-a-bitches with
their pancake powder, their dotted i’s, their slime tapestries,
their cod-oil voices croaking in chorus.
A dead Greek’s worst nightmare.
Frog folk rising from the muck like amphibians will,
taking the morning beaches,
sticking their frog tongues together, planting and rooting,
making little frogs to hopalong the earth forevermore.
Smart bastards all, gathering like dust motes on my light blue screen,
yammering like they were born to it—and who am I
to say they weren’t? Evolution’s secret stratagem, to give the world
to that type? Check your local listings, coming to a swamp near you.
Lady Frog with a sagging pouch, King Frog and his toadies, amber
on black eyes. Chlorophyll glow, red-mouthed, the sneaky licks
licking you when you thought you weren’t listening.
Are you listening?
The dog in the yard,
My baby in her crib,
The TV a garrulous daemon,
My pulse nothing but drum and drone.
Nothing is frog-proof.