Frogs, a Squat, and Clouds
because it croaked,
I assume it’s a frog.
bauble eyes spying the surface.
it’s a peek and wet gush. it’s as
still and steady as a loaf of bread.
frogs and bread, both a bit crusty,
and given time, licked with green.
an off-colour soaked tea bag sheen.
it just squats there, a bubble rising
from the side of its lip like snot
from a teething toddler’s nose.
frog spawn all about, and it’s
chin deep in the stuff. All those
little ones trapped in their eggs,
whining to get out and start doing
something frog-worthy, like squat
in a puddle and bathe in water
the colour of gleaming asphalt.
clouds shove past, weeping rain,
the moon looks like split skin,
and is that the scent of night,
or is it the frog that I smell.
No prompt, other than that frog. Shared with @Experimentsinfc #APoemADay on Twitter ©Misky 2021