Sunny Days JJS. 8.aug2016
Every morning this summer, surprisingly
sunny and hot
for several weeks
Except for that twentyfour hours of
and that final night-time burst of
Every morning in that surprise of heat
inclined to frizzle
the finest leaves of fuchsia or
I would tap my foot on a paving slab by
then pause to bend a hand to a watering can.
A frog slid out
the lip and sat on a brick an inch away
and refused to look at me.
I bent a little lower, as much as I could,
to study the smooth green skin with its fuzzed
while it never moved or blinked or
Every morning frog played sleeping lions, refusing to see,
as I studied the sleek leg and long blobbed toes.
ignoring my existence while the sun shimmered over its back
and green skinned bellows.
Until I move a boot an inch, so I can reach the can.
flat foot and splayed upon the chicken wire,
shrunken body, legs akimbo in dissection mode,
We both hesitate again,
frog in the shade
while the sun still sweats on my neck.
Frogs don’t only sit or jump,
to slip front legs then head through the circle,
a too small circle,
then contract the bellows, the chest and ooze into
and through the wire noose
those wicket-keepers legs without a thought
to land like a tumbler and with a kick retreat
to ground-elder leaves and disappear.
The frog never looks at me face to face.
Why should it?
We play our little game, have no need to kiss,
both have chores to live.
I hope tomorrow will be the same.