Sunny Days

Sunny Days                                                JJS.    8.aug2016


Every morning this summer, surprisingly

sunny and hot

for several weeks

Except for that twentyfour hours of

fine drizzle

and that final night-time burst of

torrential rain.


Every morning in that surprise of heat

inclined to frizzle

the finest leaves of fuchsia or

raspberry cane

I would tap my foot on a paving slab by

A waterbutt

then pause to bend a hand to a watering can.


A frog slid out

from under

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

brown spots

while it never moved or blinked or

even twitched.


Every morning frog played sleeping lions, refusing to see,


ignoring me

as I studied the sleek leg and long blobbed toes.

Frog rested



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.

Frog jumps

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,

they manoeuvre

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

and flick

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.

frog lounge 2



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