For Frog – Renwick Berchild (the Larkspur Home)

Cool frog, take your hop
to next year’s barbecue burble, the people
rotund turtles, carrying their professions
toasting white smiles with their goblet mirrors.

I’ll follow; you’ll take the path
that crosses John Avenue and wends
through Ms. Janet’s row of bleeding hearts.
(I might pocket one on the way, ok?)

I don’t mind leaving it; the backyard elbowing
and the nightmare cooing in the Korean Lilac’s root
who continues on her creeping to the pipe–
in ten years, they’ll slit my violet lover up.

I like your legs, knobby and shined.
Your feet fine boats that squeak in the dew,
these grasses that are striving daily
to hide all I’ve buried in those old umber halls.

Underneath, I choose
to be the one to abandon the party, take myself
where without fail no one ever finds me
leaning on the bark of a naked white tree.

Frog, I think your better than
the blithering orchestra I am forced to attend.
You do know the best route for a girl
to make her way safely out the past.

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Published by grumpygorman

I am a Social Worker by day and an artist/writer by night. I use the written word in an attempt to make sense of the secret worlds and dysfunctional dynamics that lurk beneath the facades of our daily interactions. I am not sure how my writing styles are characterized, nor am I overly concerned about it. I am immensely enthusiastic about music and often connect better with songs than I do people. I also have an intense appreciation for quality wines and whiskies, frequently consuming them in excess. I like things that smell good and struggle to manage the symptoms of a life-long relationship with depression. So, why "grumpygorman"? Spend some time here and find out...

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