Frogs
Death: the bloated corpses
of drowned frogs floating
on the pooled surface- eyes
bulging with suffocation
& translucent skin flaking apart
like cheep toilet paper that swirls
in the wake of my motions.
I fling their bodies over the fence.
Death is for the birds.
Algae thrives on water & sunlight alone
in the absence of chlorine. Mold
has the same texture as flesh decomposing
soft against my finger--primordial
stew in the midst of a civilized world.
The toads in the street are black as ash
crumbling under my foot to blow away
in the equal & opposite acceleration of cars.
Last night's victims remain ruined bags
of bones & organs, a red streak of water
& cells that indicate direction
if not motivation to cross the road
that I now walk.