Today's poem is by Judy Rowe Michaels
While most of us are grieving
somethingcold spring lost child dead-end
lyrics that won't resolve,
the spadefoot toad, who bears
a gold lyre-mark on her back,
is crazy-busy with what science calls
explosive breeding. Rain says Go,
and up from culvert cistern over porch and patio across roads
the fraught migration of spadefeet slowly breaches
our borders to breed in our ponds.
Flood of toadlets in just three weeks, pop pop,
with tiny golden harps, how will this
end? We run them down
coming or going, then pronounce them
rare, so we
love them, make posters, poems
(Old moss-grown ponda
toad jumps in to breed pop pop
We can't say they're unnatural, or blame
the job rate bad schools gang wars (unprotected
sex?), but tiny golden harps
seem suspect artsy irresponsible un-American.
All night trill thrills,
while most of us are grieving.
Copyright © 2015 Judy Rowe Michaels All rights reserved
from New Ohio Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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