CoffeeShop Blues: 2015 Traveler's Edition - Page 114

CoffeeShop Blues The Frog I inform the frog that he is in fact Lucky to be alive. He seems unperturbed By this information, and frankly Is lacking in gratitude for my Having rescued him from the sadistic cat. He could at least seem mildly embarrassed About the high pitched screams he emitted Whilst being batted between clawed paws But is instead a passive lump Crouched in the cup of my hands. I carry him to the stream down the hill, Usher him safely through a gap in the fence; He manages an apathetic, lopsided lurch That drops him in the murk, And vanishes without a backward glance Voodoo He called me by her name And I needed to have a shower to rid myself of the Paunchy bulk of her frame laid over mine To scrub the familiar bile in my pores And rinse the metallic taste from my mouth That comes with guilt and disgust. Her name is the needle in my voodoo doll That he keeps in his left pocket, That he keeps for special occasions, to bring out with a flourish And watch as he hits his mark. Then he can fold it away again and walk to the car Leaving me to my desperate cleansing As he drives home and pulls from his right pocket Her own crude and faded likeness. 114