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