poem of the day 10.01.09

frogs

waking up to the
boats moored to the docks
moaning
and children crying on the street.
they sound like frogs
all of them
and you imagine frogs
overrunning the city
climbing buildings
laying flat and squashed
in the middle of the street
hopping all over the pavement
drooping bushes to the dirt
and falling from the sky
onto the shoulders of loud people.
these thoughts beat thinking about
the three-day hangover
they sustain the cleanup of the bottles
and the smudged, violet glasses again.
these thoughts remove
the pain in the liver
and the acid making a highway
between the stomach and the throat.
they bat away the fruit flies
that refuse to die
and take away the fear
of sailing over the ocean.
it is good thinking about frogs everywhere
real or imagined
a true plague.
it is better than ice cream and beer
or mustard on a turkey sandwich
with an extra piece of cheese.
it is better than thinking
about the work day and the rain
or about marcel proust
dying in a corked-line room in paris
these frogs are better than
thinking about anything
war and mortality and death,
about this life and the next
the one without you in it
that might finally leave me
forced into fending for myself.