Four Thousand Frogs
When four thousand frogs
frolic in February
thoughts of amphibian
delight turn to nightmares
of clear embryonic gelato
clinging to bygone days
when spring was
and February was not
for frogs
When apple blossoms
appear in March
and the last bees freeze
it goes unnoticed
by culprits
in SUVs
When the last trees fall
to print propaganda
popularizing slogans of
cannibalistic capitalists
with a hunger for more
ever more
dead dinosaurs
it is natural to weep
at the sound of
fornicating
frogs
—Rob Ganson, Washburn, WI
