The Bullfrog

He sat with no more compunction
than an eel fish
big-faced, bloated,
the complexion of a beehive
- a dragnet of emotions
crammed into a tumbler
upended in water.

His eyelids wore the effort
of horseblinders, a
spongy leather
masquerading as torpedoes
and I saw him
lonely at the crossroads
matted grass,
a strip of wire, cold current
chasing flecks about
his person, then lunging green
exploded into rapacity -
caressed the awaiting fly strewn stick
with emerald mouth &
coffers of appetite.