The Frogs In Action 

 

Down in Mexico,

the frogs jump higher,

leap farther.

 

Damn,

but that’s intolerable

to the likes of me.

 

My most athletic amphibian

beat up on all

the local competition

 

but what’s it matter

how well he does

when, south of here,

there’s critters that

could zap his best height

and length like flies.

 

Hell, I was all night,

down in the canyon,

corralling them damn bullfrogs.

And for what?

 

I seen it on TV,

some dirt poor Mexican village,

a dusty track,

and a bunch of monster frogs

vaulting like gymnasts.

 

My ribbon says “world champion”

but the world got bigger.

And Mexico showed up. Damn.

Your life in my hands 

 

The dusk has begun its slow theft – your gaze,

once sharp as your mind, reverts to fog.

 

They come to you, these people, but their faces

retreat before your silence. You shake your head.

 

Their shapes no longer hold meaning. I move quickly.

There’s still a flicker in you worth chasing.

 

So I grip the handles of your chair, steer you toward

the salt-snap of ocean wind, the chorus of sparrows,

 

the cluttered hum of market streets, wherever there

is midday drama. I turn you where you once turned

 

yourself. I carry you the distances your legs once measured

in half the time. And now, where your voice once lived,

 

there is only hush – no breath, no pulse, no sound. Yet I

move you places. Wherever we are, I insist that you’re still here.

No longer your decision 

 

Country, landscape, the ones I walked with –

what did it all amount to, when your silence

 

trailed behind each scene like a shadow too

heavy to name? You knew the weight, I carried

 

the mystery. Cast a beam on the figure left in

the rearview – me, for now. The past, still pacing

 

that stretch of road where I stood guard over your name.

I saw the stars, breathed in the wild sweetness,

 

offered up truths -but redemption? No, not mine to take.

I work. I endure. The pay’s a joke, the living lean.

 

I’ve learned that when the heart shakes, even stone walls tumble.

This is me, laid bare. No embellishment, no apology. The marrow

 

of who I am, wrapped in plain charm and hard-earned clarity.

But I’m not yours to choose anymore. That part’s done.