Arlene Corwin writes

The Mating Frogs

Well it’s April, and a Brooklyn girl

Along her Swedish country road,

Swedish husband by her side,

She, still naive and uninformed

Sees/doesn’t see the camouflaged

Small grey-brown speckled frog guy

Spackled on a grey-brown lady.

Garbage truck may come today; they’re in the way.

So nudging these two pre-historic

Monsters, (I beg Kent to leave them be.

They’re having sex). If that were me

I’d be in shock. “For God’s sake, it’s their yearly fuck,

So stop it Kent!”  

But still he seems indifferent.

They don’t appear to give a fig.

A fuck, a fig - the bottom lady frog hulk big.

Bumping, lunking, schlepping, hopping off  into the wood,

Off towards the lake, still glued

And much in love.