By Michael Aaron Gallagher
I must begin by confessing that I will not,
as other poets have so eloquently done,
discuss the beauteous nature of a frog,
which only happens to be resting on a lilly pad before me.
And at the moment I arrive,
he has very coincidentally decided to leave his throne,
and rejoin the watery pool of his childhood.
It is of no importance,
to either the reader or the poet,
the physics or philosophy of this jump.
Nor is the explosive “ker plop”
that resounds as he greets the water,
of any interest to me at this time.
Likewise, after speaking to the frog at length,
he has informed me that he can do without your haiku,
about this brief sojourn.
Because, after all,
the odds of this being the very same frog,
that other poets have mentioned, are very slight.
More likely, this is the frog that keeps us all awake,
in the early spring,
because He— And only He—
is unable to find a mate,
at the hour during which troublesome tadpoles are created,
on the marshy banks of a puddle or stream,
that this long-legged jumping frog calls “home.”
Excerpt from Michael Aaron Gallagher’s unpublished book of poetry titled “Worn-Out Cinema.” Copyright © 2000.
The above work is not to be used, reprinted or broadcast without written permission from the author.