we have frogs in the attic.
they croak at night. they sing for hours. my cat prowls under the manhole, crooning to himself. the rhythm is kept by crickets, who perch outside. they don’t come into the hearth, which i keep warm in winter for them.
the frogs sleep a lot during the day, which is lucky for them, otherwise i’d go into the dark space with a very large hammer, and i’d splat them all, one by one, with my super-hammer of doom.
there are tadpoles in the river, which runs down the back of the garden. they’re like little black mutants, all at different stages of growth. some with legs, some without. some with stumps, while others were sleek and unblemished. when i was young, i used to put them in bottles, and keep them until they died. i didn’t know how to keep them alive, but i wished i did. i didn’t like it when they died.
i’d give them funerals by saying sorry, and burying them in the weeds.
they croak at night. they sing for hours. my cat prowls under the manhole, crooning to himself. the rhythm is kept by crickets, who perch outside. they don’t come into the hearth, which i keep warm in winter for them.
the frogs sleep a lot during the day, which is lucky for them, otherwise i’d go into the dark space with a very large hammer, and i’d splat them all, one by one, with my super-hammer of doom.
there are tadpoles in the river, which runs down the back of the garden. they’re like little black mutants, all at different stages of growth. some with legs, some without. some with stumps, while others were sleek and unblemished. when i was young, i used to put them in bottles, and keep them until they died. i didn’t know how to keep them alive, but i wished i did. i didn’t like it when they died.
i’d give them funerals by saying sorry, and burying them in the weeds.
No comments:
Post a Comment