Ecological Warfare

Amphibian tombs,

open asphalt caskets

in cul-de-sac cemeteries,

define everlasting peace

 

in Suburbia,

the new Holy Land.

Internal organs,

the currency of Eternal Rest,

 

are not mummified.

Frog remains

are preserved on roadways,

severed limbs

 

and the paste of smashed hearts

pickled between treads

of black rubber.

Suburban arsenals

 

silence croaks,

mute ribbets

of the amphibious.

There is no place,

 

no place in these environs,

for the cries

of the tail-less,

the hairless,

 

the common toad.

Streets become mass graves.

Squashed frog remains

paint blacktops green.

 

Windows are open -

the nights are noiseless,

amphibian-less.

The buzz of the mosquitos

 

slurping the red elixir

of life from plentiful veins

wakes them.

The flapping of millions

of invisible wings is deafening�"

a trumpet of disease;

an announcement of death;

an epitaph for a mass grave.

Author's Note

I'm curious to hear your interpretations!