Toad

inspired by the work of Disembodied Poetics and Alice Cohen

I'm too young for creaky bones,

But old enough to feel them,

I feel like a fly in a trap,

Carved from streets that will never change,

Or a mouse,

Galavanting through a tarmac maze,

Looking for some cheese I can call happiness.

 

In the end I'll just sit,

A toad on the concrete lip,

Of a concrete pond,

Stiller than a metaphor for death,

Strumming stolen rhythms,

Into a dusty guitar,

A daylight oracle,

Prophesizing futures,

That will never come to pass.

By: Torrin A. Greathouse