The Tree Frogs

The cable slinks black through the high grass,
venomous as any viper.
One hand holds it clear, wary
while the other rows the mower
in short strokes,
hewing clean suburban swatches
of respectability.

I edit out the frantic hops
caught in my periphery,
and think of Darwin,
satisfied that my gloveless palm
will hold, thick, unbroken.

Oct. '99

---

– home –