Dead Frog

July 28 2011

A dead frog

floats on its back,

slowly ripening.

The flaccid body

gently rocking

in the riffles that lap the shore.

The smooth curve

of its off-white belly,

which will turn bloated, and dark.

The pale underside

of its zigzag legs

with all the tension gone,

slack, in the water.

And two tiny arms

open wide,

as if signing their surrender.

I realize it was the dog,

as I had sat, lakeside

taking the sun.

She finds endless fascination

in frogs,

toys that smell of slime, and bugs

and move all by themselves.

She nuzzles forcefully

cajoling them to play.

Paws them underwater

too slow to get away.

And insistently probes,

with her exquisitely sensitive nose

soft sensuous muzzle.

She cannot recognize

a fellow creature’s suffering,

the inscrutable line

between life, and death.

And when all movement stopped, abandoned it,

in hot pursuit

of balls and sticks.

Because she sees no difference

between inanimate objects

and frogs,

no concept of death.

So, was I negligent to leave her unchecked,

a predator, by nature

born and bred?

She kills

by accident,

naively exploring her world.

Her feral cousin kills

for food,

a necessary end.

It’s we who kill for fun

belief

revenge  — 

holy wars

the ethnically cleansed.

I prodded the frog with a stick.

It did not respond.

Only the rocking,

long loose legs

scissoring

in the desultory waves

that tug, back and forth

at the shore.

Pretty much all that happened today:   the dog and I, swimming, hiking, chasing. The dead frog, of course.  And me, feeling guilty I let her have her way.

Of course, a simple poem like this can’t help but be hijacked – in my hands – into an anti-religious tirade. There are many evil reasons we kill each other. But this devout atheist predictably zeros in on holy wars and crusades!