A Frog, A Dog And A Tiger

I hear you before I see you.

A small croak, one crooked offbeat to the

Padded patter of my feet.

I wonder what you are doing down there,

Sitting in the road, waiting for a bus.

The city is a funny place for a frog.

Particularly one called Tiger.

You don’t say much, your throat is busy

Thump, thump, thumping

And your bug eyes don’t tell me anything

That your tight fists don’t.

I wonder what you might taste like,

You look a little dry.

I want to poke you but I have never seen

One of you before. Do you bite?

A pie box is fetched from the cafe across

The road and you are scooped up and

Dropped into it.

Lunch, I guess.

But when we reach the garden

I am shut inside and you are the one

Released out onto the grass.

I’ll find you later, I think.

You just need a good dressing.