When I was a boy I walked often
to a pond near my house that was full with debris
and car parts and dark water and duck weed
and frogs who made a deep “sprung” noise
Later on I built a shelter not far from there
with a small fire-pit and I’d sneak away at night
to drink or smoke by myself when I hated people
and I’d listen to the “sprung” noises of the bullfrogs
going on all night.
I am often afraid as an adult to open my eyes
right before dawn or at any time really
because I spend so much time listening to those frogs
going “sprung-sprung-sprung” in my head
wherever I am.
It is at its worst when I dwell too long in places
that remind me of the oil-shine and stink of the water
in that little pond, really no more than a drain-off
from who knows what past failed industry, thick with
the “sprung” of poisoned bullfrogs.
I expect one day a frog will leap out of there and into
my hands and take over their function and instead
of writing or kneading bread or making a guitar work
some magic they will turn reeking and oily and from them
will issue a “sprung” sound
as I shove a gun into my mouth.