I come outside
at the wrong time.
My brother, shirtless,
bakes under the Mississippi
oven sun, tosses
a frog into the air
and watches
its eyes pop
as it nears the concrete,
grinning as it splatters
and looking at me
for further direction.
I nod and watch.
Inside I cool
and await the
coming guilt. I start
to feel my skin itch
and I scratch madly.
I transform into
a stick held in
the sweaty palms
of my brother. He
skins my bark with
a knife, rubs flint, sparks
me, burns me. I crackle
in the fire. In another life,
another world, I’m
fashioned into a spear
by tall Mississippi frogs who
like the way humans
sound when they fall.
I’m impaled on a stick
outside of the frog temple
and long frog tongues **** me.
I’m never offered
to the gods.
Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 12:00 PM UTC
I come outside
at the wrong time.
My brother, shirtless,
bakes under the Mississippi
oven sun, tosses
a frog into the air
and watches
its eyes pop
as it nears the concrete,
grinning as it splatters
and looking at me
for further direction.
I nod and watch.
Inside I cool
and await the
coming guilt. I start
to feel my skin itch
and I scratch madly.
I transform into
a stick held in
the sweaty palms
of my brother. He
skins my bark with
a knife, rubs flint, sparks
me, burns me. I crackle
in the fire. In another life,
another world, I’m
fashioned into a spear
by tall Mississippi frogs who
like the way humans
sound when they fall.
I’m impaled on a stick
outside of the frog temple
and long frog tongues **** me.
I’m never offered
to the gods.
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