Marry the Mole

an opinion of a frog always has to be right

they will rippit, and bounce

squeak and schrikt

until an aching moon disrupts it’s evening

she’s tired from the work of the other wildebeests

it hops and bops on to a lilypad where it’s throat expands

into a circular microphone

the moon watches him go on, the princess rolling her eyes from the tower

needing to be kissed, snogged, screwed and thrown away to the pond

to turn the slimey frog into the handsome prince

so she goes over, gives him a smooch and the green cover of his body evaporates into amour. yet his first sentences ask for his dinner, and all the moon wants to do is have a french delinquency with the break of his leg.

man or frog, are they any different?