Frog on one hook, Toad on the other.
The buyer decides who for left and for right.
Or two of each creature, so always, they’re together.
For each human ear, the pair on one bike
like hills playing mountains that scratch the sky’s back,
that difficult itch. Toad holds the string
with the angst of a puppeteer made blind to the man
he can move with his whims. Like a shield from the sting
of all he can’t maneuver, Frog holds the kite.
Someone hit my mirror. You held up the note
with another man’s name. For a moment, your eyes
wore something I’d never seen. I think about Toad
with a book on his lap, a face-length from Frog
who listens, dangling, as something bigger nods.
Andrea Camille D’Souza is a graduate of Princeton University where she studied Operations Research and Poetry. Her poems have been published in Tilted House, Olney Magazine, and elsewhere. She lives in the San Francisco Bay Area. You can visit her on Twitter at @animalcamille.