Frog King ( as observer)

Frog King as observer of his realm
an imposing grand arena
of sixty cubic feet not counting
combined surface area
of fuchsia flowering lily pads.

Imposing as he squats, intense
as any frog could be
swollen with thought upon his concrete hill.

He gets the big meat.

Frog King, His Majesty
~Imminent Culler of Protein~
sticky tongue zapping juicy bumbles
smearing flecks of pollen thick
across his smirking Frog King lips.

Late day sun, peeking through
warms old Frog King’s glistening back
this is why he is called King
~He has claimed the high ground~

Abundant peasant frogs abound
in jet black water lonesomeness
~this is not Big Frog City~
merely an abutment, an annex
a cement pond, an afterthought.

This un-abandoned trench complete
with ribbit ribbit hiccup rhythm
and with a mighty moonlit gulp
Frog King in mid-croak
is swallowed deep into his realm
into the black of night.