While sitting on the fence, I saw
A narcissistic monsoon frog
Regard its rippling countenance
Inside the well my Grandpa dug.
It croaked at it a mating call
And promptly got an echoed yes,
But something in the eagerness
Alerted it to something else.
It jumped around the steining wall
And stole a look inside to check.
The one inside seemed eager still
And beckoned to its rippling lake.
“Don’t fall for it,” I heard me say.
It, startled, jumped into the well.
I clapped my forehead, slapped my thighs,
And bit into a half-picked nail.
“For all I know it’s happier.
The monarch of its monsoon realm.”
I let the drizzle tickle me,
Resumed my throne upon the fence.
Minakhi Misra 