By Hannah Christensen

There’s a hidden alleyway

Where the gutters form a lid

Like a tunnel through the dark

Where the wild things are hid

But the hardest one to find

Is the hardest one to catch,

With his strong and jumpy legs

And his slimy skin to match.

Yes, I scrabble on the ground

On my bare and scabby knees

And I sing a little song

As I scrabble through the weeds:

Here, froggy, froggy, froggy,

Here, froggy.

 

Now I’m big enough to lift

Up the cover on the street

And descend to underground,

Splashing drainage with my feet.

If the alligators here

Are as big as redwood logs

I can barely wait to see

The enormous sewage frogs.

It will be a mighty fight,

Bringing glory to my name.

We will join a circus tour.

Come and fill our lives with fame.

Here, froggy, froggy, froggy.

Here, froggy.

 

In the caverns of Peru

In the grottoes of Ceylon

I continue my pursuit

Of amphibianious spawn

From a salamander’s stare

To a fish’s ghostly fin

Wonders caught in headlight’s glare

Leave a restlessness within.

In the darkness of the shade

Far from light of sun or moon

In the damp stone corridors

I call out through moldered gloom:

Here, froggy, froggy, froggy.

Here, froggy.

 

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