the croaking of frogs in heat
sounds like the pointless ramblings
of tattling hags
wasteful sprinklers
hissing like menacing snakes
water the lush ground
and dampen the air
snails uncoil out of their shells
& lured out of their shady refuges
make an aimless run (as if!) across cemented pathways,
where people and bike wheels
in their blind, demented night tread
punctuate the monotonous midnight drone
with a crack that ends their nightly marathon
leaving behind a (half-finished) slimy trail
(a half-marathon?)
crowned by a gruesome mass of organic bits—
the lone mark of their sorry lives
i do not care to hear any of this
nor bear witness to the carnage of snails
(on better nights a good appetizer...)
and yet i keep my music-bearing vessel tucked away,
too lazy
(read, unwilling)
to choose another soundtrack
for this midnight walk
i walk decidedly,
leaving it all undisturbed,
treading lightly,
making no sound,
cracking no shells,
startling no horny toads,
leaving no mark of my own life
on the road
in the air
in the night
