David Chadwick

A poem for the month - August

Brass Frog

The brass frog needs a shine.

It was always dull.

Most of the time, it sat

in the china cabinet,

although, when I was smaller,

it sometimes roamed

linoleum fields

and devoured toy soldiers –

not what it was designed for.

The brass frog had a function.

It was made to wait on coffe-table lily pads,

mouth wide open, ready to snap shut

on cigarette-butt flies.

But it lacked the capacity

for a sixty-a–day man

and was soon put away

with the other ornaments.

I don’t know why I want to keep it.

I guess because it was always there.

Behind the glass, it saw everything,

but speaks to no-one –

only to me.