Drawl and Hum

Three hundred twenty is the number

         of frogs I’ve raised

and released during the pandemic.

         Yes, I’m trying to impress you,

but I don’t count the dead.

         The ones the hunter drove over.

The ones that dried up

         with the puddle they came from.

The ones eaten by their siblings

         because I filled my casserole dishes

with too many. Yes, clouds drag

         their feet, clothes sour

on the line, and tomatoes bust open

         in the garden. Every day

drawls and hums this song

         that won’t end.

But then, the 321st froglet

         climbs out, tail still swishing,

certain this world

         is as humid as the last.

Ready to join the choir.