by Ruth Yates

I grithe through pondwater,
my amphibian crawl
playing on people’s feelings;
people who dislike me.

I have no warts.
What you see
is the overflow of my feelings,
popping through my skin.

Have empathy for my
rough body, grobbly feet.

My eyes are friendly; cold like trees,
as I crawl to the pond’s edge,
my feet at cross-purposes
to plosh
with a blink
into the stringy water.