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The Glass Frog


(photograph by Jaime Culebras)


Juicy red heart beats under glass skin. Sneaky varicose veins pierce the frog’s defenses. Dripping teeth gnash and drool over a tasty morsel; the frog can’t run, so it hides. Green leaf protects fleshy insides. Does the frog hate its heart?


I fool myself by throwing this jacket over my torso as a deterrent. I twist white supremacy to my advantage: I put on a disheveled costume and lumber out my door, but the predators are inside. My heart is juicy red. Black jacket protects soft curves. Does the frog hate its heart?


Everyone on this bus has PTSD. They jump at the sight of circling MUNI sharks, so subtly it'd take a trained eye to clock. They sit with perfect posture in hostile chairs. I know there are 45 pairs of eyes watching the same door I am, so I relax and wait for my frogs to make a move first.

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