Toad

[Sparkydashforth]

Whither now hunker-shins?
You have a sweet countenance,
a squat grace,
always middle-aged
on the contrary edge
of a speeding sun.
Another swift day has begun
yet you sit here
among the traffic
unflinching, low-sprung
deep-seated recliner,
standing-pat
over upholstered hams.
Lumpy Mona Lisa,
with your come-hither girth,
just a thin membrane
between you and chaos,
your skin an alien chiaroscuro,
a candle-lit atlas,
and in the cockle and crimp
a smugly gleam
and world-dismissing
Buddha smile.