Poison frogs at nighttime

sparkle neon slime,
garishly croaking unafraid,
as each reflects
a vivid, fresh moonlit color
into the wide set, wet teeth
of a man growling slowly by
in his 87 Buick;
All windows rolled down;
Humming in tune
with his radio, glowing red.
A hungry night chirps inside
him— deep and chattering
like tiny brittle bones
crunching between jaws
of a creature like him.
A side car door swings open
and she, all in blue, hops in.
His car— but her neighborhood;
Neither is certain which will
play the part of the fly
but both enjoy these
parlor games.

written on 02/16/2011 by: Matt Kane