My neighbor has a rock-rimmed pond
At the front of his house
And a frog of some
Unnatural material stands tall
Verdigris on the bank
Though evenings tiny flesh frogs honk there.
This tall tin toad is the only skyscraper we
Know in this neighborhood and makes us kin with
beaches in Florida that are spiked with new vertical
hotels and cheap fastfooderies that
squat the marshes and keep the shifting
sands out of sight.
It’s kin to the breast implant that sometimes walks
Past our house and the garish
Signage on the road between Albuquerque
And Santa Fe and the golf course
Where a Hopi kiva and condos were
A patch of wilderness recently. . .
Anything to keep nature out
And tinted to our taste
And quietly invisible.
Anything not to be reminded
That we exist as and live in
And are called to