Julene Tripp Weaver

Living in a Giant Toad

	"We could easily be lost in the great 
	gulp of the ultimate toad"
			Night Flight, Buffalo Head Solos, Tim Seibles

Why not a toad? Some say the earth
is turtles all the way down.
Some say—they are the Indians
came well before us, had their
own reasoning.
Worked out just fine till someone
desecrated their stories
with a new story—
a machine age industrial
scientific dream of a Jetson's
tomorrow   that would
make everything spiffy clean.

The refrigerator turns off
and my whole body collapses.
The toad is calmer now
except for the siren outside
passing into the night
helping other earthlings 
who sit in our giant toad.

Why not this story?
The Jetson's world
has not materialized
except for Robot Vacuum
cleaners mass produced   
they roam in circles—
we guide them
using our feet   too tired
to take time to pre-program.
Where is that Robot slave
you promised?

If you force feed your story 
at least make it good for us
who sit waiting in our dark toads 
our refrigerators humming— 
our toad tired of the constant noise.
This American Dream—
now cliché story—
promised   is beyond reach.
Many of us sit waiting in the dark, 
our own stories missing   
archived somewhere 
in the collective loss.

—Julene Tripp Weaver

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