The Frogs

The karaoke cacophony awakens at night,
A chaos of creatures wet and insects small.
Crickets create the chorus
Above the wet, throaty thrall of the frogs.
I give in to gastric gases
And the thrumming of the depths.
Rice fields and ponds, underneath
Untamed jungly mountains.
Inner reflux reflects the real
Belches and calls,
Frogs, flies and fish,
Toads who crawl
And recall nightmares of old
In my slippery sleep.
The morning moist glazes
Undried towel and intelligent device,
With its signature.
Now only the bubbles and ripples remain,
Dashed darts across ponds,
Subtle reminders of a scary secret,
That maybe, to them, our world belongs.