I should have been more composed.
I mean, the frog was pretty small,
a florescent green and all
when it bounced out of the romaine
and crashed onto the hardwood floor.
I suppose the little guy was slightly dazed,
wanting really nothing more
then to hop away,
a natty avocado apparition
covered in drippy splotches of No-Name Ranch Dressing,
as alarmed as a frog can be
in a short-term salad crunch situation,
wanting, really, nothing more,
then to high-tail it back to the pond.
I, of course, was hopping mad
and said some foul frog-based obscenities
which I regret-frig-frag-frug-freg-frogggggg.
Certainly not one of my finer moments.
I should have been more composed
and, for that, I bear some small regret:
I mean the frog was pretty small,
a fluorescent green and all,
when it bounced out of the romaine,
not wanting to be unceremoniously et;
and, quite likely,
having a preference for a more wholesome,