Salad frog-daze

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,

organic vinaigrette