The Wizard Who Turned His Wife into a Frog

You can't say you didn't have it coming,
fluttering those eye-lashes at other men,
wiggling your behind so outrageously in public.
Try it now when you have no lashes
and your rear end is sadly compromised by flippers.
No guy's going to pay the least attention
to a slimy green frog croaking from a lily pad.
Another amphibian will be the best that you can do.
And keep a look out for flies.
The tongue that once roamed your lips seductively
must zap insects out of the air
or you don't eat.
Your eyes are bulging.
I know what you're trying to say.
You're pleading, "Change me back! Change me back!"
But really my dear,
I don't think you would make it as a tadpole.


John Grey
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in That, Dunes Review, Poetry East and North Dakota Quarterly with work upcoming in Haight-Ashbury Literary Journal, Thin Air, Dalhousie Review and failbetter.