Beetlebung and Kettlehole--April Poems

All That I Don’t Know

          “Nothing will come of nothing: speak again.”
          King Lear to Cordelia

Past the frog’s song and its thumping leaps
in the middle of the night, I know nothing
about chasing an amphibian without
unnerving both of us, though I can see me
in fantasy moves, a vaudeville princess running
after a frog, saying, “My love for you is like water;
please, scram, get out!”
Oh, Frog, teach me the way, for I ask
What do I know? Inward answer: “Nothing!”
What I know parades in front of me
now meaning not a thing, and if I speak again,
I‘ll say nothing because my nothing
has hornets in the eaves, fat spiders
in corners, and bats in the attic.
My nothing burns with passion, its ashes
in black ink, which does not free me from pain,
and a frog still thumps inside my house.

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True story.