Something’s different about Bubba and Buddha
today. Something. I can’t tell what it is
between those two toads—pocket plump,
jade gray, wart-jeweled, bulb-eyed,
finger-footed—cloned monk brothers
from the same branch of the Bufonidae tree.
Maybe it’s Buddha, the way he plops
and bumps along my Zen garden, or
maybe it Bubba, the way he squats,
thinking nothing, croaking nothing—
oh! ambivalent amphibian. But I can tell
between Bubba and Buddha
as my inner eye can tell between
my own blue-gray eyes,
mirrored in the mirror.
I can tell the difference today.
I can tell the difference.
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