At first, I think this is my kind of joint.
Then as I walk in, “Ouch!”
“Dude, watch out for the bar,” the bartender says.

I climb up the stool,
wiggle my tail into the seat and try
to figure out what will take the sharp off my worst points.

“Bartender, that’s my bowl,”
I glare at him venomously
as he serves some anyone in skinny jeans a scorpion bowl
and a plate of something munchy.

“Screw this place,” I say
and I walk out into the pouring rain.

A frog is swimming around in the torrents
where the road should be.

“Hey buddy,” I yell at her,
“I need to get across.”

She rolls her eyes at me, “I’ve known creepers like you,
I’m not going to give you the chance
to hurt me.”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” I tell her,
“I just need…. a way out.”

She looks into my eyes, she softens,
“Ok, hop on my back,
I’ll carry you.”

Halfway across I start to ravage her.

“Why would you do that, now we’re both going down,” she says.

“I can’t help it,” I tell her,
“It’s my nature.”