Memorial Day, 2020

by Christine Adams Beckett

For Peter and Suzanne

Dusk extinguished the day,
its wicks of pink ignited clouds
burned to carbonic cords
of grey, while the birds quieted

their melody leaving only
percussion to the peepers,
the hyla crucifer,
to dismiss the band, and

call to other cross-bearing
frogs, a love song to their betrothed
from greater than six feet.
The female will lay her eggs,

after a socially intimate
rendezvous-vous, in a near-by pond
on an antique farm, while we mourn
the dead of our wars, avoidable,

those fighting a virus, perhaps
not as avoidable, and
slug the dregs of what’s left
of the rose-colored wine.

We long to embrace our guests,
two kisses on the cheek goodnight,
bid adieu; but instead, we
retreat to our homes to join,

at leisure, from across state lines,
those incessant, blessed frogs.