by Gideon Burton
I fed my frog uranium. Bad choice.
She's hopping mad, and I can't say I blame her.
There's something croaking awful in her voice,
and now I have my doubts I'll ever tame her.
It used to be her buggy eyes were blank,
but now they seem to radiate a passion.
This started out as just a little prank,
but something's changed about my froggy's fashion.
Her clammy skin was camouflaged with greens,
but that has changed; she blushes citric lava.
I fear the stuff has now rewired her genes;
her spit is spiked with alcoholic guava.
Amphibian with orange electric skin,
the aliens are now your next of kin.
Feel free to copy, imitate, remix, or redistribute this poem as long as you give proper acknowledgment of authorship. Photo: CMU 3rd Year Studio