The American frog

The Amaiwican Fwoggy

ogles me from over his

spectacles of green and yellow.

Eyes he has, eye-normous globes

utterly lacking in prettinizz.

I think of Casa de Susic

who has never once made music

in this amorous boudoir

which reeks of odours nostalgic

out of a candy-jar.

You are an Argus, the bearer

of the soul of Todis Rex,

oh you bubble-ogle starer

eyeing me through golden specs.