Global Warming

My pet frog Fred inquired of me today
if we could host just one last lawn event
and ask his wrinkled friends to come and play
croquet before the grass turns brown. He meant,
I think, that green is scarcer every week
and soon the sauna we call home will fry
our favorite haunts. A tear fell on his cheek,
the first such time I’d ever seen him cry.

I watched Fred’s family shrink and gulp bad air
as cousins, aunts and uncles made their way
to water, dragging turkish towels. I dare
to claim they looked like tourists just a day
from death. Their creek had shriveled from the heat,
an ugly muddy mire to cool their feet.