Three Baby Frogs
Three baby frogs grandma said not to bother
but we were only eight, and we couldn’t wait to teach them tricks
so we dipped them in some paint.
We followed the little white dots into the garden
where we found them resting by the squash and leaning on the broccoli
and belly-up under the turnips with remnants of our Picasso’s on their tiny backs
and scared to death they’d peed on us and grandma would see
and know somehow we were murderers, Jeannie and me.
By Gwendolyn Poliszczuk
Check out the other winners of the 2015 Reader’s Digest Poetry Contest
A fruit is fated to be sliced.
It sings before the blade,
In joyful hope that now at last
It’s future has been made.
The slice is swift.
The foodie’s fast!
The rind is cut and saved.
The pulp is squooshed and
Squished and smashed! –
I’ve heard that it’s been said
No braver lemon gave it’s life.
The memory never fades
For citrus that resigns itself
To become lemonade.
By Fawn Power