'Snails' & 'Frogs': Two Poems by Dani Putney

SNAILS
When his tongue
slid across my teeth
I thought of escargot—
slime all over my braces.
I wanted to swallow
its foreignness.
Outside,
lips were earthy
like his desert origins:
each chapped sliver of skin
a horseback ride
through sagebrush.
For thirty seconds
we were cowboys—
ranch house, kids,
barnyard sex.
He let go.
FROGS
We descended into California
marshlands. Frogs lured us
from drunken campfire reverie
with ricocheting ribbits.
Blue Solo cups,
flashlights in hand,
we muddied our boots searching
for amphibian treasure.
First target:
a tiny leopard frog
resting, oblivious
to our coup.
We seized
the creature in a two-
second swipe,
stored it in my cup.
Looking at vacuous black eyes,
I thought about the life
we intended to steal.
My friends laughed.
I dropped the cup.
Dani Putney is a queer, non-binary, Asian American poet exploring the West. Their poetry most recently appears or is forthcoming in Foothill, Helen, Juke Joint Magazine, and Lockjaw Magazine, among other publications. Presently, they're infiltrating a small conservative town in the middle of the Nevada desert. You can reach them on Twitter @01000100_Putney.