tadpoles in the radio

every comma is just a tadpole 
waiting for legs. all the railroads
have turned into snakes. i ignore 
a calendar reminder on my phone
& instead call my aunt who is dead.
she used to sing me happy birthday 
with her sister over the phone.
she still does only i don't show
anyone else or i think they would 
get too worried. the tadpoles would 
keep me company in the bath
when i didn't have a spoon. they pestered
me for my legs. i said, "they are not
as great as they seem." i met a boy inside
a crystal ball. we talked about
running away to the other side
of the moon where darkness makes
anyone soft. i loved his dog.
i loved his parking lot in winter.
i even loved his bathroom. there were
not enough tadpoles. i once had a frog 
who escaped. he got a job as a mailman
& brings me real estate people's goofy flyers now.
we all could use a hole in the sky. we all
could use another pair of legs i guess.
instead, i consider what it would
have been like if i handed them over.
get me round & in the pipes. all my 
eyelashes like tadpoles. we finally get
to the creek & it's dried up. 
we are in desperate need of rain.
i bend over the rocks & try weeping
as much as i can. i don't even get enough
to wet all the mud. flies come. 
i chase them away. i hate punctuation. 
i would prefer to just keep talking
& let the reader pluck out what
they want to hear. call me a word search
or worse, a crossword. i hand out
guppy nets. open my mouth wide.
call my father until he remembers he's 
a father. until the transformation begins.
legs & lungs. the gills, gone like pleats
in a skirt. the trains run all night even though
the tracks are made of snakes.