Blue Mountain Arts Poetry Contest

The Frog King
by Eric Field

THirty-Second Contest
third Place

Who doesn’t know the story of The Frog Prince? 
Slimy, awkward creature kissed by a princess 
Princess kisses said creature 
Said creature becomes a prince — The End. 
That’s how I met my wife. 
I thought this princess was delirious 
Or myopic 
When she saw me as a prince. 
Still, she took me, warts and all. 
I couldn’t ballroom dance 
(And she had the aches and bruises to prove 
I needed more work on my feet!) 
I couldn’t promise her riches 
I couldn’t always make the heroic decisions 
I couldn’t give her a kingdom to rule with tiny princess heirs 
Still, she stayed by my side. 
When a baby princess finally came eight years later, 
I held the baby like a china doll 
Worried that I could break her with my pinkie. 
When I finally realized babies 
Weren’t made of spun glass, 
I could rock her to sleep 
And turn her around to the music. 
Maybe some of her mother did rub off on me. 
My wife, the queen, 
Active in social clubs, causes, support groups 
Planned a ball 
(A Valentine’s Day Daddy-Daughter Dance). 
She dressed the baby princess, 
Now an independent, energetic toddler, 
In a tiny ballgown. 
We placed the car seat in the carriage, 
And I had to bring her home 
Before the clock struck eight-thirty. 
(Any later would have resulted 
In a crabby toddler princess.) 
Two dances and a few popped balloons, 
But the princess talked happily for weeks after 
About the ball 
And her escort, 
Who worried if she would ever see him as a frog. 
After the queen bore another baby princess, 
I had my hands full at another ball 
With one princess needing a clean diaper 
And the other running around to pop balloons 
With other young princesses her age. 
It wasn’t until after the ball 
I noticed who I was. 
A weary king returning to a castle 
After a long day of grading papers, 
Lesson planning, and meeting deadlines. 
Two princesses would scurry into the garage 
And scream, "Daddy!" 
While the queen tried out new recipes 
From her cookbooks 
And her friends 
And several social media outlets, 
She would put on music 
While she prepared the chicken, 
Cut the fruit, and boiled the noodles. 
The princesses would fight over 
Who got to dance with the king first. 
After a few rounds with each princess, 
The queen would give a slow hug to her king. 
And I would look over at this dinner ritual, 
Savoring a kingdom I thought I did not deserve, 
Not knowing when I shed my amphibian skin, 
And took my throne proudly. 

Dedicated to my queen E.E. (Erin Elizabeth) and my two princesses, Ellen and Elise.