New York Butterflies
Oh Monarch, you are heavy with Mexico,
while the Painted Lady stops at a newsstand,
legs cased in pure silk.
I would rather wear a Crimson Patch on my lapel
than a tie from Brooks Brothers.
The Autumn leaf drifts like a drunk Duke of Burgundy
into the gutter of 8th Avenue.
Do you remember the Golden birdwing in August?
No, you were in East Hampton eating a peach
with Jimmy. Such ankles!
The Mourning Cloak is darker than my mood today,
and the Miami Blue? – I’m going to flag a cab.
Orange Sulphur, Peacock, Spring white,
you are all just passing through the traffic.
A Golden Hairstreak on a parking meter,
a Sonoran Blue past the bodega
where I get those Gauloise because
you prefer them to Marlboro.
Let the Lustrous copper and the Silver Emperor
stay in the sculpture garden.
I am having a hot dog with the Wandering skipper.
The Rice paper is blank like my page.
The Fiery skipper and the Large Tortoiseshell
know more about the wind than the best politicians
in City Hall. Speckled wood, Pine Satyr, Gatekeeper,
we are all just flying toward the next
pastrami sandwich.
dVerse Poetics: But no, a Butterfly
I enjoyed this stream of consciousness NYC style.
“we are all just flying toward the next
pastrami sandwich.” 😊