Aposematic

Monarch butterfly, headed south
for the winter, before its wing got stuck

chewing gum
on the hot tar road

what I can do

to leave it or to part it
from what it has fallen into
will mean its death. Instead of deterring
it was its royal orange that stopped me
clicking over; there’s material here
!

a metaphor for you and I

with me the butterfly and you the relentless
road, with zircon glints

I’ve cast myself as a butterfly before
when it comes to us
although I don’t see myself as
that type, usually, and now

you see me as a moth
maybe, and the chewing gum is grey,
the chicle that kept us

together, sticky and made of one of our
insides, but that’s too much, so, fine,
made of neither of us and
I hope, that neither of us
will see the likes of again.

Monarch butterfly, headed south
for the winter, before its wing got stuck

chewing gum
on the hot tar road

what I can do

I don’t see myself as this type either

but must, admit
my own milkweed poison.

~

turn around, turn: Grey

~

words: Rose Hunter, Mexico (YB poetry journal / blog)
image: 'Clips' - Smitha Murthy, India (Life Wordsmith)

*update: this poem received a Pushcart Prize nomination (blog note: BPR Pushcart Nominations)