Poems

Monarch

When I hit the monarch
I scream so loud my throat hurts
then turn on my wipers
GOD - WHAT AM I DOING

He’s still moving, but can’t fly
maybe it’s shock or maybe he’s suffering
should I kill him
how
how can I know how he feels
how can I know what to do

I can’t wait
I’m already late
my sick cat is home waiting
for the chicken on my front seat

a cat is bigger than a butterfly


I make a nest under a hedge

When I was 15 and so heavy hearted
I sat on a railroad trestle
skipping school alone
with a radio
at the exact moment
when Elton John sang:

Butterflies are free to fly, fly away, high away...
A dead butterfly,
from a breeze, fell into my lap.

He can’t have flown all the way from Mexico
so I could hit him and he could die
here
under a housing development sign
in Axeman, Pennsylvania.