Opposing Mirrors Poem by Mark Heathcote

Morning shift watching him launch himself
watching him chasing; 'cabbage white butterflies
in my mind's eye, it's a kind of carnival dance
one without any graceful feathery ranks
one whereby he's always out of step, out of tune
one in which both have danced back and forth,
through opposing mirrors and herbaceous borders
too many times for it to be fun-and-frolics.

The butterfly whirls between gaping-finger-grasps
Then as nearly always does …this autistic man
shouts his ear-piercingly loud protestations
he claps at thin blue air changing directions
himself becoming the butterfly on its maiden flight.
And the butterfly befitting a young autistic boy
who now thought he-too, could learn to fly
Somehow pirouettes off on high into the sky.