The Grey Monarch Poem by nathan martin

a caterpillar with a pint of guinness
is no caterpillar at all.
my dry leaf cocoon remains
left in the corner of a dim
bar with a dark pint.

metamorphosis and stumble
scribble and shift so as not to
slur well maybe just a little as
I lean crookedly next to the urinal.

now a butterfly with a pair of cardboard
wings might still be a butterfly
as long as he's not cut off to soon.

my coaster telling me all i need to know
an empty glass to my right reflects in me

this sackcloth heart hung
on a barstool for moths
to perch and feed

metamorphosis curse and fade

seven more weeks until
my monarch days

seven more steps to the
door.