Monarch

The charcoal of pavement contrasts bright orange

as black bleeds into bleak gravel.

A fallen angel-straddling heaven and hell-

broken antenna fail to hold up the halo

and decayed wings catch air through holes,

fluttering in the chill of wind.

These wings once fluttered over bushes.

 

Nature staged its own coup,

toppling a tower of beauty until no one

takes notice of the crumpled monarch.

Even birds fly overhead on chilled winds,

glancing uninterestedly at the pavement

where a once-desired butterfly now rests, lifeless,

until his carcass rots to nothing.

His final resting place on the sole

of the occasional passersby.