I Find Him Eating Butterflies

I find him eating butterflies. They’re beautiful, he says.
If I eat enough of them, I’ll be beautiful too.

He stuffs a monarch in his mouth,
fuzz clinging to his lips.

I hear the flowers weep.

He begins to eat them too,
stray petals on his shoes.

A hummingbird arrives —
dips her bill into his eye,
takes a long, melancholy drink.

What to think — is he crazy,
or is he wise? Does beauty mind? Should I?

Poems, Slightly Used, June 4, 2008

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William Michaelian