Metamorphosis

JAY ROGOFF

The caterpillar longs to be a snake,
insinuating his stripes among the green,
munching bit by bit, leaving the leaf-vein
erect, those cellulose bones. He loves to suck
the green life-juice--but he needs more: to strike
with subtlety, blindsiding folks in plain
day and tattling fruit recipes; to twine
in trees; to give history a start at the stroke
of noon. Incognito in the cool cocoon
he ditches his baby fat and skanks
down to a clean white carapace, a spine,
six limbs, a grinning skull, two shriveled wings
he'll pump orange, laced with venomous black
to loose him on a luscious world, its monarch.

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