The Chrysalis

A poem from 2017

How many butter flies would it take

A tub of pseudo butter to make?

I'm fully aware it would be a fake

I'm not an idiot, for goodness sake!

But imagine

Wow!

Now the poor brown cow

Could get a bit of respite from chewing the cud

Take a break, Daisy

We don't need a milk lake

Churning in my stomach

The fly butter on my bread

Forced it down in broad daylight

And now I feel ill

This experiment did not go too well

And I'm like the old lady who swallowed a fly

Perhaps I'll die?

Perhaps I'll metamorphose into a butter fly?

A punishment to fit the crime!

Guilty, my lord!

But the true fate is much worse

My body decays

And from within

Bursts out a giant horror

I became the chrysalis