Somewhere west of the last town,
just this side of sundown,
the road straightens
into the dusty emptiness of forever.

I pull over to pee
in the buckling parking lot
of an abandoned warehouse
whose faded sign reads
"Butterflies, Inc."

I try to grasp what this means:
a butterfly hatchery?
or is the term butterfly
euphemistic for something I've missed?

I get back in the car and continue west,
fluttered forward by imagined wings,
golden and frail.

Text and image © 2011 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.