Flying Under The Influence


wobbly wings flap
in drunken circles
between bounces
off of dirty stucco walls

right before careening
towards a trash can
in full bloom

but petals
of candy wrappers
and cigarette butts
yield no pollen.

a boozy geezer
on the bus stop bench
sputters with a lisp
“That’s a monarch.”

but it looks to me
like the throne
has already been

Jack T. Marlowe