Metamorphosis by Michael L. Newell

One final time the old man erases the blackboard,
casually dismisses the class he has taught
for the last three years, and then collapses

into a chair to watch his life disappear out the door;

one or two students shake hands and wish him well 

before hurrying out the door to waiting cars

 

and summer vacation.  He is uncertain where

he goes from here, or whether he will ever hear

from the vanishing students, but it does not matter.

 

He has done all he can and begins to plan

his future, the few years between now

and the dark tunnel approaching ever nearer

 

day by day, a gaping maw about which he knows

nothing save his fear of nothingness.  He glances

at the door through which the focus of his energy

 

for the last several decades has vanished.

He stands and leaves the cocoon of the classroom

for one last time on his way to nowhere

 

in particular where he will have time to think

and write and begin to discover himself

or some reasonable approximation.  

 

A butterfly lands on his shoulder.  He brushes it off,

but it returns, not once, but twice.  He accepts

its presence, but eventually a gust lifts it 

 

into erratic flight.  Erratic flight -- the old man

smiles at the thought.  That has been the story

of his life, wildly veering paths which have 

 

brought him here to a precipice where he

will shortly begin his freefall toward remaining days

which summon him to discovery or despair.

 

 

* Previously published by cyberwit.net in 2020 in Wandering.

Michael L. Newell is a poet who lives in Florida.  He frequently publishes in Jerry Jazz Musician and Bellowing Ark.