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Lepidoptera Down

In the hall outside my apartment
the tabby that haunts the building
has killed a giant moth: the debris
stretches from my neighbor’s door
to my doorstep, a sea of brown
flecks of tattered membrane, like
pieces of shredded airplane fuselage.
The main body, sans left wing,
plows into the thick grey carpet,
panicked sensors shrieking alarms;
the engines splutter, flutter weakly,
then silence, as the beast slinks
away. Tower loses contact with craft.
Expected survivors: none.

This poem was originally published under the pen name Gabriel Gadfly.
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