a thing of beauty

a bright yellow butterfly
stands perched
on the door of a
public restroom.
a picture of
delicate gossamer rebellion
against its unworthy mothness
(the spiders don't care anymore)
holding fort
under the lone flickering light
that throws rusty shadows
of the unnameable.
ready for flight.unmoving.
its gaze is turned towards
the floral wallpaper
whose hard to believe
initial radiance stands
expectedly dulled,
corrupted by occupational
hazards.
(Would it have noticed
that the lily has petals missing
or that it is not the season
of chrysanthemums?)

meanwhile the licentious room
open to varied onslaughts
throws them back karmically
on suspecting and
unsuspecting visitors.
virulent vileness
greets abused senses
flinching in perfidy.
uncensored bawdy encounters
scream from walls and
sometimes cabins with
broken latches
unstymied by the rattle
of an exhaust fan falling
off its grimy hinges.

in this wholesome frame
of equivocal hideousness
a spot of beauty can be repulsive.
but the bright yellow butterfly
does not understand.
and holds its ground.
pasted on the door.
ready for flight.unmoving.