Butterfly dreaming

I was lounging on the porch this morning, 

coffee cup in hand, 

when a little yellow butterfly flitted over my feet 

and disappeared around the corner of the house,

only to flit back a few minutes later

the same way it came.

Butterflies seem incapable

of traveling in straight lines,

but if one ever could,

I’m sure it would fly off to the mailbox,

head down the gravel road to the next pasture,

through the barbed-wire fence,

past the herd of Guernsey cows,

over the round bales of hay,

follow FM 149 to the next county,

buzz the old limestone courthouse,

fly well above the tree tops

to swim in the sun for a while,

then shoot a straight line down the coast

to the Florida Keys,

out to the Bahamas,

Jamaica, the Virgin Islands,

and spend the rest of its short life

lounging on some exotic porch, 

sipping on hibiscus and bougainvillea,

while dreaming of being a pirate.