the butterfly

your friend jimmy
is into eastern
religion now
after he lost his
life savings
at the racetrack.
you see him sitting
on a bar stool
at the neighborhood
pub chanting quietly
in a lotus position.
he has a beer in front
of him and pretzels
with a small jar of
hot mustard. he hears
you coming, sitting down
next to him, and motions
with his hand to wait,
one finger in the air.
he chants a few more
times, lets out a deep
breath then opens his
eyes. hey, he says.
you should try this,
man, i feel good after
i do that. you really
should get in touch
with your inner self,
you know, he says,
crunching down
on a pretzel. you
have to free the
true self that is
buried deep within
your ego. we are all
caterpillars trying
to become butterflies.
shut up, you tell him
then order a gin and tonic.