Pheromone flakes were dropped from a plane
This week to fool the gypsy moths,
Scattering scent so widely they’ll be confused,
An aromatic birth control.
She says they’re pests, not pollinators
Like her carefully nourished caterpillars.
Waiting for each pupa to break open
In winged glory, she wants to know, why
Do the butterflies get all the good press?
I think of her as she might look
Caught in a photo flash,
Her arm extended like Isadora Duncan
As she reaches up to snatch
A luna moth from the evening sky.
She has a cage on her back porch
Where females call with their scent:
A male sometimes travels miles
Attracted by a single molecule.
These are rare species she’s breeding,
Arranging introductions, Miss Moth, meet
Mr. Moth. She’s even been known to
Take a hand and help matters along
When cobwebbed antennae blinded
A suitor to his ladylove
Now scant inches away.
I tease the Moth Madame about pimping
But the truth is I admire
A woman who sets her clock for 3 a.m.,
To keep the dance of life moving.