I was extinguishing a spent joint
In a rusty can of ashes and butts on the front stoop
As a cold wind nipped at my bare feet.
I always walk around outside with bare feet on the frost and ice-cold dew because I like being reminded of my nerve-endings. They are even as far down as one’s feet, you know?
As the final plume of smoke escaped the lip of the metal container,
A beautiful little white moth crawled out from under the dead cinders.
She had a fancy mane of fur about her thorax, beady black eyes, feathery antennae, and subtle orange markings on her downy wings.
I felt bad for stubbing out the joint, and smoking her out of her diurnal hiding place,
But she only seemed minimally inconvenienced.
When the smoke ceased, she disappeared back over the lip
And back into her ashes, not bothered by the fact that she was pristine, and the ashes were not.
*** Oooo! A pristine white moth crawls out of dirty ashes…. Real original metaphor there, Sugar Lips! ***
*** Actually, there are no metaphors or allusions here. I literally saw the most darling little white moth crawl out of a rusty coffee can I use as an ash tray for my joints. I even said, “Awwww” when I saw her. ***