Red Admiral

That's him -

standing in the doorway
hungry for the chase
bent-coathanger/bamboo-cane/
net-curtain trap in his hand,
twisting the lid
on a jam-jar laced
with laurel leaves
and flicking through
The Observer's Book
of British Butterflies.

That's him -

flailing through hedgerows
waist deep in stingers,
ploughing up downland
against a chalky breeze,
to the ambush spot, where -
swish out of stillness,
netmouth shut,
the prize is snatched
and tipped triumphantly
into the killing jar.

Torn between guilt and fascination,
transfixed by the flickering life
slowly fading behind the glass,
we watch the metamorphosis
of butterfly to a specimen.

That's him -

conjuring up a craze
to fill the empty summer days.

Collecting

Red Admiral and Clouded Yellow
Large White and Purple Hairstreak.

Possessing

Orange Tip and Painted Lady
Marbled White and Brimstone.

Preserving

Peacock, Small Tortoiseshell,
Hedge Brown and Common Blue.

But -
mounted in the
museum of memory
all that remains
is smudge of dust
around a rusty pin.