IN THE CITY OF DRUNK BUTTERFLIES

Tara Campbell

Our flight was already erratic. You smiled, commenting on our fluttering path, admiring us as beautiful pollinators, but not as someone you would want behind the wheel of a car. So a bunch of us got together and said what the hell, let’s lean into this thing and get wasted.

It’s not a far leap from nectar to fermented fruit, just takes a little patience to wait for it. And not everyone was into it, but those who were gathered in the corner of the meadow by the old crabapple tree, and we had some drinks and some laughs. We laugh a lot, actually, even sober, but you can’t hear us, so we didn’t think you’d care. And we don’t know why you people expected anything different, but butterfly drunk is just chill. But of course you want to know every last detail now, because it’s all been monetized.

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