Screwing Butterflies

It’s one of those chance finds —

a glorious Common Crow

lying on the footpath

missing an abdomen

just thorax and wings

still intact

though turned and twisted

into an unnatural pose

markings unsullied

cream spots curdled on black.

squatting on the sidewalk

I take my time

scooping it into a tissue

ignoring passers-by

who stare at my hand

in undisguised disgust.

in the studio

I untwist the wings

sponging the green trail

of gelatinous ooze

dabbing a spot of superglue

on a black screw —

a make-shift abdomen.

and attaching the top half

I spread out its wings

mount the Common Crow

and get ready to have a go

when Val came by unannounced.

she can’t decide the term for me

depraved necrophiliac, she says

tapping her walking stick

and screwing up her nose

but I assure her

that that’s not what this is —

that I brought it home

for a model

not a lay.