Butterfly Boy

A larval creature stands at the edge of a short cliff
He grips the edge,
Staring at the water, saying to himself,
“If you think you’re cold now, just wait”
He attempts, in vain, to focus on the 50 meters
That lay ahead

“They’re all looking at you
Are you fast enough?
Strong enough?
Skinny enough?
They can tell
They’ll know that you don’t belong here”

He will soon know metamorphosis
Upon plunging into the chlorine-treated race track
He will hear the jolting starter
And open his wings to fly.