May Day
by Bill Glose

I realized today was first of May
this morning when
mayflies said hello.

I returned their greeting with a dance
of spastic jerks and lunges,
hands waving circles above my head,

slapping skin like a nun’s ruler.
Perhaps I shouldn’t have worn
my red shirt,

a Russian flag reminding
communist swarms that today
is International Worker’s Day

and any fool barreling down a path
in the woods emitting that
sweet capitalist scent of sweat

should be branded with bite marks,
a tattoo that tells others
today was meant to be a day of rest.

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