Was that the first of May?
Did my mayday fly by
so suddenly, so unnoticed,
full of twenty four hours -
just like every other day -
but commentless,
uncelebrated,
unloved?
Mayday, mayday,
holiday,
a better indicator of spring
than any equinox.
And dismissed, out of hand,
gone already -
already it is the second day
and I cannot go back
into time and reverse it.
Goodbye, my day, may day.
Goodbye.
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