In fact, I’m improving.
This staggering May Day—
Lacking your presence
A solid week—
I nonetheless hear
Your telephone voice
In a luxury of trust,
A swell of thanks
My memory bears
No precedent for.
Further, I seem
Near sane in the mirrors
I’ve passed since dawn.
Reynolds Price, “May Day”
And one more May Day poem for the workers of the world, from nila northSun:
when i sleep
i should be paid
overtime
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