DEATH Poem: May Flies, by Cole Weiss

t was a Monday or Tuesday morning,
right before we opened.
Nina sent us out
to go and see them.

We watched a thousand mayflies
out back at the museum,
their bodies, long and slow

quivered stupidly, they jumped around,
switching places for no reason,
just to die, like
tomorrow.

And I get it, I tell Louisa, who’s
putting her beautiful face
right up close to them.
I would do it, too.

Author: poetryfest

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