The People of the May
Dance, you bullet-headed lobster-folk,
Parade, o pretty solar-powered ladies,
And sturdy chaps, don’t hesitate to stomp
In off-road action flip-flops -
Put away those gloves and scarves,
Bring out your tents,
Even if they be Cath Kidston, gents -
Light up your long-forgotten barbecues,
Waste a work-day in the park -
Such larks -
Dust off the shades and flowered shorts,
Quaff an ale or coloured cocktail,
Forget to hydrate properly,
Baste in factor oops-forgot,
Embrace the hot,
Think ‘please-no-monsoon-mud-this-year’
Festivally optimistic,
Sacrificially,
Cast the runes of Womad,
Question old Inspector Glasteau,
And send Sir Bestivale to quest -
It might be dry, you never know (I jest),
But for now,
The Green Man and the May Queen,
Bathe us in reflected glory,
Even tom-cats and old terriers,
Cease bite-and-scratch on such a day,
Bask on -
Enjoy the joyful sun-sent rays.
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