May day. Gray days.
First there was May 1st, now, May 2nd, 2026
Twenty-eight days will follow (I pray, I truly pray)
Reminding me of what Macbeth, in a despairing mood, said:
Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow…
Too bad. In May, I think of flowers. But here comes gray. Then there will be heat. We are in the middle of a drought here in the Tampa Bay area. So, with the gray, everyone is hoping there will come rain. No such luck.
There is both gray and sun today. Not sun. I prefer the gray.
‘Hello, Gray, my old friend…’
Seems like just yesterday I was saying hello to you.
You come slouching again, May, a rough beast this year, your hour come round at last
Time flies. And speaking of flies…
The lovebugs (Plecia neartica) are here, climbing the restaurant window. They fly conjoined, the female dragging the male who must walk backwards everywhere. And, like all insects, the female would seem to walk aimlessly. Which might explain why the male insect could care less. His fate is not going to be a happy one. He is dragged until the females lays her eggs, whereupon he dies.
The Myth of Sisyphus has nothing on the reality of the poor love bug. The mythical character pushes a rock only to have it roll back down the hill; the male lovebug has no worth life after mating — only to walk backwards and die.
Somedays, I feel like I’m walking backwards.
At least the female lovebug flies and takes the male with her. Do they both flutter their wings for maximum lift? Does the male get to tell the f emale, “hey, I’m sick of walking, this is pointless. Let’s take flight, babe.” (Can you hear Sinatra? “Come fly with me, come fly, come fly awayyyyy….”)
I wonder what they eat? Or do they just get eaten? (Can’t you just hear the male screaming, “hey, idiot, you’re headed right for that Toyota’s front grill!” Maybe in flight, he get to pull her around. But, as with all living things, the female’s probably the only one who knows where she’s going? But — where do they go, on land or in the air, that makes a damn bit of differnce. Do they have parties, these Airborne Pilgrims of Pointlessness?)
The lovebugs swarm over Florida every May and September; small, ant-resembling. I first visited Florida in May. Moved here the following September. The lovebugs greeted me both times.
They are my friends, therefore, these black (rather than gray), reviled, unwelcomed members of earth’s lowest class of living thing.
Yes, they welcomed me. I guess I should welcome them. Too bad they aren’t beautiful, which is what you would expect from something called —a lovebug.
Love can be ugly. But I’d expect a bug with peacock majesty. No such luck.
At the restaurant…
I ate an egg cooked medium. Outside, no flowers anywhere. They say it’s a good time to plant petunias.
SO LET ME SUMMARIZE ..AND RHAPSODIZE:
The lovebugs swarm/ the lovebugs smear/ the lovebugs swarm and smear
Which means May’s for car washes.
Rain and thunder come, briefly, at 2 p.m.
Soak the Florida Room carpet.
Briefly interrupt the drought.
So we hope for rain, we hope for flowers.
Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.
Hello, May. Hello, Lovebugs, so many living and soon to die.
(I saw one, all alone, very lost, crawling across the restaurant floor, having flown in through an open door.
Looking for a mate, that bug, no doubt.
A very bad place for that.
I gave that bug very poor odds.
Too many shoes, no mate in sight.
I wished it luck. Speaking of which
Golden Tempo won the Kentucky Derby in May ritual as certain
as lovebugs coming to Florida.
Golden Tempo.
Which reminds me
Of time’s Leaden Tempo
Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace…
I think I’ll plant a petunia.
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