Let’s Hope Every Bluegill in Lake St. Clair is Sated

Mayfly Postcard

The mayflies of your youth have not flown away, they cling dumbly

to screen doors, or dangle like suicides from stray lengths of spiderweb,

a thousand thousand bodies, turning into mummies

on the sidewalk in the sun, their wings

crackle

under the tread

of your sneakers,

the mayflies of your youth were also known as fishflies,

let’s hope every bluegill in Lake St. Clair is sated, let’s assume

the fishflies have their use, of course they have

their purpose:

to mate and so continue

the dynasty

of mayflies and also

to bring back to you the mayflies of your youth,

how they basked on the garage door, or gathered

like sports fans

around the porch light, you threw them into spider nets

under the porch, because you loved to see

a spider

struggle and delight

in such a bounty.  The fishflies,

of course, live an entire life

in one day.

They are completely

without stomachs

or the curse

of hungry

mouths