It's Me, the Maypole
I was kind of a big deal.
C’mere, kid. Let me ask you something… Did you know I used to be somebody?
It’s true. The peasantfolk would come from furlongs away just to dance a jig under my ribbons.
It was fucking epic.
I was the biggest day of the year, you know. Not Christmas… not All Hallow’s Eve… ME! Not even a specific day. Just MAY! See, back then, we didn’t need fancy reasons to celebrate. Warmth had returned. You’d made it through another winter without dying of consumption. Time to DANCE, baby!!
Now, you’ve got all these specific holidays. Talk Like a Pirate Day. National Hamburger Day. National Hug Your Cat Day. Maybe I’m just not “exciting” enough anymore…
But you should have seen me back then! I was incredible! Twelve feet tall, maybe fifteen. I was the only pole these people had ever seen! Plus colorful ribbons? I was like the Las Vegas Sphere to those schmucks.
Hell, I was so exciting I got banned. By the government! Parliament passed an actual law. I was called “the Devil’s Throne,” and people risked their lives to frolic ‘round myne pole! But now I’m boring? I mean, what’s more exciting than to gambol across the village green with your sweetheart/second-cousin?
Whatever. I'm not bitter or anything. It’s fine. Totally fine. Nobody crowns the prettiest girl in the village May Queen anymore. Nobody's out gathering hawthorn branches at dawn or washing their face with the May morning dew. I guess all things must end, just as winter always becomes spring.
Anyway, good luck to you… What’d you say your name was, kid? Hostess Cupcake Day?
…Right. Well. Good luck out there.
MORE IT’S ME
It's Me, a Bald Eagle
I need to get something off my breast, America. I never asked to be your national bird. And I'm starting to think this whole arrangement isn't working out for either of us.
Pole dancing on the devil's throne? What kind of smut is this?
Come on, Maypole! Pull yourself together...are you forgetting all the places you are still beloved? Well, when I say all...they're all practically speaking in British Columbia, but this place is Maypole central...I mean the whole nine yards, pole, ribbons, girls with crowns of daisies in their hair...you've got island hippies, you've got old British colonial types who hate to let a good thing go. Well... the descendants of old British colonial types, who no doubt run kids' little league games and and drink beer as part of it. (I mean you can't blame them...your schtick is that one dancing around and tangling ribbons thing, but little league is little league)...anyway...you're alive and well here!