﻿T-BONE SLIM DISCUSSES ON THE FIRST OF MAY 
 
When all is new and nothing rotten, 
When winter’s woes are quite forgotten, 
When CONSCIOUSNESS resumes her plottin’, 
That’s when the year begins. 
When wan consumptives “pine for flowers,” 
When heavens weep with gentle showers. 
When April’s surly clutch is broken, 
When Storm Kin’s speckled sons have spoken, 
(When limpid pools bring forth a token= 
That’s when the year begins. 
Not int the Dead of raging winter 
But in the Present’s, fulfilled, center 
When rivers leave their choking channels, 
When white man sheds his filthy flannels, 
When Prigress writes but truthful annals, 
That’s when the year begins. 
When weatherboards have ceased to rattle, 
When smiling meadows kiss the cattle. 
When chronic bus grow wary ‘ding-ging,’ 
When carrier-bees resort to stinging 
When girls are just a bit more clinging . . . 
That’s when the year begins. 
Not in the mock-world’s silly foment 
But in each precious present moment. 
When dirt and filth have reached fruition, 
When scowling forms seek retribution  
When house wives start a revolution, 
That’s when the year begins. 
When plodding Amazons (grim martyrs) 
Seek for new and fresher quarters. 
When Infant Labor (whims pusuant) from work (and worse) plays carefree truant; 
Once more to laugh—in health affluent, 
That’s when the year begins. 
Not in the doubtful Far Tomorrow 
But in this Now, our present Sorrow. 

2nd Part 
When barren sward resents inAction, 
When Nature grins with satisfaction, 
That’s when the year begins. 
When woodland autocrats enthrallin’, 
Like ripened tyranny is fallen— 
When Cones throw off the Fate appallin’, 
That’s when the year begins. 
When long the right-of-way of Travel 
Frail roots embrace the caving gravel, 
(That’s when oppression’s skeins unravel) 
That’s when the year begins. 
When nature’s jagged wounds are sorest— 
When earth disturbed shoots forth a forest. 
Not in a promise, threat or vow, 
Not in the dates the fates endow, 
But in the ever-present now— 
That’s when the year begins. 
Not in a wealth of satisfaction 
But in each minute action’s fraction