I don’t tell people
I know that my
Birthday is coming.
I don’t tell them
On my birthday
Either. I don’t want
Those few that I know
and care about to spend
Their money, because
They haven’t got much.
But being human, there’s
Always that penlight-sized
Spotlight of hope searching
The dark cave of my life
For something or someone,
Especially on a birthday,
That man-made boundary
In time that intensifies
Our hope for happiness
Or meaning. So I stopped
Down to a strip-spot I used
To visit, after the insane
Job, and after putting in
My earplugs to deaden the
Rap crap and hell metal, I
Spied a baby-faced, black-
Haired angel shaking her
Birthday-big white ass on
The stage. She looked me
Dead in the eyes with a look
That seemed to say that I
Was more than just my
Money. And despite all
The hard-lived lessons of
The past half century,
I began to half-believe,
Because I’m even dumber
On my birthday. So I stuck
A few bucks in her hard-
Pressed garter and said
That I enjoyed her acting
In Twilight 3. At least I
Don’t steal my lines from
Movies. And when her dance
Was done, she sat that birthday-
Sized sweet ass of hers down
Next to me. That and her face
Lit a few candles in my soul
Really. I told her that she looked
Like Lord Byron’s great great great
Etc. granddaughter, and when
That didn’t click, I said descendent
Of Elvis, which worked up a smile
On that cherubic face. Well, she
Shared a few things, like her
Studying to be a yoga instructor,
And I tipped her a five every
Several minutes, but she still
Hit me up for dances pretty
Quick, which I politely declined,
Saying I was enjoying my play-
Date and her luminous beauty
Too much to want to spoil it in
Some dark booth. And then
The light in her eyes dimmed
And her smile clicked off. She
Made an excuse about having
To talk to the “house mom.”
A few minutes later I saw her
And that luminous ass pressed
Against some other half-dead
Fool at the bar, who was
Smiling like it was his damned
Birthday in a universe that
Remembers.
— FB
Musings, Mutterings, and Condemnations 