The Birthday LettersbyVictoria_Lucas©
Wrapping and tinsel creates inlets,
peninsulas, litterings of letters,
well-wishes, seagull fodder, recyclable redwoods,
books as doorstops,
I could give you no such thing
being the green-pieceworker, save-the-whalers,
convertor of energenetics
the postal service is a conspiracy
guaranteed to give you cancer
or at least a nosebleed. Collapsible
dates in February fill an Indian Ocean
with salty regret. What I hope today
expired on the sixth, and what hope
tomorrow? Dairy cannot last
and neither can a birthdate. Too late
is penicillin, rot, decay, earthworms, Ash
movie of the week, disco retro, cliché.
Too early, more of the same.
happy birthday, you. Put in your pocket
‘til next year.