On a monobloc outside my house

and drinking and getting
drunk. I am celebrating.
They are singing happy
birthday to you to me to
no one, really, to simply
sing. It brings them back,
memories, a lot of them
unpleasant, like clowns.
One made me blow
candle after candle
until I ran out of breath.
I’ve hated clowns since,
how they smile. How
they are smiling now
and singing, because it is
my birthday, one of many,
I drink and smile back
at you at me at no one
really, and accept this
is how future days will be
this is how future days
will be this is how future
days will be. An old drunk
on a monobloc, candles
burning out, an absent
singing in his house.
Make a wish, they are
cheering. I am closing
my eyes and wondering
how I managed to acquire
a roomful of strangers
all these years, all these
candles I am blowing
bring me farther from
you pressed against the
classroom wall softly
listening to me sing
when I had yet to forget
music. How we sang the
day away in the haze of
those dreaming in karaoke
houses, cut classes to
lie on grass, hold hands,
and watch the trees rise
to a gradual prayer,
the quiet lives of birds
tucked somewhere,
read each other books.
Later as I walked you
home I wondered how
our own would look.
How we would grow
a garden out of our city
apartment, how many
rooms, how to spend
the infinite afternoons
we would surely have.

(tapos na, haha!)