It’s her birthday.

Cupcakes all around,

says the bartender.

So, you’re 9, I say.

No!  I’m eight!

I won’t be 9 until


Oh, ok, I say

trying to

understand the

splitting of hairs

she’s partaking


Kids can’t grow

up fast enough

and then they’re

over the hill

looking back to

the good old

days of childhood.

We don’t even

want to talk

about birthdays

then, much,

much less celebrate


Facebook’s making

a mint proliferating

birthdays, but no one

knows how old anyone



Categories: creative writing, Poetry, Uncategorized | Leave a comment

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