Happy Birthday To Me!

Hey! It's my birthday!

As a special present to me, yous guys can all read this lovely poem I wrote last year. And because it's my birthday, you have to read it. And not complain. And tell me you love it.

And I'll tell yous all that I love you right back. Because when you're 39, you can do things like that and get away with it, even when you're not drunk. Because people think you're mourning your youth and all and are just barely keeping it together.

But I'm fine. Really. I'm looking forward to fooo...fooorrr...foooorrrrttt...

Well...you know what I'm trying to say.

I love yous guys...really. Without all of you, I'd just be flapping my gums in a vaccuum.

And that can cause blisters and stuff after a while.

Instead, I speak, and you listen. And sometimes respond.

Like my cat.

So here goes...

(If you've read this before, just play along and pretend it's like the best thing you've ever read since that "If God could make a tree..." poem.)


August 27

Counting nine months backward
from my end-of-summer birthday,
I realize I was conceived
on a full stomach:

turkey, taters, all the trimmings,

side of jellied cranberry relish
just the thing to, oh baby,
put you in the mood.

What were my parents thinking?

Thanksgiving doesn’t dress up
in pink silk garters,
hot and horny, pass-the-gravy,
you got a little stuffing
on your chin,
don’t wipe it off wink-wink,
giblets look so sexy on you,
let me lick them off your face;

was Venus on the sofa snoozing,

tiny heart-shaped belches
popping round her head until
the room smelled like desire
and yam casserole?

(my grandmother’s recipe -
she had six kids)

I celebrate another year
baking pumpkin pies,
adding extra nutmeg in
ninety-nine percent humidity,
feeling sweaty, slick and saucy,
craving fresh whipped-cream;

all that I can figure is
my folks were simple
down-home naughty
with no room left for dessert.



(P.S. Just in case this is better than I think it is, it's mine, all mine, and if I see this in Poetry magazine without my name attached to it, I'll come to your house and smash cake up your nose. And it will be banana cake. And I may or may not remove the candles first. So...copyright and stuff.)

8 comments:

KK said...

Hey, HAPPY BIRTHDAY and stuff or stuffing or assorted side dishes. Cheers my friend, I'd send you a drink to toast with but that would just get us all in trouble. I loved the poem last year, you too of course and still do. Your just too cool and when I grow up I want to be like you. How's that for gushy? Not enough? Oodles of smooches...KK

Momma Star said...

You know I loved it the first time, and I love it again.

Happy happy.

anne said...

Happy Birthday, Sis!

Love the poem, as always!

I hope you had a nice day and got to do everything you want. Ok, everything your children would allow you to do. Ok, everything your children, husband, the cat, the laundry, the dishes, the ...

I hope you had a nice day.

Kim said...

Thanks for posting on my blog! Jozet -- as in the awesome writer Jozet --from that place we still do not name? Hi! I missed you!

Kim said...

Oops! And, I forgot the most important part--LOVED the poem. Happy birthday!

Anonymous said...

Happy Birthday to you..... best wishes on the big one, you're still "kind of" young at heart, and remember, "some of the best years are still ahead of you" (although not as many years as before) As for the poem, brilliant, and i'll never think of Thanksgiving without a little smerk to give props to your folks. You rock Francie, even on a full stomach!

Jor Jazzar said...

That's a great poem, Josette! I'm jealous of it, even. And Happy Birthday, for goodness sakes! I hope you don't mind, I had a short moment of silence for you...just kidding...just kidding. But I did pause to reflect on our friendship. And then I went back to freaking out as usual.

Anonymous Mama said...

Happy Birthday and I absolutely LOVE your poem!!

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