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Birthday So Blew
“The day which we all fear as our last,
is but the birthday of eternity.”--Seneca.
My birthday is June 14th,
a day I used to celebrate
surviving another year,
feeling colorful pangs of pride
about being an American;
pleased to be a Gemini,
hugging both twins--
but this year I discovered that President Trump has
the same birthday--damn his eyes. So now my ship
has stalled without a breath of wind in the sails, and
my personal patriotism has been disrespected.
I suddenly feel like the love child of Mussolini, the step-
son of Stalin, a former Hitler youth, dirty cop--that my
degrees are all from a Clown College in the Bronx, my
endorsement of Civil Rights has been revoked, and the
Feds sent me my Halloween costume--three KKK red-
white & blue bed sheets.
My wife tells me to take all my sorrow, anger, & angst
and make lemonade out of it. So far I’ve made 200
gallons of the stuff, which I’m told tastes like rat saliva
& is the color of blood in the urine.
My birthday has been
violated, but I will
still celebrate it.
Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub