an opening present

on thursday there's cake everywhere i go 
today i'm so tired that i'm "i"
the way i have been
eating and sleeping is
lower 
       
             x__x


on Thursday it's "Melanie's" birthday 
at the baby doctor
the Santa Monica office is bright 
and clean feeling, the window cut from the wall 
you could put a hand through
sets the stage 
of Front Desk
and I am the only one waiting

all the office ladies gather in the glassless
window holding the flourless 
chocolate cake

they begin to sing to Melanie
when she emerges from a doorway
the sun's pouring in
one woman offers me a slice because
I'm watching
they photograph Melanie
in front of the color-coordinated files
beautiful, rare shades of manilla folder

Melanie says her ears 
are sticking out from her glasses
and wants a re-do
she brings her flourless prop
to a more sun-filled corner
of the stage-
"I'm 59, I wanna look good"

she drops the cake on the floor
and the sound it makes confuses me
I did actually want a slice
but there seemed to be so many
ladies to feed

all of them are beside themselves 
can't answer the ringing phones
I'm giggling along but feeling
boyish in comparison 
finally one of them invites me
to look at the halo 
of powdered sugar on the floor

--

on Thursday at the Underground 
it's also Justin's birthday

in the back room there are four beautiful 
tiny cakes, arranged symetrically 
with causal bites missing
like someone slowly walked by
with a spoon

the birthday boy shakes my hand 
with both of his
I remind him that we've met
"but never in the daytime"
I learn he's only 23

--

on Thursday I also go to Roxie's 
birthday party at HMS Bounty 
which is a bar with red booths
it's better than I remember it being
maybe because I feel better now
I remember feeling lower then
we have french fries and 4 dollar
cocktails which is 
unbelievable 

the birthday girl and i talk about
instagram as i get tired and
drunk and i think it makes us want
to stick together because 
we agree it's not casual

--

thinking of romance
minus everything that
diminishes it

I walk by a stained glass window
that's a cake
outlined with the
sticky black

--

the woman's voice 
on NPR talking about
A Christmas Carol
with lots of edible
adjectives
her s's hissing
her blue eyes
welling I'm sure

--

speaking of ROMANCE
I feel the veil between dream and
awake as thinner than before
with colors and patterns and
options for mind routes

--

I had the premonition for 
Marisa Takal's fame 
when her name in vinyl was stuck
on the window in Baltimore
it was freezing and the street lamp
cast a shadow of her name on
the white wall of the small gallery 

I contemplate good options
for her opening present