birthdays are half-assed reminders
that we have done nothing to deserve a cake
except make a few drunk silly folks around us happy

candle light fills the luggage in the attic with pity
for the dreams that crumble
before we even get a chance to dream

i'll pause, since i'm coming off a touch pessimistic
and i would hate to seem that way
before an idle face of a smiling idiot

so allow me to proclaim
as if by any other name
a rose would not be a capitalist system's symbol for greed

that i wish you a happy birthday
and though i cannot afford a present that captures
what you mean to me (because ikea does not sell it)

i'm sure i will find something cheap
in a barnes and noble heap
of five hundred page books on a twenty percent discount