It was your 40th birthday
a milestone if ever there was,
except no one bothered showing up
there were no festive balloons,
or embarrassing signs out front
no Hallmark card
or friends surprising you,
from behind the kitchen door

Sorry that people couldn't be bothered,
showing a touch of gratitude
instead of this heatwave of humiliation,
burning across his face
no chocolate cake ever was made
homemade, like the countless birthdays before

Instead, there was a bottle of Smirnoff's,
a solitary shot glass,
no chaser, unless a spoonful
of peanut butter counts,
yet even that treat was laboriously scrapped
from the inside walls
of an empty jar
smelling of stale peanuts
and stagnant air

You see, it was apparently more important
for friends and family
to gather at a decrepit homestead
eating hotdogs and hamburgers,
while hordes of yellow jackets
crashed the party in style,
stinging at random,
flesh to fancy
then to truly be family,
and be at your side
during this milestone event,
instead of this drunken lament...

mathiasthom
written 3/16/09