A day for liberation,
From presents left as weapons,
To evoke some variant of terror
As usual, the drive-by fusillade of gifts
You have to apologize to yourself for,
As you try to connect them to anything
In you -- at all.
In you -- at all.
It stills smarts, that shared
Birthday party, where I was
The add-on, made to be equal
By methods that made me
Feel small, though there was no
Recompense the giver ever knew
Anything the whole time why.
It got harder to pretend
As the functions declined
And the gifts on the other side
Dwindled over time
And so did mine: a party tie,
A maglock clip for my hopefully
Soon-to-be-in-motion money.
They were never of a mind to want them
But I hid my thoughts incessantly
Looking for the diversions of cake
And Oh My God wine as something
Else to pretend to like,
As I pretended I wasn't there
Or at least wouldn't be.
But I'm still locked in the seat, squirming
Secretly, but at least my own plight
Is clearer, in hindsight, admittedly,
Like that day, late to a family vacation
That veteran without arms lent his eye
To my mangled hand, and his entire
World was now mine.
