birthdays,

like hooligan dogs,
racing back and forth
in the alley,

can be distractions
from life lived as
thoughtful poetry.

but unlike those hooligan dogs,
we can recognize days,
nights, as parts,
not broken pieces,  
summing into this annual rite,

thus the moment can be yanked back
from those rowdies in the alley.

we can be subservient to the
pleasure of the moment.
food and wine, those rightful,
ritual signifiers
of “time after time,”
add poetry back to life,

leaving the crazed dogs unaware,
delinquents behind the fence.