It's birthday week at work
for me, the nurse,
and another social worker.
It's odd because we sneak
cards around to sign and I'm sure
I could accidentally sign mine.
Getting older is a surprise no longer.
I'm glad we get sweet cards,
like "It's your birthday, CELEBRATE"
and not those rude ones like
"You're almost dead!"
The nurse gets them in bulk somewhere
and we get half of our sunshine dollars
back in the card.
If we were all on an island
trapped by circumstance
we would do the same with shells,
write on clay with sharp sticks,
and share a nice fish lunch.
We would take that time,
in the middle of the gathering,
the shelter-making, the hunting,
and the cleaning,
in between sunrise and sunset.
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