Birthday Bash

was it
a backstage drama
or a pair of happy breasts seen through an open second story window
or a modern artist
displaying in a courageous manner
to her biographer?
well, the shift from memory to myth
requires a change of heart,
instead of a simple switch from Shiner Bock
to Sierra Nevada Pale Ale.
but i do remember a blue ice chest filled to the brim
with party hats
and a lime pie with an assortment of flaming candles, most
of which were dripping wax onto the peanut butter cake,
bought with small change and massively disappointing.
and while i wouldn't step into a dead man's boots,
i did drink inexpensive Chardonnay
because the price was right and the ensuing conversation
full of enthusiasm,
as was the spectacular bean salad.
a very costly link of sausage made from pure maple syrup
tasted sweet to one young musician called
Igor and his wife was Sally, who promised to use
saddle cream on his ass if he went for a bike ride
with his friend, Rodney.
Rodney was not interested.
but there were three exuberant ladies of the church who sang
in falsetto but were not really women and a dancer
who sang on an elevated stage as a real woman
and probably missed the bingo game scheduled for later.
initially it was a great blow to sit at a table which wobbled,
and i fixed that with a serving plate borrowed from an adjacent table
and no one seemed to mind;
after all, it was my birthday!
so before i ate dinner, i recited Lincoln's Gettysburg Address or, at best,
some of it
and i didn't know how good halibut could taste until i swam
away with it as an experiment,
hair flying in the breeze.