59 Years and 365 Days

Yes, it's my birthday
And I'll freak the fuck out if I want to

There is a grace period, a profound relief
After telling the pros the depths of one’s despair
And receiving sincere care, retaining agency
It’s almost euphoric by contrast

Yet, it is brief, this grace period
It does not bridge the gap
From when the dosage was increased
To when the drug takes effect

And so it is the Year of the Rabbit
Good fortune for all but those of the long-eared sign
Cultural appropriation the (in)sincerest form of flattery?
Or just plain common?

No one asks me what I want
Even now they think I like surprises
Once arranged, I'm given my part to play
I’ll do my job and not let my loved ones down

I should count among my loved ones
Yes, yes, I should

She lived 60 years, 322 days, officially
321 days if you forgot 2004 was a leap year
My mother outlived hers and the others
Will I outlive her?

I am trying
I am working on it
I am always working on it
I am so very, very tired

We had rabbits for 25 years
Their pandemic hit here first
2019 was not a leap year
I can not raise rabbits again

And all the death that followed
And all that came before

We regret to inform you
That the recipient of your birthday wishes
May not be able to fulfill
The “happy” aspect of your heartfelt missive

Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery that mediocrity can pay to greatness.

Oscar Wilde (obv!)
That last part has long been a challenge, but after 3 years of pandemic and being a burden, leaving the house is getting harder and harder!
Here’s looking at you, kid!