after a dinner of baked ziti
made for me by a beautiful woman,
I'm going to sit on the couch
and watch the first game
of the World Series
and cheer for the Cubs,
because my mom was from Chicago,
while also flipping back and forth
to the two games of the opening night
of the NBA season.
I am an artist who loves sports,
rare and writing poems like this one,
and hopefully publish a new book
by my friend Everett whose birthday
is actually today, so I text him the good news.
because there are so many birthdays happening,
like hers on Saturday, I try not to think
about time and age and decay
and the fact that I was born thirty-four
years ago tomorrow, but also try
to put a postcard in the mail,
and eventually call it a night
of simple success, because
birthdays keep happening until they simply stop.