you, you are a million years old today,
you sapiens:
bi-pedal and frontal lobed;
big idea'd;
maker and remaker of things.
but dates don’t matter
for a tool putterer like you.
your relatives are real,
really busy with their own lives:
wearing history;
machining sincerity;
connecting improvements:
meticulous evaluators of the particular.
"happy birthday human"
the plains whisper,
"we admire your entrepreneurial spirit."
the seas and boneless sky sing,
"gosh, everything ours is yours,
we applaud your industriousness."
the trees nag, “I remember when
you leapt out my limbs,
that was no joke,
tree faller-outer."
the animals chorus,
"you began too thin spined to speak,
you knuckle dragged grunting,
just wrecks of hair knot and gnat picking in small groups,
loping and hoping to bend bronze
or shake an acre."
the continents moan shifty,
"you are a big skull now,
all pulp filled up in the brain case.
you talker and detail preener:
efficient at key and lost sock finding;
weary of loneliness;
nervous at parties."
the wind chimes in,
"you know the story:
you read a lot of books;
act clever and practice emoting;
like to categorize understanding
and reflect on self-doubt.
happy birthday,
good luck."
*
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