Birthday

by Arlene Ang

At 45, I'd like to believe in love
again--and maybe more.
Love, as in he'd never forget a birthday,
or think it too much a waste of time
looking for gifts. And maybe
he'd remember how it was to kiss me,
offer to wash my back.
And maybe, just maybe--
though I know I'm stretching
things too far--
he'd spend the night with me
instead of banging girls in internet chats.
At 45, I blow out the candles on the dinner table.
I still like to believe in wishes coming true.
Then he comes home, glimpses the frosted cake
and growls, "For Chrissake's, grow up!"

The Author

Arlene Ang lives in Venice, Italy where she edits the Italian pages of Niederngasse. Her poetry has recently been published in Tattoo Highway, flashquake, The Dublin Quarterly, Ghoti Magazine and Astropoetica. Three of her poems have been nominated for the 2006 Pushcart Prize anthology.