Ezra Solway

They plop a birthday hat on my head,
String coiled firmly around my larynx,
So the blood flushes,
In my eyes, they search,
They demand happiness, my parents.
It is only natural, they say.

The rest of class is busy bowling,
Gliding balls down the creamy brown lane,
Scooping neon frosting,
Seizing the gifts I spurn,
Blow it out! Blow it out! They shout.
And I watch as the wax drips & puddles.

They act like a rafter of baby turkeys – all of them,
Determined to fly, yet barely leaving the floor.
This is the melody the world insists I gobble,
But I refuse to harmonize or chew,
For at this moment all I can think about
As I’m glued to these itchy shoes,
Is how I’ve aged to double digits.

From across the alley, I see my parents
Raise the last slice of cake.

EZRA SOLWAY writes in Philadelphia where he is currently an MFA candidate at Temple University in fiction. His work has appeared in Flash Fiction Magazine and is forthcoming in Jewish Fiction.net. He enjoys playing tennis, cooking, and practicing transcendental meditation.