The Lonely Birthday Conference Poem by Carolyn Michael

Kids sang songs and slapped greasy hands behind the school bus
driver. Head up, eyes forward, glaring into smaller
species. Unsaturated, dry, prime for filling up with pointless
facts. What, are, you, doing, Tourette’s driver pushed forward
speech. Brain, a temporary slide projector for the Lonely Birthday Conference.

Smash the ancient machine, pull, push, squeeze, strangle the humming light
box. Turn on the tower lights, cover up your eyes, paint the white wall
black. Do whatever it takes to stop the picture show of silent parties and action figure
friends. Uncle Harelip and Grandma Moustache flashing toothy grins. But that was
then. Foot on pedal. Eyes on road. Hands on wheel. Mind on nothin’.