For my birthday, God gave me a cake.
He frosted it with filigrees of color from
countless vermilion sunsets
shining on sapphire
seas and ochroid sands.
Inside, a feast of worms.
He set it on a plate decorated
with images of doves and
dying children.
“Make a wish,” He said,
with a smile
of expectation.
I could not meet his eye.
“Really,” I said, “You shouldn’t have.”
—Lester Smith
(Originally appeared in Woud You Dance?)