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Louis

Serafine

 

 

   

-In Respect to the Revelation of a Singular Birthday Candle

 


Oh

you

delightful

and novel

contrivance! The

winner! A golden

and tapering finger

of annual pastry illumination and

vibrance; not since the odd day, upon

which I still linger, when I bit a decorative

apple, have I been so bamboozled by a piece of colored wax!

Congratulations, you’re the winner. You clever stick of paraffin

and wick. No other object was thinner or had more residue than

you. You bringer of optimistic light, extinguished with a hopeful WOOSH, post-dinner.

I concede with light-hearted humility, as is my due, that this round goes to you.

Untitled

Just as then, my eyes are brown,
But hidden under windowpanes.
Wider then, wiser now
Worries wax as childhood wanes

Frequent reading strained those eyes;
narrow glasses line their gaze.
Dimples yield to smile-lines
Although the smiles stays the same.

The teeth I had have grown and gone,
The lips have grown a little too,
So have all the features on
The person once called Little Lou,

The face I wear still makes me proud
Though its rough from hurried days
A first wrinkle’s formed above my brow
From my expressive turn of phrase

But the face, as yet, remains unbent,
I’m told it’s stayed still warm, still kind
And yet the outer represents
A harder, wiser, darker mind.