have a fabulous birthday

Happy Birthday. If you have a birthday in May--which I think you do--I hope it's downright fabulous. Fabulous is a funny word; and people with May birthdays are funny people... So, there you go: you and fabulous are made for each other.

I just saw a man whose back pockets curved from the middle edges of his back waist into the side seams of his pants--just like front pockets. Fabulous! Looked quite like his pants were backwards, but I don't believe they were... he looked too smart for that kind of mistake to be carried out in public.

A white-haired man scratched behind his ear with one finger. Then, there were teenage boys with sailboats on their shorts. Sailboats?

Speaking of birthdays, here's a first draft of a poem I wrote last week...


HAPPY BIRTHDAY
P.S. I SMELL AND EVERYONE SMOKES HERE.

By the way,
I’ve been trying to shower less
here than in the States.
Water is a lot more
expensive here, partly the reason
not many shower often.

Sometimes, I go three days–feeling always
sticky and greasy in our attic classroom.
Sure you want to hear about it?
The truth is, one month after your birthday
is when you’ll get this. But, this morning
was really strange.

Before school, this old lady
talked to me on the bus, walked with me down the street,
talked to me about “Aker salat” and “Kartoffeln salat,”
Who knows what else or what other “salat.”
I couldn’t understand. She spoke crazy.
Dialect.

Then, a secretary at school with black shiny hair
asked me how it suited me: my host family,
homesickness, everything. I told her my family was...
Good–except for their fighting.
Maybe my memory exaggerates.
Home-home isn’t fond of screaming. We’re full of adult–

Big difference from three girls under ten. Here,
everything American turns sideways.
And this sweet Italian confided, “I have a big homesickness too.
I understand distance from what you love,
from what’s familiar.” That’s when
I got kind of teary.
In front of her, I didn’t; but when she stepped away,
in the bathroom I splashed away
to erase traces.

Now–home alone–you know.
You can walk around town
with an open bottle of alcohol any time of day.
They’ve a weird tolerance here.
Practically anyone can buy it–
maybe even 13 year-olds.
Same about cigarettes.
They’ve got cigarette vending machines even.
What? I know.

And Thursday, I went out wearing my host mom’s witch hat,
crazy-looking vest and a tie (“krawatte”).
A lot of people get dressed up and go drinking in February.
But I only drank two beers, feeling funny.
People dressed as American astronauts
bounced around us in the parking structure.

Then one student disappeared with a bottle of Jaegermeister
and the teachers at school lectured us next day.
Stay safe...
I mean,
Happy Birthday–
late as this may be.