Birthdays

My birthday was a few weeks back, and I remembered this poem.  I wrote this several years ago (in poetic parlance it would be called 'really old shit'), and I have updated some of the references. Alas, it's still relevant, because dammit, I still don't have a tiara.

Going Supersonic

For my 50 60^th birthday, I want a utility belt, a shiny red cape and an enormous tiara that gives me the power of resurrection.

I want a license to kill stereotypes: to take up a martial art, to dance furiously in the rain, to snog in coffee shops.

I want to slowly reveal my secret identity in cliff-hangers, plot-twists and bold strokes of irony.

I want to manifest the awesome superpower of parental omniscience paired with party and play.

I want to engrave my children’s pasts upon my skin and read their futures in their eyes as they write them, chapter by chapter.

I want to let my daughter do my hair and makeup, and exchange cryptic text messages with my son. I want to grasp Snapchat and emoji.

I want to be coy and evasive with my kids about my boyfriends and how late we‘ll be out, but dispense with the sullenness.

I want to laugh and play with my kids, but when mid-terms come, they will know I have the omnipotence their births bestowed upon me.

I want to defy the gravity of predestination and expectation, and amass a posse of bad-ass sidekicks with superpowers of their own.

I want to dye my hair pink, paint my nails fuchsia and wear canary yellow flip-flops on chill beaches in November.

I want Millenials to look at me in wonder, and Boomers to shake their heads in pro forma disapproval with just a touch of envy.

I want my bucket list to read like staccato Robert B. Parker prose and my diary to steam like a Pablo Neruda sonnet.

I want to smile with eyes that hint of alter-egos, to speak with chocolate and lipstick and single malt whiskey.

I want to find your long and winding plotline, dropping all subterfuge, opening arms and heart wide and welcoming.

I want to stroke the silver in your hair and the lines around your eyes, and paint them with joy and contentment.

I want to dream a little dream and shed ecstatic tears, wrap my hope around you and lift off, cape streaming behind us.