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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=564755" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>My birthday was different this year</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">As I was rummaging through<br>the file boxes my wife had left for me<br>in the garage<br>I found a yellow legal pad<br>scribbled with hand written poems <br>I had written one night<br>in a almost crowded coffeehouse <br>waiting for a poet friend from Chicago<br>to come up north to read</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The poems talked about<br>how I waited and waited <br>before too long<br>several anxious poets<br>ran up to the microphone <br>not afraid to trip over themselves<br>share their delicate poems <br>about romance and almost romance<br>detailing having a job they don't like<br>and it seemed to me <br>they were also not liking much else about their lives <br>besides their job they didn't like</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My Chicago artist friend as usual<br>was more then an hour late<br>which isn't bad considering Chicago<br>is almost three hours away<br>so most other places<br>damn, she would have been early</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When I read the poem<br>I wrote about being at a reading<br>I didn't want to be at </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I realized I was spending my birthday<br>by myself in a coffeehouse<br>writing poems<br>not making much eye contact <br>with people I didn't even like<br>although one of the poets<br>I think Francine is her name<br>came up to me during a break and said 'hi'<br>but she didn't remember my name<br>or knew it was my birthday<br>and a couple of days after my anniversary<br>or that I was getting a divorce</div><div style="margin:10px 0">that poem I read <br>was a good sign of things to come</div><div style="margin:10px 0">because this year<br>on my birthday<br>I woke up with a new friend in my bed<br>multiple orgasms for her to share<br>before having a nice breakfast together<br>of eggs, sausage, hash browns and italian toast <br>cooked on the George Foreman grill<br>and things didn't look or feel<br>the same again</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Oscar+Mireles">Oscar Mireles</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=564755" data-title="My birthday was different this year de Oscar Mireles" data-description="As I was rummaging through
the file boxes my wife had left for me
in the garage
I found a yellow legal pad
scribbled with hand written poems 
I had written one night
in a almost crowded coffeehouse 
waiting for a poet friend from Chicago
to come u..."></div>
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