Most jokes
start in prison
or to get into
her pants;
not this one.
You receive
congratulations
from a number
you haven't seen
in too long.
Drawing from
your mess of genetics
and affiliated curses
you choose not
to react (your mother)
and wait a few hours
to respond (your father
who art in heaven)
denying the state
of fatherhood
wrongfully bestowed
upon you
based on photographs.
You rise from
that shotgun blast
still easy on the eyes
of the blind
and do your best
to celebrate complexity
going all out
to clean everything
but your soul.
May used to be
your favorite month;
when you were conceived.
It's winning.
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