A Birthday

by Brett Rutherford

The dawn arrives.
I turn the key
of the sun’s lock-box.
The day is sprung.
Not just any, but one.

Clouds roll
at ox-cart speed,
the flower leans and droops
at interrupted beams.
Tornadoes threaten;
winds have their way.

Six sixties and five
of these days ago
the same people had
a slight-less numbered
birthday cake.

For them the world
keeps spinning on;
they do not fear
the candle-snuff night
amid the merriment
of clanging bells.