It Is Your Birthday, Poem by john o'connell

it is your birthday,
not that you really care -
you never were a man
for giving or taking presents;
only at heart
you appreciated being valued,
for you the wishing
or being wished
was sufficient.

it was never your will
that I am an self-chosen exile,
devoid of ambition
and with no
visible interest in anything
that you might hold dear.

yet, like a Polonius,
in the wisdom of your years
you desire for me
what is best:
security, health and prosperity.

maybe, the Creator,
who you most devoutly trust in,
does, after all, move in strange ways
like you son
who has begun to pray
again.