On The Utility Of Prayer Poem by Don McWilliams

I've never known quite
what to make of birthdays,
perplexed as I am
by a celebration of
no achievement of mine,
of a process in which
I had no voice or alternative.

Every year I hope that no one at my office
takes notice, yet they always disappoint,
gathering uncomfortably out of some
sense of obligation, or simply to avoid
the embarassment of non-participation,
craning their necks to see the cake, evincing
quiet disappointment at their observation
that it was chosen quickly from the supermarket
bakery, hoping against hope that it is not
the default shaving foam icing.
Standing in solidarity of purpose, solemnly, all silently intone to Heaven,
oh Lord, just this year, this one time
let there be buttercream.