Written by: jan oskar hansen


Birthdays when you are old reminds you of the grave, 
you see it a freshly dug hole waiting just for you. 
People bring you wine, what else do an old man needs? 
Guests getting high on wine they brought you and it is all 
jolly. I try to join in. wife has made an effort candlelight 
and so on guests are people I never see unless meeting 
them at a pretentious art exhibition; and I think of my 
childhood when birthdays were important, I tell stories 
of a past of poverty and need; wife disrupts saying 
I should forget about the past, how can I it shaped me 
for what I´m today?  Cakes I think of are those I never had 
in my infancy; cakes I baked, with condensed milk, when 
the captain had his birthday -if he was an ass hole I spat in 
the dough-, on ships made into nails somewhere in hot 
Bangladesh. How tired I´m lost in the past. Guests leave 
the old man´s party, but my wife is not stunned when calm 
falls I have to collect the dirty glasses and do the dishes.