Picture yourself

the softness of your cheeks

smoothing out any roughness in sight

everything’s fine inside

smooth is my birthday, did I win?

as today is the day

when I should celebrate

with chocolate smoothly poured onto the cake

and champagne for guests

flicker of smooth-sweet-tongue tincture

among the lush December lights

fireworks and ice cream trucks

took away most of our fun

they toot their smooth horns without warning

while others fight for their lives and fate

with only one dollar bill

strapped to the side pocket

of their smoothly pressed jeans

they long for the most delicate pleasures of life

the one that never happened again

for their daughters were born long ago

so all the smooth fun is long gone

I tell them, “It doesn’t have to be like that

you can use your head and think

smooth solutions are sauntering around

you just have to pick it up

and chose the right one, you see!”

he shrugged, so I never invited him

for my party of one, it passed him by

all the smooth chocolate spread

that bombarded the cake

the one he likes so much

deliciously sticks to the tongue at night

and a few other smooth, sweet, and juicy gifts

the one that every woman can give

to the right man if only he tried

to be the one and not a slave

without the smooth courtesy to admit it

like after a party when all the fine mod mood is gone

and you try to look for the right clues

blurred on the white stairs

without the slightest shade of grey

indicating the former shape

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Author's Note: The Smooth Challenge will be announced on my birthday. I'm looking forward to the verdict.

Also, I used the variations of the word “smooth” 12 times in my poem, including the title, to celebrate that number and the end of the year.

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