“Birthday at the Office” by Patrick Fallon

Sighs from the duocolor drip
down the cubicle aisles,
settling with the smell
of helium, the taste
of ice water and coffee.

My gift arrives in red silk.
Elvis (like Tupac, not dead)
rocks weddings, parties,
hospital visits, and more.

He corners me, his haphazardly
buttoned shirt cascading
over his beaten wallet breasts,
hand whacking a Gibson as his belt
gyrates like a stalking cougar’s
shoulder blades.

When he’s done, everyone helps
themselves to my cake.

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