Birthday Cake

by Cheryl Snell

At the Chuck E Cheese, you stand there staring at your birthday cake. It has a swirling face, like the mother you used to trust until she was altered by plastics. There are baby dolls and Barbies everywhere you look in this town, eating off the faces of cakes like these. When the baker’s assistant tiptoes over, he’s convinced you have the cake’s candles. Your mother forgot how many to use anyway, he says, plunging his hands into your pockets to search for them. The two of you, connected by pockets, stop to watch the lightless cake drip chocolate, as if there was still time for it to save itself.

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Cheryl Snell writes poetry and fiction of all sizes from her home in Maryland. Visit her here.