THE COMMON CAKE
The cake we have in common has a given name and in its time and place may be both seen and heard. There may be many other days of cakes but they're commemorating less significant occasions, each to at least one of us unknown. If everything were backwards we would be left handed, we would be each others' mirror images. When we are twisted into pretzels by opposing laws of nature we can always choose to laugh at sacrifice and say it's what we wanted all along.
Nothing is about to happen. Patiently I may not wait. I may just do my old-man dance and then arrange my plate. When we were overtones in outer space we had a common multiple. When signals came our way we sent then back. Our levers were not long enough to move the earth, thank God. So don't do with me what you won't – I'll turn my thirst for knowledge off and on. Your mass is critical and I have secondary faults so we should get along.
Heikki Huotari is a retired professor of mathematics. In a past century, he attended a one-room country school and spent summers on a forest-fire lookout tower. His poems appear in numerous journals, recently in The Journal and The Penn Review, he's the winner of the 2016 Gambling the Aisle chapbook contest. Forthcoming books will be published by Lynx House, Willow Springs and After The Pause.