On a day of coincidences,
my order for the to-go
poke bowl came to
$19.58, and it took till

I’d gotten into my car,
backed out of the space
and hung a U-ie on
Fair Oaks Boulevard

before I realized, Hey,
that’s my year, when
I made my debut on
the planet. I have long

said when a bill comes
to 19 bucks and change,
That was a good year,
even if I was not yet

on the planet or, for
many reasons, don’t
recall much about that
12-month stretch.

The more years we
accumulate, the fewer
specifics we retain
because, I like to say,

the hard drive is full.
I had an older friend who
often declared, There are
no coincidences, honey,

which made me smile as
I drove into the now-early
dark, my boomer self and
the hula hoop craze both

born in July 1958, which made
me want to head home, find
mine, and give it a whirl
around the old hips,

just because I can.