When it’s your birthday month,
gifts show up daily—often
a photo card emailed with
some version of your face
(so many years of face to
choose from) on it.

And one day you come home
to find a box with a bright blue
hair dryer waiting for you,
the older one having lost
its high speed, to which
you can relate.

Because this is what he does,
the man who says he loves you
in a hundred ways: He makes
sure you have your favorite
hair dryer—two of them—
at his house and yours,

all the hot air you’d ever need,
with your smile on electronic cards
that remind you how long
he has loved your aging face,
how long you’ve loved his,
the best gift of all.

•••

(Mahalo, Dickie… aloha nui loa)