Bloomsday (The Birthday Poem)

What was the old lie again?

Babies were found by chance

beneath flower petals by couples strolling

through meadows? Or did you have those

type of parents, the kind who made it

abundantly clear you were not,

as we all pray to be,

the immaculate conception?

This day is a midsummer misnomer.

All us babies who were found snoozing

in the shade of buttercups and bluebells

in the middle of June, we know better

than most, of the birds and the bees

and that Leo and Molly no more found

their child in a flower garden than a 

poppy field is found on a pregnancy ward.

Jay Rafferty is a redhead, an uncle and an eejit. He is the Poetry Editor for Sage Cigarettes Magazine and a guest lecturer on Contemporary Poetry and Irish Literature. His debut poetry chapbook, Holy Things, was published in March by The Broken Spine and his follow-up chapbook, Strange Magic, came out in June of 2022 with Alien Buddha Press. You can read his work in several journals including Wine Cellar Press, HOWL New Irish Writing and The Unconventional Courier. When not losing games of pool he, sometimes, writes stuff. You can find him on Twitter @JayRaffertyPoet and Instagram @SimplyRedInTheHead.

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