It’s minutes after midnight where I sit
upon a hotel bed in Washington,
but far out west where you are, there’s a bit
of time remaining till your day’s begun.
So I say happy birthday on the phone
but you are yet in yesterday to me,
and I to you am in tomorrow’s zone –
our dates won’t coincide until it’s three.

If you could travel fast and west just then
and teleport to spots around the earth,
the day could start a dozen times again
and stretch the anniversary of your birth.
But since I can’t be with you for a week,
more day length’s the reverse of what I seek.