The Good Daughter
I’m spinning.
Rag doll.
Where I am
I can’t get back.
I want to tell them
to leave me alone.
But he is almost 80,
and she,
as she likes to remind me,
is in her seventy-seconth year.
So I hold on and answer the phone when they call,
and take their abuse,
and wait for them to die,
hoping they don’t kill me
first.
No comments:
Post a Comment