Diana Darby ** "I V" ** Intravenous

One Week

They feed him turkey,
and ribs,
and cheese,
even when I ask them not to.
They refuse to bathe,
or walk,
or look in the refrigerator for roast beef
and bread.
They would rather call
and complain
and tell me there is nothing to eat in the house.
Lentils and rice are no good.
Nor is kale,
or anything of the sea.
Only animals
with warm blood
seem to be on the menu.
My father is convinced protein
can only come from one source.
So dinner is a fight,
and lunch is a fight,
and breakfast is a fight.
I cannot be the good daughter.
I cannot cook for them,
and clean up after them,
and bring them two dollar bar-b-que sandwiches on Sunday.
I need them to live somewhere else,
like Tucson, or Mexico.
Somewhere warm where I can walk on the beach with them,
cut up papaya for them,
bring them flowers,
and then gripe about the job some other poor sap is doing with them.
I am tired of being told “how awful I am.”
I am tired of being compared to my sister.
I am tired
and they have only been here
one week.