I hear you pull into the drive and the free spirit
I've exercised all day abruptly folds into itself.
I greet you at the door with a pasted smile,
asking how your day was, expecting no reply yet,
feeling the sting when I get none.
Supper is served and you take yours into the
living room, plopping yourself on the couch,
balancing the plate and the remote with the finesse
of a curbside juggler.
I remain at the table, staring at you, staring at the TV,
while a childhood rhyme plays in my head,
*Nobody loves me, everybody hates me.
Guess I'll go eat worms!*