Do you remember me?

Yes me, the daughter you asked how her day was.

And I, consumed in teenage drama was about to converse with you the conversation I had with my notebook in Algebra 2 today,

Or my lunch time spent with nameless faces for the sake of company.

I was about to barrage you with the details of a pointless quarrel my friend

(yes I have some friends)

and I were having.

But your son, sickly and withering needs attention.

Your daughter, though ten, and is treated like a suckling child, rushes in

Followed by your angry son, whose tempers rage exasperates you

So he was pushed to the top of your ever growing list of things to do.

I sit quietly waiting for silence to erupt in the rambunctious room.

Quietly I wait for my turn

Instead you walk away

Nose in some parenting book for single mothers

Leaving a dreary silence that echoes in your mind

Without end

Should I pity you?

Then would I be privileged enough to answer your simple question?

If I slaved for you

Would you pretend to listen?

You walk past now filling out a slowly-decaying-salmon colored job application

"My day was horrible" I whisper

In case you were wondering

 

I bet you weren't.