my plate (a poem)

They can’t all be about moonbeams and sexy sexiness. Just a moment of realness. 

Decisions to be made:
by the way, life support? 
what were his final wishes?
mahogany, cherry, or a walnut casket for your loved one?
by the way, what happens the next time she wraps her car around a tree? 
you do know she’s a drunk?
what if she takes out a family?
by the way, are you sending your daughter back to school?
do you understand she may get infected?
why can’t you homeschool?
what do you mean you “have to work?”
by the way, did you get this?
did you get that?
did you sign these dozen or so contracts?
questions certainly but how i’m doing, not so much
it would be nice if someone gave a fuck
insistence all, they completely understand
Reactions to the contrary:
listen to me until i can talk you into this
listen to me until i can talk you out of this
explaining yourself to me is the key to our success

i’ve become incredibly weary
by the utter lack of empathy
if you can’t help, then please go away
the least you could do is not add to my plate

Christina Schmidt, MA