She storms the doctors’ office when they fail to call her back,
although there hasn’t been a long delay.
She reads her own anxiety and goes on the attack,
and won’t attend to anything we say.
“What’s wrong with it?” she’ll challenge. “I just really need to know.
Why, anyone would do the same as me.”
And honestly, it’s not her age – it’s neediness she’ll throw
ahead and over equanimity.
“That’s just the way I am,” she’ll state, if she responds at all.
But “Can it!” is her likelier reply
if anyone should dare to ask or comment. She won’t fall
for conversation. She would never try
to modulate, to empathize, to righteously recall.
Apologize? We think she’d rather die.