Dad made me order out again

This week it’s Italian

The man on the line has a thick accent and

I can’t understand him

Seems like he’s underwater

Or maybe it’s me

I think the door slams outside

But I can’t tell because

I’m not really listening, anyway

Dad comes back with a box and a bag

Very bare, just white

They laugh at something I don’t hear

I guess I’m still not listening

My dad and my brother talk about football

Like they did all day

And maybe that’s why I’m not hearing

Or maybe I’m just not really here

The smell of the pasta makes me feel like throwing up

It’s greasy and layered with cheese that

I just don’t want to eat

But I eat and they negotiate  

About football and who’s winning

Neither of them are, by the way

Waiting for someone to ask about my day

The project I spent hours doing or

The book I read

I know they don’t care, but it’d be nice

Being asked for a change instead of

Being the one to do the asking

I resume my spot on the couch

Where I have been all day

Not moving except to shift the spot on the ceiling

I stare at

So little motivation to do

Absolutely anything

The same commercial,

How many times did I see that one today?

My dad laughs at it again

Like every time it ran

And he kisses me on the top of the head

And I smile out loud

But in my mind

I’m just

Not