Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like the unwashed dishes still upon the table;
Let us go find certain half-completed chores
That happen to be yours.
Oh, do not say, "Whatever."
You are not so very clever.
I have said it all already, said it all,
I have seen you playing X-box hours on hours,
And I have seen your clothes upon the floor after long showers,
And in short, you are a slob.
No! I am not your housemaid, nor was meant to be.
If you go to meet your friends-- if you dare ask for the car--
You will hear your father's yelling, worse by far.
I do not think you're listening to me.
~ Tamary Shoemaker
(From a prompt at NaPoWriMo to use a line from another poem as your first line. The first poem I thought of was The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, which I memorized in college and still remember parts of. Then it just turned into a parody and, well, it's 11 pm and that's as good as it's going to get tonight.)