Sitting on a concrete chair

Sipping on frozen water

(Helps ease the ennui of watching Her tan)

I chatter openly and often

I am the good son; Baking aimlessly in the day

She rises up when Done; Suggests that I do the same

But my reluctant legs refuse

Even when threatened, they remain eerily still

Suddenly, I allow myself to be jerked from my chair

My point further proven, or so I thought, but

She begins to try and persuade them

Disgruntled, they do not respond

Her swearing and prodding prove futile

No more patience and no recourse left in Her

She drags me by the arm into the cool air-conditioned house

Finally some relief

But now my legs hurt like Hell

I would have apologized

If I thought it would have helped