She used to ask me if I had a good day.
It was a loaded question for there was
no good answer in her view, it was really
just rhetorical, something you said
to avoid talking about your own
feelings and emotions at any given moment.
She expected me to complain about all
that did not go as planned, whereupon
she could roll her eyes, a sign that
this conversation was a monologue
running far too long and now ended.
If I said it went well, she would nod
as if I had sung the coda and she
had heard all she needed, and much
she never wanted or needed to know.
She is in my history now, and I
know that the right answer is that
there are only days and what I make
of them, and days are not capable
of being good or bad unless and until
I decide to label them, and they
truly do not give a damn what I think.