Did Sally Slap Billy

I listen to the screaming, squabbling, slapping and the slamming I am perched on the edge of their couch as a non-honored guest, Refusing to buy into their circus. A child rolls on my feet but I refuse to react. Someone throws a book through the air. It lands with a loud plop six centimeters to my right. I take a dainty swig of peach tea because I cannot find these people’s liquor Stomping now ensues. Slamming and screaming. One of the monkeys begins wailing. Three hours of watching the “children” has felt like three months. I roll my eyes, and turn the TV up to drown out their circus. My prissy stuck-up daughter flounces in wearing sixteen clothing store bags. She begins to chastise me. Have they had lunch? Did I put the extra sauce on their pizza? They are five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, and twenty. Not my circus, not my monkeys, I tell her. I could not figure out her stuck-up confection oven actually. Feel guilty? Not hardly. This is her circus. These are her monkeys She is the one who had fifteen children I rarely come here Now I remember why Did Sally slap Billy? She asks me How the heck would I know? I am just trying to enjoy my peach tea I get up, collect my purse, and kiss her good bye I mean really kiss her good bye. Now that the CV19 virus has kicked in I am under curfew. I could get jailed for six months or have to pay a huge fine for going outside my own three ring circus. I have to stay in my own rings. Away from her monkeys