the dinner party

you know you are going
to have a big
fight with Irma
the second you come
home from work
and there's six
other people
sitting at the dinner
table, finishing up
what looks like
a plate of chicken
and potatoes.
string beans and
corn bread. home
made. ah oh, escapes
from your lips
as she rises to
begin crying
and berating you in
front of your
forgotten guests.
am I late, you say.
give me a hint here,
birthday, anniversary,
something, right?
you mumble something
about the train,
the weather,
work, failing to
mention happy hour
where the time just
plum got away
from you.