They’ll be gone soon (relatives)

I sit uncomfortably in a folding chair.

The aunts, uncles, grandparents, and inlaws

sit in the plush ones talking and arguing.

They’ll be gone soon.

I hold my breath and nod and agree

all to get them to stay away from talking to me.

They’ll be gone soon.

I can have my easy chair back (the one Uncle John farted in earlier)

Time ticks slowly toward 11:00 but few have left and I’m starting to fade.

The minute hand reaches generously forward; the clock warns us of the late hour.

A mumble of ‘its late’ breaks out.

One by one they stumble out with goodbyes trailing faintly behind.

I sigh and make a promise I make every year: never will I host another family gathering... and yet, each year I do.