As is always true, I’m the last to show.

My brother yells out a snarky, “Hello!”

My sister’s eyebrows rise in disapproving accusation.

While dad sleeps in his recliner, deep in relaxation.

Waving my hand in feigned greet,

I head straight to the table, my usual seat.

It’s the place at the end, of which all covet.

Though try stealing from me, I’ll tell you to shove it!

But alas my sweet spot is blocked, and I’m gutted!

In its place a folding table’s been tightly abutted.

Now it’s true we change spouses, (seven times between three sibs).

We change jobs, (more than a skeleton has ribs).

We change homes (almost as often as mates).

But we do NOT change the positioning of our Thanksgiving plates.

I’m still taking it in as Mom bursts from the kitchen,

Holding roasted turkey hanging off the platter a smidgen.

She orders my nephew, “Stop running about!”

Then plops down the platter mid table, thereabout.

But it’s not the middle now, it’s too far one way.

The added table has ruined the dining feng shui.

First mom wakes dad hollering, “HEY, HEY!”

Then calls the rest together to pray.

During prayer time we are dreadfully bad.

Making our mother exceedingly mad.

Mom glares as she closes with a firm, “Amen.”

Hoping God will forgive her children’s heathen.

Now standing at the table, their eyes all a focus,

The rest of the family realizes the seating is bogus.

Wholly bewildered, much perplexed,

We look to mom, uncertain what’s next.

Purposely hiking her cheerfulness, a full measure,

Mom announces, “This year we all sit together!”

The kids, teens, adults dining in one place?

This can only be viewed as a downright disgrace!

“What?!”, “Why?!”, “No!” we bellow all the way,

Dragging our chairs from the table in resentful dismay.

Not willing to admit her obvious mistake,

Mom yells, “Sit, you give me a headache!”

Like so many stranded fish out of water,

We flop about aimlessly as mom’s temper grows hotter.

My brother selects a chair, plops down.

We follow suit, each wearing a frown.

Mom attempts to engage us in light conversation.

We adult kids nod politely in silent agitation.

The teenagers pick at their feast in silence.

Refusing to speak out of pure defiance.

Dad chows on his turkey leg quite happily.

Entirely oblivious to his disgruntled family.

My young nephew has homed in on the strawberry Jell-O.

He scarfs down the gelatin marbled with mallow.

He gulps and he swallows, with nary a chew,

Causing him to cough, choke and ultimately spew.

The chunky pink goo hits my brother’s white shirt,

And the entire family gasps in horrified concert.

My brother leaps to his feet, overturning a full glass of milk.

Which splashes and splatters, soaking mom’s tablecloth of silk.

My sister hops up prior to milk hitting her lap.

Though in her haste trips, falls, hits the floor with a loud slap.

With this the teenagers burst forth in laughter.

Throw back their heads, howling to the rafters.

At which point I spot defeat in my mother’s eye,

Hitting me right in the heart as she starts to cry.

“Why in God’s name can’t you all just behave?

One nice family dinner is all that I crave!

But you monsters can’t sit for even one meal,

How can you be my offspring for real?”

Then she does the one thing we horrendous children can’t bear,

She weeps softly, near silently, slumped in her chair.

From my brother to my sister, to the teens and the tot,

We scurry and scamper to clean up our spot.

Righting glasses, and chairs, blotting milk on the silk,

We work as one unit, like people of higher ilk.

When everything and everyone is in their place,

We hold hands about the table, repeating mom’s grace.

Then after re-giving thanks to our savior,

We re-do our dinner using our finest behavior.

Seems we’ve taken mother’s patience for granted these years,

Until finally we’ve pushed the poor woman to tears.

But next moment mom dries her eyes on a kerchief,

Slowly surveying us each in relieved disbelief.

“I knew you were better than what you portrayed.

I knew my dear children were much finer made!”

Sheepishly we exhale and look to our dad.

Hoping he too is not angry or mad.

But dad has not paused chewing

for even one minute.

Instead, he quips with a grin,

“This dinner’s great innit?”