Tonight's Poet Corner: Drinks With In-Laws

Drinks with In-Laws
by Belinda Roddie

Uncle Roy's greasy hand maneuvers
under his wife's shirt, and we all
get to witness the display, the hot bile
rising in our throats, constricting our
speech, and souring our breath as we distill
our ill wishes from the cans of cheap ale.

When my mother-in-law gets up for a cup of tea
to wash down the sin, the singing starts.
The mocking continues. The bible verses
stain the coffee tables. Cousin Archie lights
a cigarette while the windows are still closed.
Father threatens to punch him for smoking
around my asthmatic grandmother - "Go ahead,"

the freckled little bastard replies. The belching
and whistling and hollering makes the landlord
downstairs angry. His broom dents his own
ceiling like a blunt housekeeper's javelin.

When Roy starts crooning off-key to his
hiccuping spouse, I check my watch and notice
that the hands have stopped moving. It has not
gotten any darker or lighter outside. The beer
in my glass has grown warm. Am I in purgatory,
or does this reunion only feel like eternity,
and my car screams to me from the cul-de-sac,
crying out, "Why won't you let me save you?"