Family Cult At Dinner

It is a late-night dinner today:

No one complains,

or pretends to care,

as chairs are pulled,

pieces of crockery

set on the groaning table,

silverware clinking—

the usual ritual.

Everyone plays with their food,

food that feels like decay

but doesn’t smell or taste that way,

forced down throats,

smiles stitched into skin,

as their eyes meet their

begetter.

Everyone knows how wide to smile—

not too many teeth;

you don’t want to bare them.

Chewing without a sound,

jaw aching,

but bearable.

Breathing just loud enough,

just enough,

just enough—

enough—

not to be noticed,

but always watched.

And the begetter smiles at you.

Everyone holds their breath.

You smile,

just wide enough,

just enough—

enough—

“It’s delicious, Father.”