fromthemouthofmoi

All you had to do was arrive and eat. Maybe say something charming sprinkled here and there. That’s all you had to do. It was Christmas Day after all, that season of goodwill and cheer. The day we suspend our grief and rage and hold it still until the New Year. That’s all you had to do. But instead you sat at the other end of the table from me, just out of earshot, pretending to hold court like Jabba the Hutt, like you cooked a feast for eight, like you gathered everyone to my home for festivities, like you owned the place. You decided that this might be a good time to rage against Obama, and The Blacks, the Pakistanis and some other unsuspecting group of people who were lucky to be absent. You moaned about your housekeeper, the one I procured for you. You don't know this but you have been placed in the Never Darken My Doorstep   Again  pool of people I’ve known. Yes you and that tired old queen who arrived late —from the waist up looking like an ancient sophomore and a peasant