Call it Macaroni

As they exchange spittle and shouts
we eat our macaroni
and keep our heads down,
acting like everything’s normal.
For all we know
it is.

Neither of us are familiar
with the goings on
of this couple
in this house.
We thought it would be good
to make new friends
and this couple seemed perfect
at first glance.

The carpet has a growing stain of gravy
from where she threw a ladle at him.
He deflected
to the carpet’s disgrace.
“We can go,”
I say quietly
for the third time.
“No!” They both say.
She continues. “Don’t let this guy
stop us all from having a wonderful evening.”

The evening is not wonderful.
The macaroni’s al dente
which doesn’t agree with me
a fact I won’t learn
until much later in the night.

They fight for what seems like hours
and for all we know,
days more.
We never speak to them again.

About Jonathan Berger

I used to write quite a bit more.
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