The Spread

The email landed, 'Bring a dish,'

a communal gathering, a hopeful wish.

But my gut tightened, saw the scene,

that wobbling Jell-O, sickly green.

It slid and tilted, a disaster's sign,

precariously balanced on the line.

I saw the faces, polite and strained,

as someone's effort was explained.

The plastic cutlery, the paper plates,

the small talk that just aggravates.

I'd rather hide, with something bland,

than bring a mess I can't command.