Required Contribution

The text came through: 'Don't forget!

Fall Potluck, this Saturday.'

And just like that, the quiet fret

about what to bake, or buy, or say.

I scanned the pantry shelves, a quick, cold survey.

Something simple, something that won't fail.

Not too ambitious, not too gourmet.

Just enough to get through the social trail.

So I made the dip. The one with three cheeses.

Wrapped it tight in foil, still warm inside.

It sat there in the backseat, catching breezes.

Another offering, nowhere to hide.

The driveway filled, all those strange cars.

Another evening of forced cheer.

Pretending to reach for the stars,

just trying to disappear.