Sunday evenings,  once a month,
Instead of going back to church
We drove to my grandparents' house,
Parked in two rows beside sedans
Belonging to my uncles--
A prison guard, two factory
Workers and a farmer.

Women brought food from the kitchen,
To men who put out cigarettes
To take a plate and a soft drink,
Then rounded up the kids outside.
Should I have been more than quiet,
When uncle told a racist joke?