Ode to A Turkey
My tummy aches, and a satiated sleep overcomes
My eyes, as though chugging Nyquil I partook,
Or shared a case of Ripple amongst the bums
Until fully drunk upon the bleary world I look:
'Tis not through alcohol that I imbibed,
Not cranberry, potato, gravy, nor apple pie
In mountainous piles upon my plate,
Stuffed as much as I tried
To feast alongside thy luscious thigh,
But 'tis your tryptophan rendered me sedate.
O for another notch or two! That belt loosen
With a sigh of relief from deep within,
Expanding volume and the unpressured abdomen,
Jiggle, and hearty burp, and gluttonous sin!
O for the bottle full of the pink Pepto!
Full of the antidote for gustatory abuse,
With viscous ooze coating all the tract
And ease for alimentary woe;
That I might dose and take a peaceful snooze
And with thee passed through, get my comfort back.
Pass all through, digest, and absorb that
What thou unbeknownst hath today given me,
The calories, the protein, and the fat,
Here, where families dine with worshipful glee;
Where ancient Uncle again retells his jokes,
Where too tall teen at the kids table sits,
Where but to eat is to miss half the fun
And risk snickered chokes;
Where joy cannot hide behind the sacred rites
Or old travails dull the enthusiatic reunion.
Here! Here! forever thou stay tenderly,
Not captured by my gut and my body,
But held with gentle clasp of Memory,
Though synapses age and grow shoddy:
Already thou merges! thy feast hath joined others
And content Thanksgiving is upon the stage
Surrounded by its many blessing past
Dimming out the faded bothers,
But that troubles passed without permanent damage,
For here and now we gather again at last.
I cannot see the future beyond my eyes,
Nor who will attend our next annual feast,
But, in enchanted dreams, my hope will realize
All such speculation is of importance least:
The laughs, the stories, and good times shared,
Blessings counted and burdens lifted,
In camaraderie and assemblies years ago
And with kin and friends who cared;
These are what thy festival has to us gifted
Upon which our fate and happiness doth grow.
Dark meat I eat; and, for many years,
I have overfilled in a game with lurking Pain,
Taunted him with food stuffed to my ears
To wrap me head and torso in constricting chain;
Now again precautions were all neglected,
As experience whispered not on my shoulder,
Whilst thou are tempting in thy savory aroma,
Me left unprotected!
Still wouldst thou entreat, and, not wiser, just older,
I respond to eat myself into a coma.
Thou wast born for death, delicious Bird!
The hungry generations gobble thee down;
The first drumstick, the second (but not a third)
I thought yummy as many for years have found.
Perhaps for more, thy white flesh is as good,
With thy gravy poured thickly on top,
In company of an ear of sugar-and-butter corn
And all other manners of food.
Arrays of dishes at the table that ne'er doth stop
To celebrate the sacrifice for which thou were born.
Born! the word that starts all our fates,
From thee to me my thoughts again turn!
Farewell! and thanks to you and your mates
For pleasures and lessons we yearly learn.
Bye, bye! Thou hast filled our body and mind
With much nourishment for today and all year
As a symbol for this holiday we keep
To be thankful for what we find:
Such a ramble to bounce from ear to ear;
Now, go away – I want to sleep.
