The bird is done.
The family's ready.
The children still play;
They will go hungry;
They don't like turkey.
The big kids protest
It's their turn to carve.
The adults act like
Protestants and pat
Their heads to dote them,
Saying they'll do so
Next year. "But what if
There is no next year?"
As the children still
play and starve and scream,
adults speculate
this will not be so.
The turnkey is carved
The fest dispenses;
The big kids receive
Good portions of sinew.
The children play injuns
And continue to starve,
Come to the adults
Saying they like turkey now,
But they want a lot
Of cranberry sauce.
The adults say that
They have all run out
As they distribute
pumpkin pie; children
say they change their minds,
they want pumpkin pie.
They can't have pumpkin pie
Until they eat turkey;
They don't want turkey,
They want pumpkin pie;
They can't have any
Until they eat turkey;
They don't WANT turkey,
They want-the children
Are cut off and put
Into time out until
It's 9 at night
And their stomachs howl
And they whine and wince
That the turkey's dry
And are told that they
Should have thought of that
Before their tantrum;
Are told to come join
The rest of the family
And may they please have
pumpkin pie, yes they may,
It's only a sliver
of what was passed out
Before, but the children
Eat it anyway
Because
They know,
Just like the Indians
They need to eat
Because they're children
And don't know what's right
For them.
"Happy Thanksgiving"
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Responsibility (And Other Scary Monsters)
PoetryPoems of an ever expanding world and the single soul that sees it through different lenses.
