The gallant bird on Thanksgiving Day

Used to turn and strut and away

But then it was shot and left most bare

Naked in my kitchen lair

I put the turkey in to roast

As guests begin to drink and boast

Talk about me fills the air

As my in-laws berate me without a care

Their words like knives slicing away

Plunged deep inside this holiday

Soon I’m like that bird in there

Stuffed, pinched and plucked with nary a stare

And soon I begin to contemplate

Who is really for dinner this holiday feast?

And it appears the bird has suffered the least.