Who Is The Turkey?


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.




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