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.