Just a wee poem I concocted when wanting to share a Thanksgiving experience in our home. Sometimes it is the only time family can gather and catch up on the year’s news and give thanks we are all standing above ground. Each one—with the exception of our beloved animals— says what he/she is thankful for. I know the animals are giving thanks too, that we haven’t handed them over to the animal cops when they take a nip out of Clem’s hair piece, or knock his false teeth off the stand next to the bed.   

Years ago, Clem used to put to rest our fresh, Thanksgiving turkey. I remember one day, coming home, groceries for the event in hand and there sat Clem, with the turkey wobbling around on his knee. The noises coming out of that bird were like nothing I had ever heard, some foreign language for sure. On looking closer, I realized this bird had glassy eyes – now you know about the rest of this story. 

T’was The Night Before Thanksgiving
And all through our home,
not a creature was stirring
except Crabby dog and his bone.

The stove it was stoked up
to keep the place warm,
and Clem he was snoring
like a thunderous storm.

The pots in the pantry,
kept up with his beat,
the plates they were rattlin
thought they’d crash at my feet.

The pies were all baked
prepared for the feast,
the bread it was rising
plumped up from the yeast.

My once famous dressing
I assembled no more,
I now am addicted
to the boxed one in the store.

The eyes from the taties
no movement to blink,
awaited their peeling
in the old tea-stained sink.

The turnip sat proudly
knowing his fight would last long,
in order to peel him
I’d have to use hammer and tong.

But now I digress
from my story of woes,
movement awakened me
from Clem’s bare toes.

I took me a feather
waved it inside his nose,
his hand came a flying
he struck quite a pose.

His mouth opened wide
screamed what the bleep are you doin,
not me, I declared
must be Tom turkey a croonin.

For tonight old Tom
would sit on Clem’s lap,
while old Clem would spoon-feed him
from his moonshine on tap.

Clem felt sad for old Tom
to face such a fate,
knowing Thanksgiving
would land old Tom on his plate.

He thought the old buzzard
shouldn’t  know all the facts,
that after his drinking
his fate was Clem’s axe.

Clem ambled out to the barn
to get old Tom prepared,
the deed had to be done
not much time to be spared.

But this time old Tom
had the best poker hand,
when Clem went to grab him
On Clem’s back he did land.

He pecked on Clem’s ear
‘till it turned red and blue,
when Clem swung out in protest
Tom took off right on cue.

If it’s turkey your wantin
Tom shouted  in flight,
look in your mirror
and cook that just right.

The moral my friends
for your Thanksgiving meals,
give thanks you’re not Clem
who can’t eat till he heals.