|
Turkey
Your time is here,
again, old friend.
Four more, this time,
until the end.
I am glad you are not,
our country's symbol.
For you are not beautiful,
nor are you nimble.
At least in your present,
bleached, bloated state.
No longer wild, wary,
and full of hate.
When you were in lust,
a harem to mate.
Taking on all comers,
with a leer and a gait.
You flew off the handle,
of many a branch.
Your territory was vast,
you bought the ranch.
But those days are gone,
except for a few.
Still a picture postcard,
when come into view.
You come to the table,
all hormones and fat.
Whether baked or fried,
it has come to that.
Stuffed to the gills,
one day of the year.
Just a launching pad,
for a day of good cheer.
As for me, I have found,
that pound for pound,
there is no sweeter treat,
than eating you… year-round.
Copyright 2011 © Ronald W. Hull
11/24/11
|
Share
Print
Save
Follow
They are marvelous creatures. When I eat meat, I prefer the taste of chicken, though!
Happy Belated Thanksgiving ~
Anna
and i sense a wistfulness and respect throughout.
John
Regis