As the gathering commences,
I prepare myself to brace,
Myself for backwards compliments,
Smile plastered on my face.
As we sit down to the table,
Tension to cut with a knife,
While discreetly rolling our eyes,
At Uncle Ned’s new teen wife.
I can see my bored young cousins,
Don’t look like they’re having fun,
And ignore my mothers gestures,
At the work Aunt Jane had done.
Apple pie like a lead balloon,
The wine is less than stellar,
The turkey’s looking undercooked,
Can you say ‘salmonella’?
My brother’s bragging that he’s rich,
But we all know he’s lying,
Then someone mutters “Oh shut up!”
And the parsnips go flying.
Next turkey legs are being thrown,
Mashed potatoes hit the floor,
The homeless guy we invited,
Makes a mad dash for the door.
I scurry under furniture,
I see from my advantage,
Apple pie lobbed off the terrace,
Which does serious damage.
But somehow we are brought to peace,
Could be grandpa’s insistence,
Or maybe we’re just out of food,
Or hear sirens in the distance.
And all apologies are made,
And my family comes through,
Although Aunt Zelda wanders off,
Vaguely threatening to sue.
So when Thanksgiving rolls around,
I’m sure you will all agree,
You can be thankful that you’re not,
Spending the day with me.