Turkey Poem

When I was a young turkey, new to the coop
My big brother, Tom, took me out on the stoop
Then he sat me down, and he spoke real slow
And he told me there was something that I just had to know.

His look and his tone I will always remember
When he told me of the horrors of, well… Black November!
“Come about August, now listen to me
Each day you’ll get six meals instead of your three.
And soon you’ll be thick, where once you were thin
and you’ll grow a big rubbery thing under your chin.

“And then one morning, when you’re warm in your bed
In comes the farmer’s wife, to hack off your head
Then she’ll pluck out all your feathers until you’re bald ’n’ pink
And scoop out your insides and leave you in the sink
And then comes the worst part,” he said, not bluffing
“She’ll spread your hindquarters and pack your bottom with stuffing!”

Well, the rest of his words were too grim to repeat
I sat on the stoop like a winged piece of meat
And decided on the spot that to avoid being cooked
I’d have to lay low to remain overlooked.
I began a new diet of nuts and granola
High-roughage salads, juice and diet cola
And as they ate pastries, chocolates, and crepes
I stayed in my room doing Jane Fonda tapes.

I maintained my weight of two pounds and a half,
And tried not to notice when the bigger birds laughed
But it was I who was laughing, under my breath
As they chomped and they chewed, ever closer to death.
And sure enough when Black November rolled around
I was the last turkey left in the Turkey compound.

So now I’m a pet in the farmer’s wife’s lap
I haven’t a worry, so I eat and I nap.
She held me today, while sewing and humming
And smiled at me and said “Christmas is coming.”

(Spotted on the walking_cane-9s list.)