It's Thanksgiving today,
and if you'd like to stay,
I'll tell you the time
that our turkey ran away.
It's been a ten-year-toss
since "The Great Turkey Loss,"
when all we had for dinner
was cranberry sauce.
We were seated at the table,
ready to eat, feeling able,
my mom was in the kitchen
cooking dinner with Aunt Mable.
She brought the turkey out
(under-cooked, I'd say, no doubt),
placed it on the table,
and it began to nudge about!
Aunt Mable screamed aloud,
the turkey stood up, proud,
turned and faced my mother,
and then it kindly bowed.
It took a running jump --
this turkey, moist and plump --
landed on the table edge
and bounced up off it's rump
|
then landed on the floor,
then darted for the door.
I know it's hard to believe
this bit of turkey lore.
It ran on down the street,
this turkey without feet
had run out of my view
before I left my seat.
My mother was quite dazed,
my father was amazed,
Aunt Mable surely fainted,
and I thought I was crazed.
Our turkey had just split.
Our dinner -- that was it.
Took off like a track star,
and I never saw it quit.
So this year I can tell,
when they ring that dinner bell,
the big Thanksgiving turkey
will be cooked, extra well.
|
