This Thanksgiving weekend offered us the perfect day: 10/10/10....3 tens, and tension mounts as I count the days since a truly perfect day.
Again and away through the bibulous tide of the village rules by which I must abide I'm tense to ride it out, and shout "FOR FUCK'S SAKES!!!" at nothing in particular and only in my mind, for out loud I shroud my disdain by calmly asking for the gravy to be passed.
This Thanksgiving weekend I am the turkey. Stuffed and baked and torn at and fought over and I offer only a wishbone.
Alone.
So others may fight with their might to o'erpower the other, their brother perhaps, and I lapse into the disgrace that is the race in this village, to lose.
As the guest of honour at the harvest feast morphs from delicious anticipation to a cold greasy carcass; take note that at least, unlike the bird you still retain two functioning drumsticks and the ability to use them.
ReplyDeleteThe perspective you introduce has left me out on a limb.
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