Writing his history of the Papacy
in Positano’s peaceful air,
the American McKnight, so Steinbeck swears,
is more Italian than the Italians,
but when Thanksgiving’s imminent
his family craves turkey and so the order's sent.
Soon live dinner has arrived by bus,
tied, gobbling, on the roof. The turkey settles in
but soon the day of reckoning arrives
when 'gobble' must become a passive verb
for this proud bird. But how to execute
the foul deed, yet keep the fowl from panicking?
Solution’s found – some brandy or some gin
will numb the senses of the unsuspecting bird...
Grand Marnier’s the thing -
soon in drunken stupor their dinner gently snores.
But what’s this? A sudden flurry
of wings and tail – the bird has flown the coop -
it seems it's in a hurry
to make the crossing to Capri...
Watchers down the coastline launch their fleets
but all the boats arrive too late -
the turkey’s met a watery fate...
the rescuers agree, the salty bird’s returned -
the family McKnight gives thanks, a lesson’s learned –
when preparing meals always stay alert –
there’s sometimes more to watch for
than whether dinner’s burned!
Moral:
By all means have drinks with your dinner
but never get your dinner drunk!
Janice Windle
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/italian-collection-the-thanksgiving-turkey-final-edit/
