We inch closer to the first leg of the Holiday extravaganza. Thanksgiving is a mere twelve days away. With all the uncertainty of these times and the possibility of restrictions being foisted upon us due to this insidious virus, we are preparing our banquet as if none of that matters.
As poets, we all bring something special to the table. As friends, we will give thanks and bring a tasty poem to our “feast.” Think a traditional Thanksgiving dinner and choose one item or dish you relish during this time. Maybe it’s from your own family traditions, or your mother/grandmother’s cookbook. Let’s fill our table with a wonderful word feast in preparation for the real McCoy.
MARIE’S OFFERING:
I should first explain that I went 30-plus years with a severe reaction to butter and chocolate. ONLY butter and chocolate. I know, I know … it makes no sense. For 30-plus years, I have had to be ridiculously careful, because even minute amounts wreaked havoc. When my thyroid was fixed, this went away.
THANKSGIVING, 2020
Buttered potatoes,
and stuffing with butter.
Slather that nut bread
(my heart is aflutter!).
No need to ask
“is there butter in this?”
Now I can happily
fill up my dish.
But now that selecting
what goes on my plate
no longer concerns me,
we can’t congregate.
© Marie Elena Good, 2020
WALT’S CONTRIBUTION:
I YAM WHAT I YAM
I yam what I yam.
Don’t confuse me with a sweet potato,
Where they are moist and orange,
I yam dry and starchy, dark like tree bark.
No matter how I’m viewed,
don’t let my taste be misconstrued.
Don’t call me sweet potato.
I yam what I yam, and that’s all that I yam.
Now pass the gravy.
(C) WalterJ. Wojtanik – 2020