Thanksgiving For the Rest of Us

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Deep down in the depths of a dark den
I sit and write my note with pen.
The end is near,
And isn’t it queer
That I can stand to write about it?

Shoved in a cage,
Yet I am without rage
Of the upcoming fate I will endure.

I know the process well,
It’s only show and tell
For those who haven’t been paying attention.

First we get defeathered,
By a young woman named Heather,
Then placed on a scale to find out our worth.

If the females are worried about anything
It’s that their weight will hit the ceiling,
And no one will like them anymore.

Next we are thrown, yet again,
Into the dark depths of a delivery van,
Doomed not to see light for a while.

Once at the slaughterhouse,
We are thrown around like an old toy mouse,
And then the screams start.

One by one, our fate is met,
By a large fellow with a clever in his mit,
Chopping and hacking the whole day through.

Finally it is my turn,
To taste the lightning fast steel
Burn through my neck.

Life’s been a pain in the patooty,
And finally it’s my duty
To feed those who are hungry on this Thanksgiving Day.
“They’re just tearing him limb from limb!”
This was the voice of my counterpart, salt.
It was the time of year where everybody gets together and mutilates this bird carcass.
Me? I was accustomed to it.
Happened every year, so it wasn’t much of a surprise.
Salt on the other hand never got over it.
“They’re poisoning him with mustard gas and bayoneting his thigh!”
Salt always exaggerated.
After the main meal was over, passing, devouring, wiping of the mouths, there was pie.
The pie didn’t need seasoning, so my counterpart and I were put aside, limiting my
senses.
I could now smell the delicious pumpkin.
I could hear sighs of satisfaction.
I could almost taste it!
Then I felt the warmth of a hand close around me.
After a few seconds both salt and I were put in a cabinet, not to see light until the next time we were needed.





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