Turkey Day: A Humor Poem




It’s that time of year again,
When we all expect to gain, my friend
I’m not just talking about the love
Or the blessings from above
I’m talking now about my waist
The inches that I owe to tastes.
Each year we expect to gain
A pound—five, we usually retain
And each year, I like to say
“I’m going to have self-control today.
No matter the moistness of the turkey
Or the sweetness of the pie
I will eat the right amount of calories”
But it’s a lie.

Not on purpose, may I remind
It’s the smells the work upon my mind
The cranberry sauce and special spice
The well-cooked meat, so plump. So nice!
Don’t get me started on the yams
Or the honey-glazed, sauce-dripping ham!
 Creamy gravy flowing on mashed potatoes!
And then those buttery, glistening rolls!
Pasta salad, fruit salad, what’s that pink stuff?
Jello salad, pudding salad. Carrying two plates is rough.
That jam’s homemade? I could tell!
I can see my tummy swell.
Green beans are genuinely good for you.
Though caked in butter, it’s still true!
The stuffing is such a beautiful sight!
I can’t fit in another bite.
And then they come: the pies.
Pumpkin, blackberry, buttermilk and cherry
Blueberry, apple, and even strawberry!
Add some whipped cream on top.
At this point, it’s a sin to stop.
And thus it begins the month-long feasts!
All baking and sharing cookies and treats.
But it’s okay, I say with a grin.
Next year, I’ll start going to the gym.


©  Jill Burgoyne

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