Wednesday, March 24, 2010


He'd had a King Kooker since their first-born was a baby,
when Thanksgiving started to mean something.
Everyone gathered at their house
clanking dishes and silverware into the night.

He dug it out of the basement
the night before,
smoked a cigar while he brushed it off,
imagined the kids tossing the football in the backyard.

He went to Whole Foods and bought a six pound turkey,
cooked it outside in the oil like he does every year,
cried while he ate it
at a table set for five.

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