A poem by Beverly Stock.
The turkey slipped inside the case,
All plump at his finale,
A carcass bare excluding face,
I felt some melancholy.
His neck was cocked, he made no sound
His skin all white and plucked
A while ago he’d fluttered round
Frozen now and out of luck.
I rose: Ah, then, it seemed he knew
Too late his helpless error
He seemed to roll an inch or two
And slipped by my hand in terror
Now here, now there, side to side
Escape was not in his purview.
I had to find in aisles so wide
More items for my menu.
With love, I fixed my turkey,
His shanks, they were a winner.
No family came, all quarantined
So, we “Zoomed” during holiday dinner.