Turkey Dinner Poem by Mark Heathcote

He wraps his hands around her throat
a candle about to die
black feathers in hand practically-smote
a daggers stabbing, bloody goodbye.
Then like her male-counterpart droops wing
but not in courtship display.
Audibly, quills do shake, like foil shook-zinc.
Her tail now falls, briskly limp.
First one side then another, cries cry-out from her heart
and then snood and wattle lay still.
Her life diminished all but-limp-in-her black garb,
extinguished—with one last snapped shrill.
It's the Fourth of July, hot-diggity-it's
Independence Day; dinner is under the grill
herb barbecues and fireworks and family reunions
and to all men on earth a little goodwill.

~ or ~

There are hands around that palpitating throat
a candle that's about to die.
Black feathers in hand practically smote
a dagger stabbing a bloody goodbye.
Then like her male-counterpart droops wing
but not in courtship display.
Audibly, quills do shake, like foil shook-zinc.
Her tail now falls, briskly limp.
Firstly to one side, cries cry out from her heart
then snood and wattle lay still.
Her life limp diminished all in her black garb,
extinguished—with one-last sharp snapped shrill.
It's the Fourth of July, hot-diggity it's
Independence Day - dinner is hot under the grill.
Barbecues and fireworks, and family reunions-
and to all men on earth - a little goodwill.