Turkey Dinner Poem by Mark. A Heathcote

He wraps his hands around her throat.
A candle about to die
Black feathers in hand practically smote
A dagger's stabbing, bloody goodbye.
Then, like her male counterpart, she droops a wing.
But not in courtship display.
Audibly, quills do shake, like foil-shook zinc.
Her tail now falls, briskly limp.
First, to one side, cries cry out from her heart.
And then snood and wattle lay still.
Her life diminished all 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.
Barbecues and fireworks, and family reunions
And to all men on earth, a little goodwill.