Turkey Waltz Poem by Troy Cochran

The turkey in the kitchen sink
lifts up like a naked baby,
spanking clean and newborn pink!

I can't resist the urge
to waltz it 'round the countertops
for kitchen laughs, in rolled-up sleeves,
dripping elbow juices on bowlegged knees.

She lifts her skinny wings to ask
giggling nieces and nephews, boisterous
and running amok, with crayons stuck
in mid-air over a clutter of coloring books,
sudden bright-eyed cupids alight with glee:
'Shall we give the old bird one more whirl
around the world before we dress her up? '
And they agree, with:
'More! More! '
She almost bounds away from me
to an uproarious encore!

I'd set her down and let her run
across the floor! But highbrow looks
from granny elders scold me over
knitting needles and pincer-looks,
and the Grand Old Puritan in me gets up
with his great-great-grandfather's
black and withered Recipe Book,
and the fun is over.

The children sigh,
but like to watch me stuff new guts
of breadcrumbs up the turkey butt,
with wrinkled noses; think I'm Moses
taking something up to heaven.
They'll grow up like me, believing
Thanksgiving is in the oven.

I'll have to wink at them, and make a face,
while someone else is saying grace.