What's For Dinner? Poem by Sandra Conner

I spot him there, behind the barn,
A full-plumed, regal bird.
He looks up, straight into my eyes.
I speak no single word.

It's happened thus, in passing years -
At least for two or three:
Each mid-November I've set my mind;
He's been there to greet me.

Now, lifting his head in challenge strong,
He gobbles loud and long.
I lower my gun and heave a sigh:
To kill him would be wrong!

So, wrestling with my double mind,
I trek home to my wife
To explain why once again this year
Ham will greet the carving knife.


© 2012