The bird is done.

The family's ready.

The children still play;

They will go hungry;

They don't like turkey.

The big kids protest

It's their turn to carve.

The adults act like

Protestants and pat

Their heads to dote them,

Saying they'll do so

Next year. "But what if

There is no next year?"

As the children still

play and starve and scream,

adults speculate

this will not be so.

The turnkey is carved

The fest dispenses;

The big kids receive

Good portions of sinew.

The children play injuns

And continue to starve,

Come to the adults

Saying they like turkey now,

But they want a lot

Of cranberry sauce.

The adults say that

They have all run out

As they distribute

pumpkin pie; children

say they change their minds,

they want pumpkin pie.

They can't have pumpkin pie

Until they eat turkey;

They don't want turkey,

They want pumpkin pie;

They can't have any

Until they eat turkey;

They don't WANT turkey,

They want-the children

Are cut off and put

Into time out until

It's 9 at night

And their stomachs howl

And they whine and wince

That the turkey's dry

And are told that they

Should have thought of that

Before their tantrum;

Are told to come join

The rest of the family

And may they please have

pumpkin pie, yes they may,

It's only a sliver

of what was passed out

Before, but the children

Eat it anyway

Because

They know,

Just like the Indians

They need to eat

Because they're children

And don't know what's right

For them.

"Happy Thanksgiving"