The poet William Stafford set himself the task of writing a poem a day. When someone asked him what he would do when his poem-of-the-day wasn't very good, he replied "I simply lower my standards." In order to increase output, the bar here is set at a low level - the point of this is to have some fun with current events and politics. I welcome contributions and comments. Now you can also follow Doggerelo on Twitter (@doggerelo). Because of continuing medical problems, I'm no longer able to post a poem-a-day. I'll continue to post poems, but at a reduced frequency, so please stay tuned.

Friday, November 25, 2011

The Day After

     By the big white gravy ladle
Sits the plate of sliced-up turkey
Yesterday’s Thanksgiving turkey
Steaming on the silver platter,
platter that's been used forever- 
Grandpa's mother's silver platter-
Golden drumsticks rising skyward
Boldly carved by Uncle Willis
Served along with acorn squash and 
Massive mounds of mashed potatoes
Holding little lakes of gravy,
Grandma’s favorite oyster dressing,
Onions, brocc’li, mushroom stuffing -
Mom’s Shitake mushroom stuffing,
Mushroom stuffing that’s to die for -
Beans of green sautéed with shallots,
Cranb’ry sauce and bread with butter,
Cheddar cheese and pies of apple,
Quince or pumpkin, followed by some
coffee, scotch or port.

      Now the turkey’s cut to pieces,
White and dark meat’s on the platter,
laid out neatly on the platter,
Oyster dressing's nearly finished,
pies are sitting on the sideboard
Stuffing’s in the Rubbermaid and
Boiling on the stove’s the carcass -
turkey soup that’s now in progress.
Almost everyone agrees that
Yet to come’s the greatest treasure:
Soup or sandwich, what’s left over
Constitutes the highest pleasure. 

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