Turkey Poem

When I was a young turkey,
new to the coop,
My big brother Tom
took me out on the stoop,
Then he sat me down,
and he spoke real slow,
And he told me there was
something that I just had to know.

His look and his tone
I will always remember,
When he told me of the horrors
of, well...... Black November!
Come about August,
now listen to me,
Each day you'll get six meals
instead of your three.
And soon you'll be thick,
where once you were thin,
and you'll grow a big rubbery
thing under your chin;

And then one morning,
when you're warm in your bed,
In comes the farmer's wife,
to hack off your head;
Then she'll pluck out all your
feathers until you're bald 'n pink,
And scoop out your insides
and leave you in the sink;
And then comes the worst part
he said not bluffing,
She'll spread your hind quarters
and pack your bottom with stuffing!

Well, the rest of his words
were too grim to repeat,
I sat on the stoop like a
winged piece of meat,
And decided on the spot
that to avoid being cooked,
I'd have to lay low to
remain overlooked.
I began a new diet of
nuts and granola,
High-roughage salads,
juice and diet cola;
And as they ate pastries,
chocolates and crepes,
I stayed in my room
doing Jane Fonda tapes.

I maintained my weight
of two pounds and a half,
And tried not to notice when
the bigger birds laughed;
But it was I who was
laughing, under my breath,
As they chomped and they
chewed, ever closer to death.
And sure enough when
Black November rolled around,
I was the last turkey left in
the Turkey compound;

So now I'm a pet in the
farmer's wife's lap;
I haven't a worry,
so I eat and I nap.
She held me today,
while sewing and humming,
And smiled at me and said
"Christmas is coming."

[ Author Unknown -- from Catherine Major, via Tim Davis ]