Another Day

I imagine a different day;
even yesterday,
a day when platitudes about
holidays, especially those
that demand gratefulness,
felt free of that syrup
that slowly drips
across the airwaves
and through our wireless portals
laced with black Friday specials
and scented with sage and
a side of thirty-year old
green bean casserole.

And tomorrow. Tomorrow
may be quite a day, too,
as the relief of surviving
all of the food fuss
and rattled nerves creates
one tremendous sigh
and leftover mashed potatoes,
and I return to unforced
thoughts of what really matters
and not the pile of dishes.
You know, those dishes
like the gravy boat that only
make an appearance once a year.

Maybe Thanksgiving sets
the mind straight, maybe
in the feasting we gain
gratitude along with
those two extra pounds.
Let us hope if I speak my thanks
now, no one will be surprised
because he already knows.

I will say it all again
on Monday or Tuesday anyway,
to the same people
I always say it to.
I will leave no one out–
even those who would
prefer not to hear it.
The universe demands.

Yes, I might even invite
those same ungratefuls
home for pie.



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