Thanksgiving is Over

Thanksgiving is over.
I feel so bloated.
I think that my stomach and
Liver exploded.

Everything was going
Along just fine.
We’d finished the beer and
Started on wine.

I had mashed potatoes. The
Stuffing was incredible.
I also had lots of all
Else that was edible.

The meat was divine,
The relish was sweet.
Even the vegetables
Provided a treat.

(Spinach casserole, a dish
Handed down from my mother,
Is just spinach held in a
Suspension of butter.)

There was bread, there was wine,
And side dishes galore;
So many that we had
No place to store

Them, and so we kept eating
Because it was there.
We packed it all in,
To the max we could bear.

No sound at the table but
Mass mastication,
With occasional slurps from
Gravy lubrication.

The carcass finally showed
Signs of demise,
And I’d stopped at my seventh
Helping (which was wise).

Uncle Ted had passed out
With his head in his plate,
Which helped his poor chair, by
Distributing his weight.

We’d all settled down,
Alive, but inert...
That’s when the cooks
Came in with dessert.

There was pie of all kinds,
And tons of whipped cream,
An infinite spread of
Dessert, so it seemed.

So we ate again,
I hereby admit.
We crammed it all down,
Every last bit.

Every pie, all the cream;
We sucked it all in.
Auntie Jen was even seen
Licking a tin.

And then it was over,
And we were all groaning,
All you could hear in the house
Was us moaning.

Joe went to sleep,
Right there on the floor,
Followed by Betty,
And two or three more.

Somebody slept out
On the back deck,
Which broke with his weight,
Nearly breaking his neck.

The rest of us managed
To struggle to bed,
Wishing we’d eaten a
Bit less instead.

Thanksgiving is over,
We’re all still in pain.
But there are leftovers;
Let’s do it again!

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