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!