Writing his history of the Papacy <br />in Positano’s peaceful air, <br />the American McKnight, so Steinbeck swears, <br />is more Italian than the Italians, <br />but when Thanksgiving’s imminent <br />his family craves turkey and so the order's sent. <br /> <br />Soon live dinner has arrived by bus, <br />tied, gobbling, on the roof. The turkey settles in <br />but soon the day of reckoning arrives <br />when 'gobble' must become a passive verb <br />for this proud bird. But how to execute <br />the foul deed, yet keep the fowl from panicking? <br /> <br />Solution’s found – some brandy or some gin <br />will numb the senses of the unsuspecting bird... <br />Grand Marnier’s the thing - <br />soon in drunken stupor their dinner gently snores. <br />But what’s this? A sudden flurry <br />of wings and tail – the bird has flown the coop - <br />it seems it's in a hurry <br />to make the crossing to Capri... <br /> <br />Watchers down the coastline launch their fleets <br />but all the boats arrive too late - <br />the turkey’s met a watery fate... <br />the rescuers agree, the salty bird’s returned - <br />the family McKnight gives thanks, a lesson’s learned – <br />when preparing meals always stay alert – <br />there’s sometimes more to watch for <br />than whether dinner’s burned! <br /> <br />Moral: <br />By all means have drinks with your dinner <br />but never get your dinner drunk!<br /><br />Janice Windle<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/italian-collection-the-thanksgiving-turkey-final-edit/
