A Bachelor Thanksgiving
in honour of the Canadian
holiday
arrangement in ironic
pentameter
by deservedly anonymous†
|
||
I think I shall never sniff
A poem as lovely as a whiff Of turkey and mashed po— tatoes and frozen snow–
Peas in vast disproportion
As I gulp another portion. Cranberry sauce, count me fan, Maintains the shape of the can.
Cheap beer and cheaper whiskey
Makes the shallow heart grow frisky. Three litre jugs of screw-capped wine First tastes horrible, then tastes fine.
Deli turkey, cellophane wrapped.
Processed ham and all that crap. Sherbet, ice cream, anything frozen, Packaged cupcakes by the dozen,
Ruffled chips and onion dip,
Reddi-Wip and Miracle Whip, Maple frosting found in tins Hide the worst culinary sins.
Seven-fifty millilitres of
Grain vodka labled Scruitov, Cheap brandy and cheaper beer First tastes horrible, then tastes queer.
Pumpkin pie and store-bought cake,
Anything I need not bake. If it’s boxed, if it’s canned, I’m no gourmet, only gourmand.
Chorus
Baseball, football on the TV.
One spilt bowl of poutine gravy. This little poem with each verse, I give thanks it grows no worse. |
† We admit nothing except Happy Thanksgiving.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Welcome. Please feel free to comment.
Our corporate secretary is notoriously lax when it comes to comments trapped in the spam folder. It may take Velma a few days to notice, usually after digging in a bottom drawer for a packet of seamed hose, a .38, her flask, or a cigarette.
She’s also sarcastically flip-lipped, but where else can a P.I. find a gal who can wield a candlestick phone, a typewriter, and a gat all at the same time? So bear with us, we value your comment. Once she finishes her Fatima Long Gold.
You can format HTML codes of <b>bold</b>, <i>italics</i>, and links: <a href="https://about.me/SleuthSayers">SleuthSayers</a>