A Bachelor Thanksgiving
in honour of the Canadian
holiday
arrangement in ironic
pentameter
by deservedly anonymous†
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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 a 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 labeled Scruitov, Cheap brandy and cheaper beer First smells awful, 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 if it grows no worse. |
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† We admit nothing except Happy Thanksgiving. Graphics courtesy of Antique Images, The Holiday Spot, and Spruce Crafts.
Very funny!
ReplyDeleteGreat poem, Velma! I'm now a fan of ironic pentameter.
ReplyDeleteVelma, if you are the anonymous behind this fabulous poem, you are truly a poet! Have a jug -- or box -- of that screw-cap wine. It does taste fine after a time.
ReplyDeleteDon't forget the wine in a box! Does Tim Horton's cater?
ReplyDeleteThank you, Jan. The spirits might have moved me… Molson, Moosehead, Labatt and that smooth Canadian whiskey.
ReplyDeleteThanks John. Don't you think poetic societies should come knocking on my door any day now?
Funny how booze does that, Paul. Remember the New Testament story (John 2:1-10) where Jesus whipped up a batch of wine for his mother?
Eve, one of my friends loves that Sam's Club Black Box Wine. Well, mostly he likes the price. That stuff could clean the rust off barbecue grills.
ReplyDeleteFunny stuff.
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ReplyDeleteLord Tunderin' Jesus, Velma! That is the definitive T-Day poem, doncha know. And we'd be drinkin' hootch in the kitch with the lads and lassies.
ReplyDelete(Okay, gin and tonic, for the Brit side of the family.)
You knew it was coming. Just have to name you an...ahem...Honorary Canuck! Wear it well, Velma darling. You're one of us now
Eve, if Tim Hortons delivered, we'd all be 300 pounds.
ReplyDeleteHey O'Neil, thank you.
ReplyDeleteHi Elizabeth! Happy T-Day.
Wow, Melodie. Sophie phoned. I expressed thanksgiving gratitude that Canada was taking in US refugees. Her husband said no problem, as long as I stopped complaining about Ted Cruz and Justin Beiber. Wow, do you have pull, Melodie!
The best part of Canadian Thanksgiving, we have nothing even resembling Black Tuesday!
ReplyDeleteThat indeed is a major plus, Sheena! Happy T-day.
ReplyDelete