Your time is here,
again, old friend.
Four more, this time,
until the end.

I am glad you are not,
our country's symbol.
For you are not beautiful,
nor are you nimble.

At least in your present,
bleached, bloated state.
No longer wild, wary,
and full of hate.

When you were in lust,
a harem to mate.
Taking on all comers,
with a leer and a gait.

You flew off the handle,
of many a branch.
Your territory was vast,
you bought the ranch.

But those days are gone,
except for a few.
Still a picture postcard,
when come into view.

You come to the table,
all hormones and fat.
Whether baked or fried,
it has come to that.

Stuffed to the gills,
one day of the year.
Just a launching pad,
for a day of good cheer.

As for me, I have found,
that pound for pound,
there is no sweeter treat,
than eating you… year-round.


Turkey Humor

This one is for all you turkeys out there...
gobble gobble... follow follow.

I'll be eating four of you this year
one slice at a time... Yum Yum!


More Poems

My Place

Read It's in the Water and Other Stories

Copyright 2011 © Ronald W. Hull