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Thanks for Nothin'

by Aaron Blair

We're as happy as the Wampanoags,
when they realized that destiny
was a white tide rushing over
a green land, no place for them in it.

Gratitude's a killer,
because this year's bounty
is spread out on satin,
the kind that lines a box.

It's quite a feast. A sick
old man and his withered insides,
enough to feed the family who
feared him, enough to feed
the earth that wants him back.

This is a mourning day, a black day,
the kind that rises with the rain;
a mist for the funeral procession
to wind through like a snake,
and mud to get in the way
of carting bodies up the hill.

We bury him behind the house,
right below the rose arbor, the pond.
Tomorrow, we'll eat turkey,
continue the rituals of being American.
Our destiny is manifest.
We put the dead in the ground and move on.

08/23/2005

Author's Note: Writing.com slam poem about a "holiday spent unconventionally." We buried my grandfather on Thanksgiving.

Posted on 08/27/2005
Copyright © 2024 Aaron Blair

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