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Giving Thanks, Plus One
by Ken HarnischThanksgiving came and went
Without incident, and though I am no fan of
Karma or the Fates
I think sometimes I am being repaid
For believing
That there is a better way
In my stepfather’s house,
There is a bowl of mashed potatoes
Into which his face has plummeted
As turkey is being served
And after he is raised, stupefyingly fried
It is decided by the guests
That he looks better dressed in
White than he did bathed in rye
He is carried off to the bedroom, or lurches
Himself therein, there to lie in state while the revelers
Enjoy his cooking, which is always superb
Over stuffing, his sons tell me they hate him
And I once more eye my mother and
Wonder what she was thinking
Years ago, when she brought him home
For us to hate him too
It is like this for years, until he dies
And what I bring to my own house
In later life is a fondness for good food
But a tendency to keep my intake of
Anything in a glass confined to a teardrop crystal
Of white wine.
Yes, there is dysfunction;
I do, after all, have in-laws
But for the most part
The food and the conversation
Most Thanksgivings
Is as pleasant as any in my life
And the atmosphere, well,
Pretty much like Norman Rockwell
Would have painted it
Had he been invited to the feast.
11/25/2006 Posted on 11/25/2006
Copyright © 2024 Ken Harnisch
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 11/25/06 at 03:42 PM Excellently expressed glimpse into your life and background Ken. You paint a disturbing and yet totally understandable portrait here for many who've had to deal with family alcoholism. Love the Norman Rockwell ending...a great touch to a fine poetic snapshot. |
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