Well!
The Governor of a neighboring state was scheduled to pardon a turkey on the Tuesday prior to Thanksgiving. The event attracted media coverage – even in advance – and would not only have been a mood booster for the public, but also great PR for the small community farm on which it was to occur.
To commemorate the event a poem was written at the request of the farm’s livestock manager.
And here is the poem…..written from the perspective of the saved turkey (as he himself might have penned it) after the fact:
The Salvation of (Name to be inserted here), The Turkey
I am a simple turkey,
A most finely feathered friend,
Who was destined for Thanksgiving…
For a golden, roasted end.
O, I was bred for tenderness,
Not ever to be tough:
To adorn a groaning table…
Well gutted, stripped and stuffed.
I began as just an egg, you know,
Kept sheltered, safe and warm,
And then one day I hatched and came
To live at Sub-Edge Farm.
The farmer and his wife were there
To welcome us aboard…
Yes, hundreds of us turkey chicks
Made up a chirping horde.
We quickly made acquaintance
With the cows and laying hens.
Guard dogs, named Jip and Gracie
Were designed to be our friends.
All the night-time predators
They tried to keep at bay:
The coyotes and the foxes
Were advised to stay away.
But, Gracie is the newest one,
And sometimes in her haste,
Mistakes a turkey for a fox
And has to have a taste!
Thanks go to Farmer Alex,
King of turkeys, cows and hogs:
Dogs guard us from the coyotes,
While he guards us from the dogs.
We knew we’d be devoured,
And I don’t mean to be surly,
But I really hoped that none of us
Would be devoured early.
Yes, dinner was our destiny,
When plumpness did suffice,
We knew that we’d be offered up
In one mass sacrifice.
Yet summer was delightful,
Watching people come to call:
Buying all the chickens’ eggs,
The vegetables and all…
Though, if we paid attention,
It was very plain to see
That many of the customers
Would eye us hungrily.
Last week Farmer Alex
Loaded up my feathered friends.
“Alas!” I whispered to myself,
“So this is how it ends.”
All my pals were loaded in,
And all the doors were shut.
Off they rolled to who-knows-where…
To meet with who-knows-what!
“What am I? Chopped liver?”
The words escaped my beak:
I was the last man standing,
At that moment, so to speak.
But here’s the happy ending!
Too grand to be believed:
Two days before Thanksgiving,
A Pardon I’ll receive!
Someone called a “Governor”
Will come to give the word,
Then by official State decree
I’ll be one lucky bird!
I’m sorry that my feathered pals
Can’t all be in this boat,
But, I’m one thankful turkey…
And, I didn’t even vote!
Sadly….
It was not to be!
Covid spiked….
Some poor soul in the Governor’s circle of associates tested positive.
And the pardon never was….it was cancelled.
One more scrawny neck and wattle bit the dust.
In honor of the Dear Departed, a revised poem was written….This one from the perspective of the tragic victim from beyond the….um…
Platter, I suppose.
He was…
The Turkey Who Almost Made It!
I was a simple turkey,
A most finely feathered friend,
Who was destined for Thanksgiving…
For a golden, roasted end.
O, I was bred for tenderness,
Not ever to be tough:
To adorn a groaning table…
Well gutted, stripped and stuffed.
I began as just an egg, you know,
Kept sheltered, safe and warm,
And then one day I hatched and came
To live at Sub-Edge Farm.
The farmer and his wife were there
To welcome us aboard…
Yes, hundreds of us turkey chicks
Made up a chirping horde.
We quickly made acquaintance
With the cows and laying hens.
Guard dogs, named Jip and Gracie
Were designed to be our friends.
All the night-time predators
They tried to keep at bay:
The coyotes and the foxes
Were advised to stay away.
But, Gracie is the newest one,
And sometimes in her haste,
Mistakes a turkey for a fox
And has to have a taste!
Thanks go to Farmer Alex,
King of turkeys, cows and hogs:
Dogs guard us from the coyotes,
While he guards us from the dogs.
We knew we’d be devoured,
And I don’t mean to be surly,
But I really hoped that none of us
Would be devoured early.
Yes, dinner was our destiny,
When plumpness did suffice,
We knew that we’d be offered up
In one mass sacrifice.
Yet summer was delightful,
Watching people come to call:
Buying all the chickens’ eggs,
The vegetables and all…
Though, if we paid attention,
It was very plain to see
That many of the customers
Would eye us hungrily.
***
But, wait!!!
Word came that Governor Lamont
Made merciful decree
To pardon some plump turkey…
And that turkey would be me!!
I’d be sad when Farmer Alex
Loaded up my feathered friends.
And, I’d hear them whisper to themselves,
“So this is how it ends.”
When all my pals were loaded in,
And all the doors were shut.
They’d roll off to who-knows-where…
To meet with who-knows-what!
Then…
“What am I? Chopped liver?”
Would issue from my beak:
I would be the last man standing,
At that moment, so to speak.
There would be a happy ending,
Too grand to be believed:
When just before Thanksgiving,
That pardon I’d receive!
Oh. No!!
This year’s epidemic
All at once began to rise…
The Governor with deep regret
Reneged on his surprise.
On Friday Farmer Alex
Loaded up my feathered friends,
And I, along with all of them,
Went off to face the end.
One hundred-seventy turkeys
Were supposed to make that run,
But thanks to Governor Lamont,
I was one-seven-one.
I’m sorry that my pals and I
Were all in that same boat,
And sorry Governor Lamont
Will never get my vote!