Thanksgiving Cheer

It is time for the annual Thanksgiving story…this year…put to prose…

Thanksgiving Cheer

By Steve Burgess (@ElectricianPlus)

It was Thanksgiving morning

Of my seventh year

We were headed to Grandma’s

For some Holiday cheer

My siblings in tow to the Hornet we went

But mother saw, I had angst for this event

Each year, it was a struggle

I remembered it well

Mother had a big problem

An issue to quell

Not a thing to do with the Lions losing

Or my dad, stuffed, in the La-Z-Boy snoozing

It was the candied yams

Covered in marshmallow

And creamy green beans smothered

With Portobello?

The marshmallows were topped with some kind of nut

Every year my defense would get lost in rebut

Mother said she could fix this

“You should worry naught”

They taste nasty when cold, but

“It tastes better hot”

She spoke with confidence.  She had to be right

“Good idea Mom.”  Everything would be alright.

As we entered Grandmas house

The kitchen was busy

I caught a whiff of mushroom

And felt a bit dizzy

There were yams and beans in the warming pan

But I was not worried. I had a plan

First year not in a high chair

Proudly a ‘young man’

I sat right next to Grandma

“It that a pecan?”

Sitting high on two encyclopedias

I was pale, like someone with anemia

Double helping of meat

Back up plan in place

Can’t find place for yams and beans?

“No room!”  Just in case.

Can’t outsmart Grandma, she stacked the meat two high

With all this food, there would be no room for pie

First a scoop of potatoes

Orange and white with nuts

Then a pile of beans and ‘shrooms.

“I might puke my guts”

It’s a good thing the breakfast I ate was small

She’d be mad if I sprayed Lucky Charms down her wall.

It was all there before me

No more time to plot

Mother quietly mouthed that

“It tastes better hot.”

My plate, I attacked, all driven and focused

Devoured faster than a field, by locusts

Celebrating my conquest

I threw down my fork

Grandma smiled with bliss

But I was the dork

My throat did tickle as my plate she refilled

And from my mouth what I’d eaten quickly spilled

It was the candied yams

Covered in marshmallow

And creamy smothered green beans

Everywhere.  Head to toe

Today, I don’t eat orange, green and even yellow

And anything that reeks of Portobello