When I was a young turkey, new to the coop,
my big brother, Mike, took me out on the stoop –
then he sat me down and he spoke real slow
and he told me something that I had to know.
His look and his tone I will always remember
when he told me of the horrors of…“Black November”.
“Come about August, now listen to me,
each day you’ll get six meals instead of just three
and soon you’ll be thick, where you once were thin,
and you’ll grow a big rubbery thing under your chin.
And then one morning when you’re warm in your bed
in will burst the farmer’s wife and hack off your head!
Then she’ll pluck out all your feathers so you’re bald and pink,
and scoop out all your insides and leave you lying in the sink.
And then comes the worst part, he said, not bluffing…
she’ll spread your cheeks and pack your rear end with stuffing.”
Well, the rest of his words were too grim to repeat –
and I sat on the stoop like a winged piece of meat
then decided on the spot that to avoid being cooked,
I’d have to lay low and remain overlooked.
I’d begin a new diet of nuts and granola,
high-roughage salads, juices, and diet cola.
And as the other turkeys ate pastries, chocolates, and crepes –
I stayed in my room doing Jane Fonda tapes.
Maintained my weight of two and a half pounds
and tried not to notice when the bigger birds laughed.
But twas I who was laughing, under my breath
as they chomped and they chewed ever closer to death.
And sure enough when Black November rolled around,
I was the last turkey left in the entire compound.
So now I’m a pet in the farmer’s wife lap,
I haven’t a worry, so I eat and I nap.
She held me today while sewing and humming
and smiled at me saying . . . “Christmas is coming”!