Happy Thanksgiving everyone. I know you cannot wait to sample my latest poem dedicated to this turkey of a holiday, but first we have some housekeeping to take care of—the Great Book Giveaway! All those who left a “like” on my last posting were eligible to win a full set of seven of my books–available as a grouping nowhere else on earth but here. All the names were typed out on slips of paper which were then folded and placed in my Cubs baseball cap. The beautiful and fully ethical Rosemarie then reached in and pulled out one slip of paper. And the name on that paper was….was…was… Michael Woulfe! Congratulations Mike. You now have a complete collection of table wobbler stoppers. Just put any book under the short leg of a wobbly table and your tilted lifestyle is forever gone. Please send me your mailing address to email@example.com. And now….
Ode to Tom
What can I say? This is never a good time for me.
It is what it is. It is what is meant to be.
Try as I might I cannot escape the inevitable.
There’s no stopping it; it’s uncontrollable.
In some ways I should actually be content.
After all, everyone knows I’m the main event.
No doubt there will be the usual crowd
And when they see me, they’ll cheer out loud.
They’ll spent all day tending to my every need
And I always give in because I’ve got mouths to feed.
They all know I’m there not just for the gravy.
Still, they’ll stuff my pockets, all of them maybe.
There’s others things, too, they’ll bring to the table.
Oh I know they can dish it out, as much as they’re able.
And no matter how you slice it, I just go to pieces.
Keeping everyone smiling, from grandfathers to nieces.
It’s a family affair so things could get quirky.
If it weren’t for me, the Thanksgiving Day turkey.