A Poem by Yvonne Higgins Leach
The undulating balloons of Mickey Mouse
and Snoopy will graze the sides of buildings
five stories high. Those ropes break
and they will capsize into the crowds below.
Nothing will elevate us above the outcome,
so we cancel Thanksgiving dinner.
With the family on both sides,
the communal table would unravel the imminent:
The first stones to be thrown
over the savory haunch of the Butterball turkey
will be words formed into sentences that accuse,
forks full of mashed potatoes
striking the air. Sentences will form
into paragraphs that make wrong assumptions,
no one listening,
and defenses shooting up like walls
near the sweet potatoes and green beans.
So much said with hackles high,
the wine becomes distasteful.
Our forks and knives will wave like weapons
with every nasty complaint
that even the candlelight reflecting
in our silverware
won’t be able to save the evening.
We will never eat the pumpkin pies.