a poem by Sandra Conner
To borrow an old “country” expression, I can say for sure that “it’s coming on to my favorite time of year”: Autumn in all it’s radiant blue, gold, and russet glory, Thanksgiving just around the corner, and Christmas just far enough away to be able to spread out and savor every little moment of planning for the joys ahead. Now, being a writer, I have to express all that enjoyment in some literary way. However, there’s SO MUCH enjoyment that, even though last week I wrote a Thanksgiving poem, I find that this week I have suddenly created another. I was sure you’d want to enjoy it with me.
WHAT’S FOR DINNER?
I spot him there, behind the barn,
A full-plumed, regal bird.
He looks up, straight into my eyes.
I speak no single word.
It’s happened thus, in passing years —
At least for two or three:
Each mid-November I’ve set my mind;
He’s been there to greet me.
Now, lifting his head in challenge strong,
He gobbles loud and long.
I lower my gun and heave a sigh:
To kill him would be wrong!
So, wrestling with my double mind,
I trek home to my wife
To explain why once again this year
Ham will greet the carving knife.