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Talkin' Turkey: an After-Thanksgiving Poem

Dean Traylor is a freelance writer and teacher who writes about various subjects, including education and creative writing.


Turkey in the morning

Turkey at noon

Turkey for Dinner


Turkey as a snack

All that meat

After the feast

Left over

For someone to eat

Originally published at

Originally published at

But it doesn't vanish

It doesn't go away

It's in the fridge


For the ritual after


To begin.

So it becomes

Turkey for breakfast

Turkey with eggs

Turkey for Lunch

In between breads

Turkey for Dinner

Turkey for snacks

There's too much turkey

That one can take

originally published on

originally published on

Maybe ground it like beef

And have it as a burger

Or slice it in pieces

And have it with mayo and mustard.

Or by itself



The choice is yours.

Either way

The situation remains the same;

Have a turkey

Then fall asleep.



Or if you can't stomach more

Some Pepsid AC

To take away its burning retort.

Every year

The feast after



One can stop

And leave the meat

In the fridge

But do so and remember

That scent will be there

Reeling you in.

You can't ignore

Those leftovers

That turkey doesn't go away.

Keep trying as you may

That turkey will never go away.

Turkey Lingers

Let's face it: the Thanksgiving turkey doesn't go away in a day. It lingers for a week, slowly being consumed when one gets the urge to do so. It goes from being carved up for Thanksgiving, to becoming leftovers in a moment's notice.

I can't recall a time the turkey was enough to last for one day. That almost never happens. It's a big bird that seemingly gets bigger every year. Even a family of four can't polish them off in one sitting.

I've lost count of the numerous packed lunches I've had with leftover Thanksgiving turkey. Sometimes,the offerings would last for days or a week. Rarely will it go for two weeks. By that time, you simply get sick of seeing turkey.

In a nutshell, that's what this poem is about. What happens when a ceremonial meal with a lot of symbolic meaning simply becomes nothing more than tired leftovers. Maybe there's a warning for us all in these verses....nah! It's just a silly poem about Thanksgiving (or the days after it).

More Thanksgiving poems

  • Cranberry Sauce (It's called).
    Here's a poem dedicated to that dark-red and sticky concoction known as cranberry sauce. One of two poems for the Thanksgiving Holidays.

© 2014 Dean Traylor

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