a poem by Paul D’Angelo
T’was the night before Thanksgiving and all through the house,
Mom was working her ass off, with no help from her spouse.
Her daughter was married, so her assistance was through,
The boys always had something better to do.
Mom shopped for the stuffing, the yams and the nuts,
She even picked out the turkey and cleaned out the guts.
She chopped and she diced for hours in the kitchen,
She stirred and she whipped and not once started bitchin’.
On Thanksgiving morn’ it was more of the same,
Mom set the table, while they drank at the game.
Back late and trashed, like they were every year,
The work was all done, so they cracked open a beer.
They sat down to dinner and dad gave the blessing,
While mom smiled to herself, because she had spit in the dressing.