More, Please!

turkey—unstuffed,

salmonella you know will kill.

Potatoes mashed with talk of aunts

in the kitchen blanching

husbands, uncles, brothers

watching pigskin,  dreaming of

the glory days, kids split in

dens according to age. Sweet

yam casserole with marshmallow—

brown sugar, butter and flour

is the way to go, sausage dressing

sits on the table to taunt Labrador

licking his chops. Hank,

the new boyfriend, hoping to fit

his pants after homemade rolls

dipped in gravy strains the seams

and such to everyone’s delight,

pecan pie

to stretch appetites.

The Reason Why She’s Late

He could run the shortest time,

from there to her then the farm:

for the dinner bell was chiming;

he added a dash of charm.

Horses whinnied and neighed 

as they trotted past the barn.

What are they to each?

She waited with bated breath.

Through the front door, 

he turned to her and smiled.

The electricity charged her for 

the coming face-to-face.

He said, “Mom, Dad,

 I’d like you to meet 

the reason why I’m late.”

A Screw’s Loose

It was the thought

drilling through his head.

Really, she said, stripped

on first base, this is my bed,

cardboard domino’s and Papa

John’s breadstick poking his face.

What was he thinking–oh,

she’s f@#king with my head.