adapted by Sean McCallum
Webmaster

Twas the morn of Thanksgiving and all through the kitchen
not a creature was stirring, not even a turducken.
The potholders were hung by the oven with care, in
hopes that Aunt Mavis soon would be there.
The kids were oblivious in front of the Wii, since
visions of pumpkin pie, they could not see.
And Mama in her curlers and I in my briefs
hung up cardboard cutouts of Indian Chiefs.
When out in the driveway there arose such a barrage,
I ran outside in my drawers to see who the hell just crashed
into my garage.

look at the damage, and threw up my Cheerios
The sky, though obscured by nary a cloud
was now blotted out by a black, smoky shroud,
and, what to my wondering eyes should I spy,
but a poor, bloody woman threatening to die.
With a sticker denoting the rental from AVIS,
I knew in a moment it must be Aunt Mavis.
As rapidly as her life must have flashed ‘fore her eyes,
I watched my dinner go south and I itemized:

“No Turkey, no Stuffing,
No Cranberry Sauce!
No Salads: Macaroni,
Green Bean, nor Tossed!
No Gravy, no Fresh Bread,
No Potatoes nor Ham!
Call 911! Call 911!
Or there’ll be no Candied Yams!”

As dry as leaves, my voice was too hoarse, so to
the emergency operator, I tapped out in Morse:
“Send out an aid car and a fire truck too, for if
you do not, my holiday’s through!” Stop.

And then, in an instant, I heard down the street,
sirens and horns like music so sweet.
So I kicked up my heels and did a short dance,
like a flygirl on mushrooms without any pants.
They arrived dressed in blue, from their heads to their feet,
and the lights on the vehicles looked really neat.

The firemen had oxygen tanks flung on their backs,
and the blaze at my house they began to attack.
My eyes, how they twinkled! My dimples, how merry!
My cheeks were like roses, my nose like a cherry!
My droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
and the hair on my chest was as white as the snow.

My stumpy, fat legs and my knobby, knocked knees held me
there standing as pretty as you please.
I had bliss on my face and a big round butt
that shook as I laughed, like Jabba the Hutt.
I was chubby and plump, a right dopey old bastard,
and I laughed as I commanded a fireman, “Faster!”
A rise of his eyebrow and his glance turned askew
soon gave me to know I’d best S.T.F.U.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
and doused all the flames, even though I’m a jerk.
And struggling, gasping,
blood dried on her nose, my dear old
Aunt Mavis miraculously rose.
She sprang to her feet, to my wife gave a look,
and together they went to the kitchen to cook.
In triumph, I yelled as loud it gets, “Woohoo!
This Thanksgiving’s the best ever yet!”