Ode to our Thanksgiving bird

‘T was the day before Thanksgiving and all through our place

Molly stood stirring at a furious pace.

The dough was all kneaded, risen and baked

Nuts roasted warmly, lemon rind flaked.

The turkey sat frozen, too fat for the pan.

We hauled out our annual improvised plan.

Then Molly in her apron, and I in my cap

gathered up tin foil and prepared to wrap.

When right in our walls there arose such a clatter

We looked through the vent to see what was the matter.

A flash of a wing, soft screech barely heard

soon led us to realize we had a trapped bird.

Away to the basement we flew like a flash

Tore open the heater and peered through the ash.

Flashlight from my cell phone, right handy new app

showed a whole lot of nothing, an ominous gap.

We spoke not a word, gave a unison shrug

Then turned with a jerk and a half-hearted tug.

Now Cranberries! Now Pumpkin! Now Taters! Now Corn!

We’ve cooking to do and we’ve no time to mourn.

More rapid than eagles we ran up each stair

With schedules to keep and much food to prepare.

And that little bird that was flapping about?

We think saw the turkey, thought twice and flew out.