Harvest, Thanksgiving and Christmas. (Rewritten).

 I watched enchanted the pardoning of the turkey,

A strange Thanksgiving custom that seems to

                                                   make no sense,

The turkey, after all, is the victim not the killer,

The Chef Rotisseur the one who bastes and

                                                                 carves.

I was skiving in the salad section when a teenage

                                                                 commis

But nowadays I only cook for friends and family,

Roast Turkey an absentee from our festive table,

The meat too dry - too bland - and always somewhat 

                                                                   stringy.

We usually feast on Goose - or Duck a l` orange.

But this year there will be no guests on Christmas day,

Sometimes the phones will ring - emails blip # Merry,-

But online voices are never as sweet as hugs. So maybe

I will improvise a one man party, or stroll in shades & 

                                         mask on Hampstead Heath -

Incognito among lonely strangers - watching the last

                                                                    leaves fall.

Trevor John Karsavin Potter.

November 25th. - 28th. 2020. - December 6th. 2020.

This is Poem number nine of my set of 14 line poems about my reactions to living through lockdown November 2020. This, as things stand, is the penultimate poem in the sequence, The Beauty of November Rain being the last.