O’Hara McSnort’s Thanksgiving
(Anonymous)
"Thanksgiving feasts," O’Hara said,
“Thanksgivings like this here
ain’t nuthin’ like the one we ate
in Wartleburg one year.
The champeen eaters all were there,
slack-stomached for the feast,
and we agreed the ones to pay
were those who ate the least.
Old Haskins up Frog Holler way,
and Uncle Peg-Leg Coon,
and Moses Hick across the crick,
and Bill and Doc McGoon,
and several others I can't name,
all lean and gaunted down,
sat stroppin’ knives upon their boots
while hundreds gathered ‘round
to see the Champeen Eating Race—
and when the judge yelled “Go!”
we started in deliberate,
devourin’ vittles slow.
“First came a chicken pie apiece,
with mushrooms sprinkled in;
and then we ate a quart of squash,
six ‘taters, and a tin
of piping biscuits, buttered hot,
with jam and apple jell,
and pickled beets ‘n’ celery—
‘twas here old Peg-Leg fell,
while several others looked quite pale
yet feebly carried on—
but when we reached the turkey course,
the most of them were gone.
“Each had a ten-pound turkey,
stuffed with nuts ‘n’ sage ‘n’ things.
I’d hardly ate a half before old
Bill and Haskins rings
their curtains down,
and off they drags on hands and knees—
which left just three,
old Doc McGoon, and me, and Adam Peas.
“We picked the turkeys bare,
and then came pies all freshly baked.
We had our choice of
apple, mince, or cherry, sugar-caked.
One bite of pie and old Doc slumped
and fainted in his chair.
But Adam Peas ‘n’ I ate ours—
and split the doctor’s share!
“But that fixed Adam. Mournfully,
he realized his fate.
His middle swelled so mightily
he couldn’t reach his plate.
So I cleaned the board, and rose,
disgusted with the bunch,
and wandered to the pantry,
where I fixed myself some lunch.”
This holiday poem is courtesy of Wheezer Doug Byers. Doug's father, Larry Byers, traditionally recited this prose on Thanksgiving, after the meal, when Doug and the family were all still standing around the table and couldn't eat another bite.
Recent Comments