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Poetry: Leftovers

by Ted Onulak


Listen, all you well-meaning women

Just stay out of my way

Because I'm the chef in this house

Every Thanksgiving Day!

I've worked in many restaurants

And learned to cook at my Mother's knee

She taught me if you cook for 20

You might as well cook for 93!

No one turns down an invitation

They can have seconds, or even a third

There's plenty of food on the table

Even a second bird!

But after the feast, I could use a hand

For packing, wrapping and storing

But everyone is passed out in front of the tube

Belts loose, and comfortably snoring

So I get out the foil and plastic wrap

And every possible kind of container

I set aside the food for the rest of the week

And freeze up the remainder

It took quite a while, but the job is done

The leftovers are safe and snug

I grab a glass and go to see

If there's any more wine in the jug

But in the room the crowd is stirring

Their wits are coming back

Hey, we're all kind of hungry

Can we get a little snack?

So out come all the leftovers

Some want turkey, some want pie

I just go lie down on the couch

To close my eyes and die!


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