by Mark Hurley

Created on: November 12, 2009

nectar of the cran

about eight weeks ago it all started

crushing those red bitter berries

carefully measuring mixing pouring

them into that old stone crock

the one my uncle used so much

now the sugar i add and the yeast

into the closet way back it goes

hidden from prying eyes and noses

i peek in daily raising cheesecloth

shooing the gnats away hurriedly

it foams and bubbles and tempts

but i can wait for the ceremony

when on thanksgiving morning

i hide in that room crock on the floor

finally here thanksgiving me alone

except for those spirits of uncle

turkeys done i dimly hear ears ringing

i am already full and cranberry sauced

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