The butcher knife goes in, first, at the top And carves out the round stemmed lid, The hole of which allows the hand to go In to pull the gooey mess inside, out - The walls scooped clean with a spoon. A grim design decided on, that afternoon, The eyes are the first to go, Isosceles or trapezoid, the square nose, The down-turned mouth with three Hideous teeth and, sometimes, Round ears. At dusk it's Lighted, the room behind it dark. Outside, looking in, it looks like a Pumpkin, it looks like ripeness Is all. Kids come, beckoned by Fingers of shadows on leaf-strewn lawns To trick or treat. Standing at the open Door, the sculptor, a warlock, drops Penny candies into their bags, knowing The message of winter: only the children, Pretending to be ghosts, are real.
- by Mac Hammond24
The man who stands above the bird, his knife Sharp as a Turkish scimitar, first removes A thigh and leg, half the support On which the turkey used to stand. This Leg and thigh he sets on an extra Plate. All his weight now on One leg, he lunges for the wing, the wing On the same side of the bird from which He has just removed the leg and thigh. He frees the wing enough to expose The breast, the wing not severed but Collapsed down to the platter. One hand Holding the fork, piercing the turkey Anywhere, he now beings to slice the breast, Afflicted by small pains in his chest, A kind of heartburn for which there is no Cure. He serves the hostess breast, her Own breast rising and falling. And so on, Till all the guests are served, the turkey Now a wreck, the carver exhausted, a Mere carcass of his former self. Everyone Says thanks to the turkey carver and begins To eat, thankful for the cold turkey And the Republic for which it stands.
Poems by Mac Hammond, Mac Hammond's poems collection. Mac Hammond is a classical and famous poet (1926 - 1997). Share all poems of Mac Hammond.