was always about
feasting & football
at the old farmhouse,
stuffing ourselves with turkey & gravy
and some of us shoveling the stuffing
under the table
to the family dog,
except
for that
one time
my oldest brother
thought it would be funny
to hurl a dart
through my other brother’s ear lobe
but my Grandmother,
always cool in a crisis,
calmly whipped up
a magical poultice
(Quaker Oats I think)
while my Grandfather applied
some corn-fed humor
to ease the pain
and then the sweet aroma
of pumpkin pie
trailed us into the den
and the fuzzy image
of the Lions
losing once again
on the black
& white philco.
Ben Rasnic currently resides in Bowie, Maryland. Author of four published collections (three available from amazon.com), Ben's poems have been nominated for Best of the Net and the Pushcart Prize.
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