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Thanksgiving Alone

  • Katie Grotzinger
  • Dec 4, 2015
  • 1 min read

The perfume of a big, burnt bird clings to you

just as strongly as the brown leaves on your wet jacket.

You retreat back to fluorescent lights

and numbered aisles, failure heavy on your shoulders

even though you’re the only one to disappoint.

Plan B is cold cuts from Oscar Meyer

which is made all the more depressing

by seeing kids wearing

construction paper pilgrim hats run past you,

bringing you back to a time when

you spent today with lots of rowdy relatives

who brought their political opinions and stuffing.

You imagine filling your failed turkey

with the shreds of this holiday you have left

at your disposal - memories and

Planes, Trains, and Automobiles.

 
 
 

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