Raymond A. Foss Poems

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We sat sated in the den
ready for pie; but not quite
needing to sit a bit, settle our
bloated tummies, because
it was after the turkey,
after the rolls, after the potatoes,
the gravy, cranberries,
the vegetables, the stuffing,
the bounty of the feast we call
Thanksgiving, when seconds
become thirds, and the eye is
bigger than the stomach,
and eating is expected
Because cooking is love
and love is eating all of it
and we sit quietly, letting
the tryptophan do its thing
slowly easing the day
and making us ready
for dessert

November 23, 2006 18:27

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