Sonnet XII – Three Days Before Thanksgiving
Amidst my friends, yet alone on Thursday,
I give thanks for surviving one more year.
The Republicans haven’t had their way,
Although I maintain the required fear.
I attempt the vegetarian fare,
To clean up my poor fatted digestion.
Television will have a zero share,
As I write a new dramatic question.
I bow to the Native American,
And admit that this is a day to mourn.
When they invited the hungry white man
To share their harvest of lobster and corn.
We forgot the truth the natives did find.
That Pilgrims and Bankers will rob you blind.
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