I know Thanksgiving Day is over, but I ran across a cute little poem that fits well with the holiday. It’s called “Turkey Al a Mode.”
On Wednesday he spread his tail, a gobbler great and fine. On Thursday, Thanksgiving Day, he was present when the family came to dine. On Friday he was served up cold in many a tempting slice. On Saturday he was salad with a dash of oil and spice. On Sunday he was sandwiches tasty and hot. On Monday he was ground and cooked in a pot. And on Tuesday made his farewell bow with hash that was a lot.
The poem reminded me of how our Thanksgiving turkey ended up on our little dairy farm in rural UpState New York in Schoharie County West of Albany many years ago. I do not know the author.
— John H. Babcock, Chico