Floors are swept and swifted,
mirrors drenched with glass cleaner,
furniture is wiped down with
citrus scented multi-surface.
Aunt Annie will be grateful
because of her damn sinuses.
The bathroom is cleaned
after being covered in foam.
Mints are in the tank,
the mats are washed and dried,
but the most important thing
is the toilet paper.
Paper rolling over, not under.
Otherwise I hear it from Uncle Ryan’s
insane, OCD, stuck up rear end.
The tables are set with plates
in the shape of pumpkins,
glasses for the chardonnay,
and seats spread far enough for everyone’s
wide arms and fat fingers to stretch.
The food is sitting on top of a white table cloth
with a pattern of red fall leaves.
Mom always loved it, so it’s a tradition.
Television is set to all the football games
so Dad won’t have a reason to interact.
Minnesota will be his appetizer,
Dallas will be the main entrée,
and Pittsburg will be dessert.
God forbid there’s a power out or
it’ll be Halloween all over again.
The turkey is in the oven
all thawed and basted,
the stuffing is in progress,
there’s plenty of pumpkin pie,
and four cans of whipped cream ready to go.
Time for the painkillers and shot of vodka
because it’s going to be a long dinner.
Thank you fore-fathers for this one day a year
we celebrate a great pre-genocidal dinner
that happened centuries ago.
A holiday that represents happiness
and gratitude
is replaced
by stress and high blood pressure.
The only turkey I want right now
comes from a bottle with a kick.
The door bell is ringing!
Time to enjoy hell!
