The Chill
Rushes
through me.
I move toward
the door
looking for
warmth
I take
a Knife
a Fork
a Spoon
wrap them in
a
paper napkin
like a child
or as a carpenter
that wraps
his tools in
leather, to
protect
and use for
great purpose
The carnage
is all that
is left
from the
feast
A battle
field
of lost bits
of
the innards
of the yams
the flesh of
hams
blood of
jello
oozing with
spilt gravy
the aroma
was most appetizing
as any soldier
can smell
be for the
storm
now
it is all
calm
Laughing
can be heard
from the hearth
chairs pulled
around the
television
wondering
who will win the game
a game of
cards has been started
on the table
were the entertainment was previously
the cousins
are downstairs
apples to
apples
and the air hockey
is humming
Late in the evening
I sit
absorbed
in the
uncles talk
of business
of livestalk
of general conversation
and
speculation
the word’s warmth
envelops me
The next day
I savor
and enjoy
the left-overs
and memories
of
yesterday.
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