There are several things I’m exited about tonight. Numero Uno being that, as I write this, my first play practice for Llama Llama Red Pajama is in one hour and thirteen minutes. (And counting.) Second of all, I managed to get a numbered list in this post, and third, I have another poem for you. Yes indeedy. Ready? No? Okay, here goes.
“The Thanksgiving Shooter” by Seth Skogerboe
He walked out on the wooden porch.
His gloves were tied on tightly.
His muscles stretched his jacket taut;
You may have called them “sightly.”
His gun rose slowly from his hip,
‘Till resting on his shoulder.
His finger twitched. “KABLAM!“ And then,
Oh, how that target smouldered!
It fell over, though not from wind,
It’s back against the wood pile.
His bullet tore the board in half!
The shooter donned a grim smile.
And if a turkey were to show
Its gobbling, waggling face
Within one hundred sixty-seven miles of that place,
The shooter, with his jacket black,
And boots of checkered red,
Would aim his gun without a sound
and shoot that birdy dead.
The problem was,
The only turkey within such a distance,
Was in the hands of Gramma,
Who wanted some assistance.
The shooter swapped his gun out
For a shining knife of silver.
He chopped, he sliced, he chopped again;
The Bird, it laid asunder.
He stood up by his chair,
And he said grace.
And when he finished that
He stuffed his face.
Though he committed no bird-related crime,
Out shooter, (he’s no fool,) he bides his time.
Yes he will get that bird eventually.
He’ll blast it off its feet- quite neat. You’ll see.
You’ll all see! *manic laughing* :-) Shot or store-bought, it tasted like heaven. Thanks, G-ma. Until the next…
You ever try writing Thanksgiving poetry? I dare you. (It’s actually not as hard as it looks.)
Letters to Home 
This is so cute! I love it.
That was pretty good. =D I saw three or four turkeys together in my neighborhood before thanksgiving. They were really close, but so were the houses…