We invited the Turkey to join us at the table,
and he plopped down to my right, elbow-high.
He was stout, well-mannered, and well-read.

We talked at great length,
Of the stars overhead,
Of why some sitcoms become dated, and not others,
And his near-miraculous escape from the farm.

After guzzling many holiday-strength drinks,
A head-on collision totaled our hatchling friendship.
“I DON’T CARE WHAT BEYONCE’S NEW ALBUM IS LIKE!” I declared, mouth full of potatoes.

White-hot words were exchanged, and I heard myself say:
“Well let’s settle this on the dance-floor, chump.”

I knew not what I did.


Wishbones, concealed under an animated form,
popped AND locked all over the dining room table.
Still-vital drumsticks kept rhythm,
White and dark meat formed menacing duo of dance.
His was the fury of life in a cage, the uprising force of that which has known oppression.

Never to be out-maneuvered by poultry on the dance-floor,
I set my skills to “stun”,
As things get decidedly hip-hop on top of mom’s nicest table-cloth.
My footwork was pure.
Mine was the existential adhesive of the true Self, the timeless truth of the divine rhythm of all-beings.

Pass me no pie,
My limbs pass lucid through the dining-room air,
Now occupied only with my whipping form and the drop-jawed gaze of my family.

The waddled-one goes full-eagle, soaring and swooping in a fantastic numerology of syncopated beats and clandestine poly-rhythms of the animal world.

Feathers now working overtime, skillful as a carpenter of dance,
And with the passion of Christ.

My arms and legs now barely visible,
Only the assumption remains that beneath this whirling frenzy,
Is a mortal man.

Rising like a great wave,
we crash upon the shores, the limits of our physical bodies.
We are dashed upon the rocks, defeated in our way.

We exhale in unison, folded into our chairs like piles of meat.
Our heavy breath composes the postlude to the kinesthetic symphony.

We stare into ourselves, feeling hot.
We meet eyes, he winks.

I pass him some water.

“You are always welcome in this home.” I say.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s