Aunt Edna’s turkey

Frozen chicken whole bird

My Great Aunt Edna, from the Yaak, lacked culinary skills.
She lived up in Montana, all alone in them, there hills.

Last week Aunt Edna sent an invitation to her kin.
Her invite claimed she’d learned to cook. Was Edna sipping gin?

She said she’d corresponded with a chef from Paris, France.
And she’d like to serve a turkey feast if we would give her this one chance.

I cornered my physician. Would he lie and claim I’m ill?
But the Doc said, “That’s unethical.” Should’ve shown him my last bill.

Not a single other kin was going to drive to Yaak that day.
My heart was feeling heavy for old Edna, in a way.

I looked at Hap. He gave a bark and then he shook his head.
He’d tasted Edna’s table scraps. I bet Hap thought, “I’m dead!”

But when a man is dying, maybe poisoned in the end.
I’d say it is a privilege to go out with man’s best friend.

So, Hap and I drove to the Yaak. We knocked on Edna’s door.
She yanked us in. That’s when I noticed feathers on her floor.

I’m not the sharpest fellow, but a turkey came to mind.
The smell of burning feathers, yes, a turkey’s what we’d find.

Depending on the time of year and temperature outside.
Aunt Edna’s home would be a place for her animals to abide.

The chickens roamed about the house but cage-free hens for no less.
And where to find the eggs, I’d say, was anybody’s guess.

Edna’s voice, more shriek than loud, not like the aunts of mine,
came screeching out those dreadful words, “Please sit. It’s time to dine.”

I offered grace but didn’t really get a chance to say,
“Please bless this food, and by the way, don’t let us die today.”

The biscuits were a golden brown, but hard and extra heavy.
The turkey was so tough I bet she had to grind the gravy.

The pie is still a mystery. Not pumpkin a’la mode.
But maybe squash or canned mincemeat, outdated and too old.

I’d have to say that Edna’s cooking hadn’t changed a bit.
And if you were a dinner guest you had to have some grit.

But one fine thing ‘bout Edna, at the end of every day.
She’ll share her turkey from a flask. “Wild Turkey” you could say.


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