A Thanksgiving Poem

At last, at last, Thanksgiving is here!

A day for turkey and taters and football and beer.

Your family all gathers, the young and the old,

Babies are passed ‘round for grandparents to hold.

At halftime, it’s clear Pop has had too much booze,

He’s wearing his MAGA hat and watching Fox News.

“The election was rigged! We must stop the steal!”

“Joe Biden’s a commie! Our nation can’t heal!”

“Tucker Carlson was right, he said they would try this.”

“The Dems stole the election and manufactured the virus.”

And the whole gaslit family believes Pop is right.

They don’t social distance, there’s not one mask in sight.

Three weeks later they’re all sick and on meds.

Meanwhile the hospital is fresh out of beds.

The parents can’t work, the schools forced to close,

And still Pop on his ventilator turns up his nose.

“It’s just like the flu, in time it will pass.”

His teary-eyed family says goodbye through the glass.

They all think back to that Thanksgiving meal.

Pop’s last dying words are “This isn’t real.”