A Thanksgiving Tale

A Thanksgiving Tale
by David A. Chalfant



Come away with me now, to a time long ago.
To a cold November morning and a world lost in snow.
To a path through a forest. To a clearing, where we find
Two trails and two men. One ahead. One behind.

Gray stockings, cobbled shoes, and brass buckled belts,
Warm woolen coats, and tall hats made of felt.
The first man holds a musket, and his name is John.
And John is also the name of his son-

Who stands right behind him with a hatchet in hand.
Both of them silently searching the land.
But for what? We’re uncertain. Though we soon will find out
As the silence is shattered, when a loud cry rings out.

“Gobble-Gobble!” cries the beast, and “Gobble-Gobble” again.
“Gobble-Gobble,” instantly bringing smiles to the men.
First a foot, then a feather, both Johns’ blood starts to rush
As a humungous turkey steps out of the brush.

“There he is! Now! Let’s get him!” shouts one of the Johns.
Not John, the father John, but the hatchet carrying one.
“Yes, let’s get him!” replies John, the father to his son
On that cold November morning-
The Chase has Begun!
**************************

“Ya Ha!” cries John, not the father, as he runs through the snow,
Trying to predict which way the turkey will go.
“Chase him towards me!” calls the other John, as the other John trips
When the turkey ducks behind a bush and gives him the slip.

So then the John with the musket, quickly enters the chase
And soon just like the other John, he ends up on his face.
But now the other John, the son one, swinging his hatchet like mad
Manages to chase that big turkey right back to his dad

Who, brushing off snow and regaining his feet,
Grabs a hold of his musket, preparing to meet
This big ol’ Tom Turkey, as John closes him in
And I’m now speaking of the son John,
(the other John)
Not the same John as him.

So now they meet face to face
Feathered wing, fingered hand
For a fight to the finish, it’s-
Turkey versus Man.
**********************

John swings forth his musket, an attempted blow to the head
But the turkey dodges and John misses-- hitting John in the leg.
Not John, he himself, John, but the other John-- the son
(This would be much easier to tell if there were only just one).

“Ouch! That hurt!” said John, which is what you might say
If someone was to hit you in the leg with a rifle that way.
Then he ran to take cover in the trees, out of sight
At least for the moment, he’d had enough of this fight.

Meanwhile the turkey, confused and affright
Foolishly wandered right into the sight
Of big John, the father, who raised his gun and took aim
Closed one eye, licked his lips, pulled the trigger and then. . .

“Ka-blam!” roared the cannon
“Ka-pwing” was the sound
As the tiny lead ball ricocheted, hit the ground.

“Gobble-Gobble” squawked the turkey, perhaps scoffing the man
Then, in a quick puff of feathers, turned tail and ran
For the cover of the forest as John reached into his sack
For the powder and ball for another attack


As the turkey disappeared behind a tree. . .

But then. . .

Whack!
*********


“And we’ll have plenty of feathers for stuffing a bed”
Thought young John to himself, as the snow turned to red.

In one hand he held the turkey,

And in the other. . . the head.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


And so comes to an end
This Thanksgiving scene,
As we return to the present
And a time far less mean.

And if you please, this tale wasn’t
About all the violence and gore,
But rather to remind us to be thankful
We get our turkey from the store.
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