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Rated: E · Poetry · Family · #2330255
Childhood memories of Thanksgiving at my grandmother's house brought to life in a poem...
Thanksgiving At Granny McNabb’s

We were all looking forward to dinner
back then, at my grandma’s house.
Looking back, I was a whole lot thinner,
and I had no thoughts of a spouse.

The kitchen smelled delightful
and everyone was there.
I know at times, I seemed spiteful,
but nobody seemed to care.

Just me, my brother, and cousins,
sent to eat, on the old front porch.
The table was set for a dozen
while the centerpiece looked like a torch.

While the adults all sat at the table
with kind manners, and a happy smile,
the children were making up fables
while laughing and joking in style.

Our parents were all being silent
while we were all having food fights.
It was nothing I’d consider violent
but a fork stabbed a hole in my tights.

The neighbors all looked out their windows,
and none of us kids really cared.
My cousin yelled, “Hey when the wind blows
I’ll throw pie, and you won’t be spared!”

Choosing sides behind different bushes,
pitting one group against the other,
we soon got whomped in our tushes
after being caught by our mother.

In hindsight, it all felt worth it.
And none of us thought it was drab.
We ate plenty of food and loved it,
having dinner with Granny McNabb.

~ Paisley Summers

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