Month of Thanks

Month of Thanks 

Month to express thanks in Internet posts, daily diary of gratuities

Culminating on turkey day like an advent calendar countdown to manger

Amniotic sac eruption of luminous lamb emanating a Bat symbol to the sky

For wise-brown men in a trio to offer gifts 

Where did the gold go?  Who kept it?

Native Americans not Wampanoag, Sioux or Cherokee

Nah, calls ‘em Indians two made up nomenclature paints of ignorance

Bestowed to elementary schoolers and adults since the 1600’s 

Bringing geese plump and husked corn cold outside  

To a table to share knowledge with Euro-mariners

Stealthy secrets, covert like a pre CIA byway

Of what works when a nation is spying on itself  

In the formation the United States is a nation of Occupiers

And so it is, we see Gaza bombed and debate not whose bombs we fund

Thankful this November for the blessings shinning in the side

Of who lords over who, wood and sticks and politics  

Nailed like Southern Yam casseroles bursting with marshmallows

Gorgy porgy decadent sugars bubbling for Black Friday

So Good!  So Good! The sky goes charcoal with consumerism!

Cracking at the moment of annual out of the red into the Black! 

Father, they know not what they do! But damn it the Twinkies!

Lying in wait holding out hands in tubes of subterfuge

Creamy middle and sponge synthetic substances fed to a nation

Kicking pigskins with Cowboys awaiting Redskin RG3 

For INRI and do and die, the sheep did not smell beyond the inn

Welcome them in these foreign looking men as we return to the town of our birth

To pay defense budget taxes, to reignite the match of where this shall pass

Into eternity this Thanks; this family, this employment, this land of atonement 

Buried in flesh wounds of Palestinians launching Sioux arrows to the sky

Landing randomly in hope that the millions of natives will take at least a few

Occupiers out before parading towards extinction like the buffalo

Borderlines of water supplies in a desert, Christian and Jewish minorities  

Control the cash and the story is the oldest, the basis of war zones

This pox of tribe!  This pox of cult!  This pox of this divide between you and I;

It kills us each in this breach of savoring for Thursday like hummus or corn

The only substance we find accord, as if we did not both understand fundamentally 

Each of these foods contains water

Yet we burrow in the Earth, hoarding relics and claiming priority in wells of

Holy Ground, identical symmetrical historical foundation for the other’s extraction

As if the perpendicular wood of this crossing is an insurmountable barrier 

As I scratch you and you detonate me

As I have bow and you have a drone  

This is a month to be thankful; Oh joy the holidays are coming!

My daughter finally figured out Santa Claus this past summer

We no longer have to pantomime Christmas

We can begin to speak like adults