Turkey. by Wayne F. Burke

I ate no turkey this day of

thankful giving

in regard for turkeys

in protest of their slaughter--

sat at the table next to 

my niece's daughter

the talk went around

the food said nothing

the sun shone in the backyard

the wine began to whisper

then speak,

the volume rose and

fell

and rose again

the blood-red liquid spoke

in tongues

flushed faces peered over

brims of glasses shaped

like my sister-in-law's sister's

breasts

which I drank in.

Wayne F, Burke's poetry has appeared in a wide variety of publications. He has published five full-length poetry collections, 4 with Bareback Press, and one with Alien Buddha Press. Plus two poetry chapbooks with Epic Rites Press. He lives in the central Vermont area, USA.