Thanksgiving at Gramma’s By Daniel S. Irwin

 

 Cousin Jimmy was a little asshole.

He stole, lied, and cheated everyone

And always pretended to be the angel.

Once, he slipped one of Gramp’s cigars

And a dollar from Aunt Betty’s purse

Into the pocket of my jacket and said

That I stole them.  My hide was tanned. 

That young devil talked me Into playin’

Hooky from Sunday school, then, the

Heathen that he was, he snuck off to

Rat on me to the whole congregation.

That got me a ‘church approved’ tanning.

I eventually learned not to believe

Anything he said, do anything he asked,

Or hold on to anything he gave me,

Especially if he handed something to me

As he ran by.  I suffered for all of it.

One Thanksgiving at Gramma’s,  I was

Suddenly hit with the perfect inspiration

To get back at this joker and yelled,

“Jimmy put his peter on the turkey!

Jimmy put his peter on the turkey!”

Jimmy’s fervent protests didn’t matter.

Who could make up such a vile thing,

If it wasn’t true.  Dinner now ruined,

He finally got the hellacious ass beatin’

He’d been deservin’ for a long time.

And, I got the honor of throwing the

Presumed-violated bird to the dogs.

Which meant that I got to pull off

Both drumsticks for yours truly ‘fore

Givin’ the hounds their holiday feast.

Revenge, in this case, was damn tasty.

 

Daniel S. Irwin, native of Southern Illinois (such as it is).  Artist, writer, actor, soldier, scholar, priest among other things.

Work published in over one hundred magazines and journals worldwide.  Has appeared in over one hundred films. 

Speaks fluent gibberish when loaded.  Not much into blowing his own horn as you are only as good as your latest endeavor.

Once turned to religion but Jesus just walked away.