At Feast End
We congregate about the table,,,
Our bellies bursting with holiday—it was pristinely set.
The turkey carcass now
the sweet potatoes observed
(their brown candied toppings stripped to expose solitary
daubs of orange-carroty-color not fit to keep),,,
the blotched plates cleared,,,
the caked forks confiscated,,,
sweaty goblets still bathed in mostly melted cubes:
Was God’s grace gone so soon?
by the scôp from diatribalArts.
Please comment and support our 12 Days of Poetry Project.