I cooked Thanksgiving dinner for no one;
it was, I must say, quite a revealing affair.
The turkey and I dressed for the occasion,
knowing well no one would not be there.
Macy’s Day Parade was on the flat screen;
balloon after balloon floated by in the air.
I chopped, sliced, and diced in finest form;
teared in my Chablis, but just didn’t care.
Once again, no one got himself shit-faced;
up all night long, not a beer did he spare.
He suffered away Thanksgiving sleeping;
I served dinner at two with no one aware.
I wrapped everything up tightly in tin foil;
shoved it in the fridge with a spiteful glare.
Lots of leftovers for that asshole tomorrow;
dishes done, I rested my tired ass in a chair.
Time had come for deep personal reflection:
was dinner worth all that effort to prepare?
Yes. While cooking dinner today for no one,
I saw life with no one was going no where.
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