Thursday, November 24, 2011

Late November

The tryptophan trickles into the blood
To tune down brain activity -- the couch
Is so inviting after all this food --
The turkey sings us all to sleep, the pouch
Of dressing spreads to fill our bellies up.
The football game excitement barely shocks
Awake the few of us who watch. The pup
Down at my feet, his head on his white socks,
Infected by the mood that permeates
The room, is sleeping. It's midafternoon,
And the adults all want to nap, our fates
All turkey-tied to a tryptophan swoon.

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