Our plate is half-empty, I said to myself
as I pulled the old roasting pan down off the shelf.
How did we get here, from whence had we come?
Just how did this country elect such a bum?
As I chopped up the chestnuts and diced up the leeks,
I let my mind wander across these past weeks.
We all felt so certain, inside of our bubble—
who knew we'd be running head-long into trouble?
But some people knew it, yes some had their say,
in Wisconsin and Michigan they got their way.
In Ohio and Georgia and some parts of Maine...
I crushed up the croutons and pondered in pain.
I like to put orange peels inside the bird
to flavor the roasting, don't think it absurd.
And yet as I peeled them, I realized in fright
that I saw all things orange in a scary new light.
While peeling potatoes, I thought not a thing which
would be helped at all by a Secretary Gingrich.
I seasoned the yams and felt it's beyond me
to think we've not yet heard the last of Mitt Romney.
With Bolton and Sessions and Flynn called to duty,
and don't even mention the nightmare named Rudy,
I baked up some rolls and imagined again
the whole ship of state run by aging white men.
As I took a brief break with a short glass of port,
I thought to myself—and what of the court?
We'll get bad decisions for years upon years!
It wasn't the onions that brought on my tears.
I thought of the small ones, the poor, the oppressed,
then I trussed up the turkey, made sure it was dressed,
and pulled out the tray where the meat would all park—
the perfect agreement between light and dark.
And as the bird roasted and basted and stewed,
rich smells filled the house and took hold of my mood.
I surveyed the scene, and the meal to be had,
and I said to myself, "Self, it isn't that bad."
I looked at my daughter, my son, and my wife,
and I thought of the blessings that season my life.
My family, my friends, all these things make me grateful.
It's only four years—there's no time to be hateful!
In fact we've got work and good deeds that need doing,
so keep that in mind as you start up your chewing.
Lace up your sneakers, there's marching to do—
the march will need me, and the march will need you.
But first let's remember that our plates are half-full,
no matter which lever your heart made you pull.
So join up your hands and let's all go on living,
and I hope that you all have a happy Thanksgiving!