As you sit down to crowded table,
making room where you are able,
with bowls and plates and heaps of food
and seams about to come unglued,
give thanks for the serenity
of zip code 14803.
Imagine mopeds by the thousand
sharing pastures with the cows, and
hawkers wearing cone-shaped hats
who offer soup that's made from rats
and you'll agree sans hesitation
you've got it good in Alfred Station.
Noodle dishes dark and murky
take the place of juicy turkey,
and nothing like a pie of pumpkin
graces plates in Ho Chi Minh.
You might complain it's cold and rainy,
but count your blessings, Allegany.
I must admit I'm somewhat nervous
of mashed potatoes from room service.
The parts of birds they love to eat
begin with elbows, beaks and feet.
No, you're in gustatory heaven
when a local call starts 587.
Stuffing, gravy, sweet potatoes,
my kingdom for a good tomato.
So pass the white and pass the dark
and don't think cranberries a lark.
You won't be needing Rand McNally
to find your way to old East Valley.
So park yourselves and join hands,
and eat until you cannot stand,
and if you're bored when it's all over,
then mail me all of what's leftover!!
And I'll be thinking of you all
from this exotic port of call.
Now bask yourselves in easy living,
and have a wonderful Thanksgiving!
Love,
Julian