Ah, the day after!

A turkey sandwich with cranberries,

and maybe even stuffing—

down the stairs I come waddling,

my lungs huffing and puffing.

I stumble to the kitchen

as daylight meets the dawn,

start to empty the dishwasher

before slowly moving on.

There I find Aunt Flora’s dish,

the one she didn’t claim—

instead, she took home Grace’s

with no chips, and no taped name.

I wonder if my uncle

can close his pant’s top button—

he ate too many helpings,

but he always was a glutton.

Gran retrieved her casserole

with most of it left over,

tho’ the kids tried desperately

to feed it to old Rover.

Matt and Art aren’t speaking,

fighting over politics,

will they forget by Christmas

or will each opinion stick?

And speaking now of Christmas,

I’d better get in gear,

And hit the malls this morning

to beat the rush this year.

I guess I’ll grab some pumpkin pie

with whipped cream on the top,

and hope I can get in my jeans—

I don’t have time to stop.

I’ll just lie down across the bed

and hold my tummy in,

tugging at the zipper

while my hubby sports a grin.

Then rush back home by noontime

to open up the fridge,

dig out those good leftovers,

and a pie made by Aunt Midge.

The houseguests should be rising,

tho’ last night, we were up late—

they’ll love reheated foodstuffs

for it still will taste just great.

The men will spend another day

with football on TV,

and kids will run us ragged—

just you wait and see.

By evening we may settle down,

play games,—decorate the tree,

for it’s one more month till Christmas—

meaning—no free time left for me!

Day After Thanksgiving written by Tamara Hillman © 2007.