Thanksgiving: A Merciless Parody of the Matthew Dickman Poem

...And About Half A Dozen Others To Boot, In Lieu Of An Actual Competent Post

I can’t believe it really but

Aunt Sylvia’s on about babies again

She always finds another way of stuffing it in

(Speaking of which, can you pass that down?)

That, or the Holocaust of course.

Which is strange, as from the table near an old man

Sits in a dry land grumbling

Rhythmically to himself

His soused and fascist friend bellows

Instructions in his ear and jots

Down notes on Usury, Conspiracy, and Poetry

I hope that my aunt doesn’t overhear.

We wouldn’t want to cause a fuss.

My sister Emily passes the rolls, gets butter on her jet black sleeve

Wally is not here this time,

He lives too far away and, well,

Perhaps it’s for the best

He does go on about the worms a lot

And spoils our appetites.

And yet I see him seldom, and his family

Has become unfamiliar through Atlantic distance

And I miss them.

Emily smirks and makes some crack about—as always—death and gloom.

I wish that Bill would pass the—

Nevermind

He’s

Eaten

All the plums.

Again.

And Ross is staring down upon his pork

With a crazed look in his eye

His teeth glisten like wolves moving down from the North

In Autumn

The shovel by the door shifts

In anticipation.

My sister Emily nudges me:

Hurry up please it’s time!

So, for all my bitter barbs and jabs,

Let me set down all the things that I’m so grateful for.

Thanks for the Second Stairwell

And the aching sands.

Thanks for the Soviet Shortwave Stations

And the man with the dogs

Who keeps them fed and growling on chains.

Thanks for my general freedom from

Endless autistic lists

Thanks for all the fish

Thanks for the tilt of the hallway

At night (It moves like the sea)

Thanks for the imagination to see beyond the

Simple tyranny of Things

Thanks for veiled barbs and silk-sharpened knives

Thank you for making me say this just once.

Thanks for the burnt out ends of smoky days

Thanks for that one deer

Leg, sawed off, and the shadow by the fence at 1 AM

Thanks for Centralia, Slenderman

Bray Road, New York, Allentown, The Second Landing, and the Series of Tubes

Well, that set the staff off,

Looks like its time to make an escape

Goonight Matt, Goonight Yusef, Goonight Anne,

It was lovely to see you all again,

I say my strange farewells to you all,

A glass doll sitting on the window ledge

Opened her terrible eyes and then closed them again.

BONUS ROUND!
The Sam's Thanksgiving Catastrophe Drinking Game


Take one drink each time:

• You know what poet I'm talking about
• I ape another poet's lines or style
• I mention something totally incomprehensible

Take two drinks each time:

• I just straight up steal a line from some other poem
• I make fun of Matthew Dickman's poetry

Swirl your drink and mutter "Bullshit" each time:

• Let's be honest, here, you're already doing this.

Happy Thanksgiving, everybody.