INDIANS (Thanksgiving 1984)


We've driven through Pennsylvania,

New Jersey, New York and finally

Massachusetts in the pouring rain

to get to Rhode Island for dinner.

We walk in right at the cranberry

sauce hits the plates.

The wine is poured,

the turkey dished out.

Pilgrim hats sit on the boys

and white hats on the girls,

another funny whim of Aunt Laura's.

I, the eight-year-old Miles Standish,

stand with Samoset, looking down

before the overflowing cornucopia.

I wanted to be an Indian this year,

but, no, little Teddy got his way again.

It probably happened before I was born,

so I won't worry about it.

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