‘Twas the night before Thanksgiving when all through the bar,
not a creature was sober, y’all know who you are.
The stocking caps hung off their heads just so;
they clung to sweet skulls that bobbed to and fro.
Adult children were nestled and warm in such buntings;
that kept frosty winds off of these gaunt 20somethings.
While visions of Sugar Ray danced in their heads;
we knew that the ‘90s would never be dead.
And I in my flannel, and Brad his moustache,
rolled our eyes at the jukebox that blasted The Clash.
When out in the alley there arose such a clatter;
I sprang from my booth to see what was the matter.
Blue Moons on the bar did not have me tempted;
and I hastened to exit the talk of who rented.
The alley was dank; the smell of urine, it carried.
But I preferred it to hearing of who’s getting married.
When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
but a turkey-headed body holding a beer.
I knew in an instant he was not of the living;
I was standing in front of the ghost of Thanksgiving.
His body was tall and his head was basted;
part of me wondered just how good he tasted.
He whistled for the goblins who took care of his crap;
each carried a side dish and the name of an app.
“Now, Twitter! Now Tumblr! Now Facebook—please rush!
On Snapchat, OkCupid, Instagram, Candy Crush!”
They piled green beans and yams on my lap;
the ghost of Thanksgiving had brought me a snack.
He then sat down and told me his story;
of how November eating holidays were stripped of their glory.
“People forget just how good pumpkin can be;
when it’s baked in a pie and not spiced, or slutty.
And Christmas is fine, but there’s plenty of time;
why not just relax and drink far too much wine?”
He told me he couldn’t complain to his peers;
that Valentine’s Day refused to alternate years.
So he was stuck in this spot and for him no one rooted;
because most holidays thought he was just spoiled or stupid.
I told him that I knew many his equal;
for Millennials are the Thanksgivings of people.
Despite all of this, he’d concocted a plan,
to speak straight to the public because they’d understand.
“Stop Christmas shopping! Stop eating old candy;
give thanks and eat dinner and drink lots of brandy!
Don’t celebrate seasons premature or too late;
or you’ll miss out on something that is truly great.”
He thought of a way to tell them that’d work;
then had his goblins hit every social network.
I told him that I would aid in his cause;
and I’d always preferred him to that dick, Santa Claus.
He listened and nodded, then told me to go;
and spread his turkey-faced message like a viral video.
Suddenly, the alleyway filled up with gravy;
then an armada appeared, a true porcelain navy.
He called one more time for his goblins to roost;
then herded them onto his gravy boat with a boost.
And I heard him exclaim as he tried not to fall—
“Float away, float away, float away LOL!!!”