The friends of youth can’t be replaced.
They knew you long before your face
Was creased and cracked and wracked by care.
(They also think you still have hair!)
I’m thankful for the opportunity
Bestowed upon me each Thanksgiving Day
To quote myself before my family
And friends. But I still don’t know what to say.
I love that we don’t argue, scream, or fight;
That politics and sports don’t spoil the meal;
That most of us would choose a quiet night
To one in which we slur the words we feel.
I’m thankful that I’m looking forward to
Our late-November gathering of clans,
And that the trope of kin-without-a-clue
Has never reared its head: We’re family fans.
The difficulty is, it’s always thus.
Are there new ways to say I’m glad we’re us?
I have a secret I won’t tell.
You’ll know it if you know me well
Which no one does, and that’s just fine
With me, because this secret’s mine.
B. Bubs, we who know you well,
Your friends and neighbors here in Hades,
Stockholm-Syndromed lads and ladies
Nose-blind to that sulfur smell,
Are worried: Donald Trump is late! He’s
Dearly missed down here in Hell.
I’m grateful to have britches
Big enough I still have room to grow
And should they ride up tightly now and then
My friends will let me know
Though we may have shared
Classes, classmates, teachers, schools
We learned different things
There’s nothing I love like a glass of cold water.
Well, maybe my wife and my son and my daughter,
My family, my friends, and my pets. Oh, and you.
But a glass of cold water is pretty good, too.