I’d like to thank the farmers, and the doctors, and the teachers,
And the truckers, and the builders and the grocers, even preachers
And the people who contribute to the lives of all us creatures
And without whose help, I’d probably be dead.
I’d like to, but I’ve never known these people by their name
They’re anonymous, or hidden, so to me they’re all the same
It is too much work to find them, so (although it’s quite a shame)
I’ll just give my thanks for them to God, instead.
It’s Thanksgiving, so we’re giving thanks for everything we’ve got
In my corner of this planet, that’s an awful fucking lot
But the ones we should be thanking are the ones who get forgot
And instead of them, we give our thanks to God.
He’s omnipotent, they tell us, so the power’s in His hands
Which the farmer, or the doctor, or the teacher, understands
But the mental calisthenics that this rationale demands
Are, to me, beyond all multiples of “odd”.
Happy Thanksgiving (or, for non-USAians, happy November 26th!)! I give thanks to all of you–not *for* all of you. I never cease to be amazed that people read and appreciate what I write, and I thank you all for your support, and your critiques, your poetry, your criticism, your passion, and your utter brilliance. Thank you, thank you, thank you!
Also, this year marks an important landmark; I did not make a pumpkin pie this year, instead experimenting with variations on sweet potato pie. This may not mean much to you, but many of the landmarks of my life are centered on pies. This is huge, people. I may not know what it means for decades, but I need to make note of it now.
Which means, though, that the pie I baked yesterday, for tomorrow’s meal, is already half gone. It’s really, really good.