Thanksgiving
The year that
I turned twenty - one,
We watched the
Macy's Day parade,
while snow blanketed
Kalamazoo.
Cold cans of Miller
High Life toasted with
garlic butter green
beans.
We baked bazil
roasted turkey breast,
and laughed like
children at the
very idea of the two
of us cooking.
Digging through
the dishes that
other Civic Theatre
employees had left
behind, we
listened to Sweet Charity,
and the sound of tap
shoes beating against
a green star.
We were wating for Santa
in a little city almost
a thousand miles from
home.
We ended the day as we
started, in puffy sweat
pants, hair a mess.
No pomp and circumstance.
Just the two of us
listening to the heavy
flakes fall.
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