Thanksgiving Leftovers

The 20-pound butterball turkey rests On a table laden with condiments; We bow our heads, reach out our hands and bless And say grace which presupposes our content. But as we eat, the elephant harrumphs To lead our banter and wordplay astray, We assert on Gaza or butterball Trump Or some other donnybrook of the day. Alas, the turkey is now quite slighted And acrimony stuffs the upper hand; Our argued points are skewed with gestured knife, Though not a one convinced to alter stand. Afterward, leftovers are jammed into Vacuum bags should we choose to someday use.