The Ghost of Christmas Present

Terrence the Turkey was feeling quite perky Passing time in his rafter and doing no harm No fighting nor squabbling, just gabbling and gobbling Turkey talking turkey down on the farm. Whilst having a natter, tame turkey type chatter Before his two eyes his mate Thomas got nabbed His shocked first reaction was frozen inaction And Terrence the Turkey got clobbered and grabbed Swept up and taken, rough handled and shaken How consciousness left him, he just could not tell Each turkey's departure was into a cart where, Apparently lifeless, he went in as well No warning, no telling, what fate was befelling If hours passed or days, it was all the same In discomfort reposing, dazing or dozing, Odd dreams drifted in and out of his brain Noise most unseeming broke into his dreaming, Not knowing his life was temp'rarily spared, Unexpectedly waking, unsteady and shaking Up on the worktop where food was prepared The noise he could hear was disturbingly near Close but concealed by a large wooden door Glancing around, and then looking down He noticed a large sack of flour on the floor His feathers felt icky, unpleasantly sticky He pondered a possible wash or a shower The door opened fast with an explosive blast And Terrence the Turkey flopped into the flour The sack, once inside in, seemed most prudent hiding He waited and listened but elsewise kept quiet He thought that a venue, where he topped the menu Could benefit all with a turkeyless diet The kitchen commotion was forming the notion His unplanned evasion was causing a stink The staff were all sharing some unfestive swearing And Terrence the Turkey started to think In quiet apprehension avoiding attention Praying time might provide him an exit to find Craftily shaping, a plan for escaping Formed in the bird's meleagridine mind Patiently hiding - the noise was subsiding He ventured a peek at what might be around No-one in his seeing, he worked on his fleeing whilst taking no action that might be a sound Though fate had, quite blindly, treated him kindly He guessed that he could not hide long in a sack For fortune is fickle and likely to pickle Good luck will go so far and then it turns back In quiet turkey stepping he silently crept in The dark to another place where he might hide Onward and upward, what seemed like a cupboard, Seemed also more prudent for hiding inside. He was not in the knowing that where he was going Though apparently safe and snug fit like a glove Had a purpose, unnerving, of vertically serving The dining room located just up above And so, when it shifted, his hidey was lifted Above was delivered and catches released With his haven unsealed, the bird was revealed Like Banquo, whose ghost form appeared at the feast Abruptly the turkey erupted berserkly Across the long table so carefully laid Flour-flecked and shrieking, his spectral white streaking Devil-possessed like a hell-despatched shade Wine glasses shattered and cutlery scattered Guests gaped aghast as food scattered as well Determined and manic (not aerodynamic), He flew with the grace of an ostrich from hell Escaping enabled he dropped from the table Flapped for stability down to the floor While all looked askance, he saw his best chance And, floured feathers fluttering, fled for the door With observers all shocked, his flight was unblocked And outside ahead his sweet freedom showed Without hesitation, his evacuation Entered the daylight and sped up the road In fields nearby passing, the sheep were all grassing (Though new social flocking perturbed them a lot) But still paused their pasture to watch the departure, Puzzled why they had been dropped from the plot.