THE WARMTH, THE CALL, OF APPLE PIE

Thus, we clean up after the tryptophan tornado Slow moving, drugged, sated, slipper wearing zombies Picking at the ruins of fun, feast and folly Wondering why the soon to come fat guy is so jolly Pants – let out – for comfort sake A slumbering room of football fakes And then that scent, of my, oh my The warmth, the call, of apple pie I know it’s wrong, this pie I’m stuffin’ Will turn an epicure into a glutton As the leaves drift slow to the earth I must give my girth its worth.