THE SECOND HELPING
Turning and squirming by the crackling fire,
Aunt Margaret cannot hear the Lions’ game.
They need a yard; The O-line cannot hold;
Three yellow flags are tossed upon the play.
The guac-filled bowl is spilled, chips everywhere.
The ceremony of giving thanks is done;
The host naps off the victuals, while the guests
Are full of Pabst and mince and cranberries.
Surely some dyspepsia is at hand:
Surely the second helping is to blame.
The second helping! Hardly are those words thought
When a blast issued from some tortured fundament
Troubles the night: Somewhere on the Naugahyde couch
A shape with hippo belly and the head of a man,
A glazed ham inside his bubbling tum,
Is moving his slow thighs, while all about him
Squeal maddened nieces; a cloud ascends, accursed.
Febreze is spritzed again, but grandpa groans
Awake, his tryptophan-induced post prandial sleep
Rocked to nightmare by a lingering fetor.
And which gruff guest, his host come round at last,
Belches toward Slothlehem to be bored?
you are insane, but thank you
Very funny...but need more Sherlock!!!