It is quiet now.
The glorious Thanksgiving repast is still spread on the table.
Enshrined by clusters of sumptuous dishes rests the gilded bronze turkey --
On one side an offering of buttered corn,
On the other the blood red cranberry sauce.
The rich aroma of that grand banquet still lingers over the table setting.
The burnished baked potatoes nestle near the thickening gravy.
On the far end of the table is a bowl splashed with rainbow colors --
Of grapes, avocados, apples and summer squash.
On top of a mountain of spangled greenery,
The African salad fork supports his mate and surveys the scene,
Casting a thin shadow over the table setting
As the last twilight rays glimmer through the shattered and charred window frames.
A slight evening breeze plays softly
Through the stark cedar row by the driveway into the house,
Rustling the blistered wallpaper,
Gently stirring the light gray ash,
And banging the new aluminum door on its way out.
Author notes
I composed this poem way back in 1965, in reaction to the impending nuclear holocaust. I was off by a few years, evidently.
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