Turkey

I am 17 a
Junior in HS
Sitting at our
Thanksgiving
Table with my
Mother’s friend
Joining our family.
She is 45, a painter
Of renown and has her
Boy-toy, late 20s, whom
My sibs and I cannot resist
Questioning about what he does
To which he says he is a college
Student so we ask what is his
Major to which he explains
He has had two or three
Majors to which we all
Grin at him and each
Other as we are like
Piranha scenting a
Kill, fresh meat,
An analytical
But not too
Attractive
A quality.
The toy
Defends
His slow pace
In higher education
By saying, “I am not hung
Up on this completion thing.”
This brings laughter from the
Entire table including the artist
Who thinks he is charming as
She sees him from a unique
Perspective we do not see
As we are trained to be
Ruthlessly objective
In all observations
A trait we see in
One another
And know it
Leaves us
Without
The ability
Of seeing just
The surface and
Not picking a scab.
Our parents glance at
Us silences any further
Dissection but we cannot
Stop smiling as we have
Already carved the
Turkey at the
Table as we
All abhor a
Waste of
Water
Salt
Or
A
Fake
Student.
Lord have
Mercy on our
Future mates who
Will have to politely
Overlook what a
Flock of turkeys
We are when it
Comes to
Dinner
Small
Talk.
We
Are forever
Madea’s knife
Hung up on the
Completion thing.