It is, of course, Canadian Thanksgiving, by and large a rootless sort of holiday, but an enjoyable one at that. I often take the opportunity to ponder the things in life I am grateful for, albeit rarely in a public forum. I won’t dwell on specifics here, except to say that I am grateful for a good many things, and that I am indeed a lucky, lucky boy.

My wife’s aunt, who according to Greek custom is also now my aunt, has invited us to a Thanksgiving dinner, at which we are to perform an original work of poetry. I’ve been meaning to post here about the process and pain of writing, about how short posts about unessential things are easier, about how weighty subjects are much harder. It would have been a helluva post.

Instead I will offer you my poem:

A Thanksgiving Poem, by S. Leslie Turriff

Roses are pink,
Violets are blue.
This poem isn’t
the poem you
expected.

Flowers are nice,
Turkey is too.
Thanksgiving is
a good time to
be grateful.

That our lives are
really quite good.
Except for bad
winters, and odd
politics.

Ebola world wide,
War in Iraq,
Syrian bombs,
Russia all whacked
out on Ukraine.

Eurozone crise,
Scotland stayed in.
Catalan out,
France all right wing
fascists.

Typhoons, Blizzards,
climate change floods.
Apocalypse,
Summers are duds.
July was OK.

Colonialism,
sad reality.
Deep rifts in the
world, and too many
syllables.

Canada could
be better, OK.
But I’m grateful,
plus there’s hockey.
Go, Habs, Go.

We have family,
friends, cats, and food.
Social safety net,
Medicare, dude.
Cheap daycare.

Pedantic words
in awkward rhyme,
can’t take away our
Thanksgiving time.
Gratitude.