Of course, there are still six days left before the loveliness that is Thanksgiving presents itself to our tables. This is just to get us pumped…
by Bruce Guernsey
The potato that ate all its carrots,
can see in the dark like a mole,
its eyes the scars
from centuries of shovels, tines.
May spelled backwards
because it hates the light,
pawing its way, padding along,
there in the catacombs.