Every Thanksgiving I sit with the babies!
It’s the little kids’ table; the table for tots,
Where my mom makes me sit, if I like it or not.
The table for grown-ups is fit for a king,
With goblets and giblets and gold napkin rings,
But here all the kids drink from Styrofoam cups,
We eat small turkey bits that our moms have cut up.
Our plates are red plastic and so are the spoons,
And we eat by ourselves in a small dinning room.
“I’ll never eat mushrooms or green beans or squid!”
“And I NEVER will eat at a table for kids!”
“What’s wrong?” asked my mom, she was pouring some drinks;
“You haven’t touched dinner…not one single thing!”
She straightened the napkin tucked under my chin,
She gave me a hug as she pushed my chair in,
She cut up my turkey bits two sizes smaller,
She held up my glass, “have a sip of some water!”
She dished up a spoon of potatoes and gravy;
My mom tried to feed me like I was a baby!
“I can use my own fork! I can use my own knife!”
“And I don’t want to sit at the table for tikes!”
Then my mom said, “I think your Thanksgiving’s all through,
“And I think that it’s time you go up to your room.”
I sat all alone on my bed feeling hungry.
It felt like I had a stone knot in my tummy.
I was just about ready to snack on my hat,
When I heard someone knocking, RAT-TAT-A-TAT-TAT!
It was mom with a plate piled high with a feast,
And it didn’t seem that she was mad in the least.
She set up a TV tray right by my bed,
And she gave me a kiss on the top of my head.
“You’re growing up fast,” she said, hiding a tear,
“Won’t you join the adults for Thanksgiving next year?”
