Run, Turkey, Run

A few years ago, I accidentally stumbled upon this website, showcasing a 2nd grade classroom's collections of poems about The First Thanksgiving.

What I can discern from these poems is that the class all heard the same version of the story (and it involved beer). Then, for the sole purpose of allowing me to indulge in a snarkfest that makes rather plain the fact that I am not around young children much at all, "Alex's mommy" posted them online.

With all due respect, these poems are maybe the funniest things I have ever read.

* * * *

Now, first of all, we have the title:

How much you wanna bet that Alex's mommy also has a MySpace page? I'm just saying.

But on to the really good stuff.

Here we have a very good example of the kind of average poem the class produced:

And when I say average (sorry, Arianna), I simply mean there is no drama or hyperbole or random Thanksgiving wish. Blah blah blah food, Pilgrims, Mayflower.

Although Arianna did pick up on a couple details that several other children in the class also noted: namely, that the Pilgrims "had to" drink beer and also that they went the wrong way.

Um, hello? Since when has the Thanksgiving story involved a kegger and drunk driving? Where was that story when I was growing up?

1st Drunk Pilgrim Named John: Hey, John? [hiccup] JOHN! Get o'er here. Hey. Hey, John? You know I love you, man. And I don' wanna upSET an'one, but-- Whoa! I love your hat you know that? How'd you get that buckle to shine like that? John I got a concern. I kin'a feel like maybe when we were jumpin aroun' out here in the togas -- dude, we gotta do that again -- but I'm not sure the auto-captain worked so good, you know what ahm sayin? Like look, look. There. Does that look kinda NORTH to you?

2nd Drunk Pilgrim Named John: TOGA! TOGA!

Seriously, that would have made for a much better filmstrip when I was in grade school. Mayflower gone all Animal House.

Anyway.

Danielle's take is a little different. No absence of drama here:

Danielle seems to have something of a rescue fantasy going on. I picture a Harlequin-esque romance novel with Danielle's name and a Fabio-looking Squanto on the cover. I'd call it, Squanto's Salt.


This next poem by Treimane is especially lyrical if you read it aloud.

At first I thought Treimane was just phoning it in with this one, but once I recited it for a roomful of people I understood its true genius. Try it.


I think perhaps Anthony is having a little trouble keeping various traditions straight.

Good luck with that, Anthony.


And now we come to my favorite group of poems, which amuse me in inappropriate ways, as I'm pretty sure all of these children have some serious mental and/or emotional issues. These are children I would fear.

Take Mike's for example:

Sure, I'm projecting, but if you read this in a Hannibal Lechter voice -- especialy the "ha ha" part, this poem is very, very creepy.

Use that same calm, terrifying voice to read this one and it's even creepier:

The turkey would never let us out of here?

I notice that Garrett has used the word "out" three times in five lines. I feel like Garrett has an underlying sense of need to escape. Perhaps from the voices in his head.

The turkey! The turkey wouldn't let me out! It wanted to keep me trapped! TRAPPED. It was never going to let me out of here. SO I ATE IT.

But my all-time favorite is this gem by Evan:

Evan here seems a little...conflicted.

I get that it's hard to reconcile the whole cute-pretty-feathers-gobble-gobble part of the turkey with the delicious, slathered in gravy and potatoes part of the turkey. However. "In my belly you are cute" really is a creepy notion.

Like with domestic abusers whose excuse is essentially "I only hit her 'cause I love her" I hear a young, matter-of-fact Evan whispering to the bird, I only eat you 'cause I love you.

* * * *

So those are my Thanksgiving Day highlights. Because if making fun of 7-year-olds doesn't say Happy Holidays, I don't know what does.