Jo Belmont

ODE TO TOMAS

There once was a bird named Tomas
“Say ‘Toh MAHS’ “ said his owner where his home was
He laid for years in a drawer
All potential, nothing more
As his owner sewed all other things gorgeous.

Tomas was a great fabric panel
A beautiful turkey, not a pig, not a camel
He needed only fine stitching
To transform to bewitching
And grace each year’s holiday table.

But wait! Could it be? Yes it is! Turkey glee!
She’s surveying his parts for assembly.
Beautiful threads she’ll apply
Layers of batting so high
The plumpest of birds done so nimbly.

Gold and red, orange and brown
Every feather, all around
He’s got goose pimples, he’s so excited
Puffy, shiny and contoured, he’ll be a hit, that’s for sure
We’ll call him “SIR” Tomas, as though he were knighted.

There, he’s sewn inside out. Now let’s turn him about
To ready him for a fine stuffing.
What’s this? Where’s his head?
It’s in there, instead
Stuck in that batting you used, and the tufting.

Get the pliers! Push! Pull!
Poke and prod. It won’t budge.
Who’da thunk we could have such a muddle?
The gold stilleto? It broke. That’s not much of a joke.
Wait! I think I’ve got hold of his wattle.

Here’s his head. He’s intact.
Needs repair though. That’s a fact.
But his beak, beyond mending, makes her grumble.
She was doing so well, then her confidence fell
This event surely will keep her humble.

“To the trash heap!,” she says.
“No,” the Bearded One counters.
“Repair him and he’ll pass inspection.”
So Tomas joins the family, with his faulty assembly.
As the rest of us, with much imperfection.