Last Meal

Last Meal

From death row
I want my last meal
to be Thanksgiving

A crackling brown turkey
carved by my father
with a serrated knife
my mother prefers
the tasty dark meat
give me the juicy white
my brother mixed stuffing
with his bare hands
spiced with too much sage
lumpy mashed potatoes
still with the skins
salt pepper and butter

Passing serving plates
heaped with memory
grandmother to granddaughter
uncles to nephews
cousins to cousins to cousins
it’s the stories
I remember
more than the food

For dessert
the proverbial pumpkin pie
nutmeg and whipped cream
and my family busts me out
just before midnight

(Inspired by this week’s Living Poetry Prompt. Happy Thanksgiving!)

About Bartholomew Barker

Bartholomew Barker is one of the organizers of Living Poetry, a collection of poets and poetry lovers in the Triangle region of North Carolina. Born and raised in Ohio, studied in Chicago, he worked in Connecticut for nearly twenty years before moving to Hillsborough where he makes money as a computer programmer to fund his poetry habit.
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10 Responses to Last Meal

  1. JeanMarie says:

    Mmmmm. Yum!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Lisa Tomey says:

    Last line for the win!

    Liked by 2 people

  3. Terrific image of the reason for food, to gather around the table with family or friends! The food is great but the memories of the personalities who joined us.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Katy Claire says:

    Oh I love it! So well penned ♥️ Happy Thanksgiving! 🦃🍁🍽

    Liked by 1 person

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