Friday, December 4, 2009

wrestling with a turkey

Wrestling with a turkey
It is not my favorite thing

Most turkeys, they come frozen
so there is that days of thawing thing

Then you get your mind all ready
And you gird up your loins
And clean the sink for turkey wrestlin'
and hope that between the rinsing
and the excavating
most of the salmonilla is washed away

But you tried to note everything you touch
the faucet handle, sink and scissors
the spice bottle and olive oil
and path to the trash can with the innerds
and the plastic, oh, the plastic
and the extra fat and skin
washing ice shards and sharp breast bones
until your hands you no longer feel.

I remembered to preheat the crock pot
I remembered to clear the sink
I remembered to unload the dishwasher
I remembered to position the spices

But, I forgot about the doorknobs
And how hot a crock pot can get
and my back went out on Tuesday
so, my pose resembles a witch
a concocting and a stewin'
yet with a splash of bleach
that sink will harbor no germs
not on my watch
not today.

My hands are slathered with hand cream
for clorox dries them out,
And the window is open
to dispell the fumes
while the crock pot sizzles about
four or five more hours
I suspect it will be done
when the bones no longer hold it
and the meat falls to gravity's pull
and the humming dish-a-washer
will be my guide and clue
that I have blown no fuse
in the kitchen, so the crockpot
cooking is true.

About now I sit and ponder
how my grandmothers did it, too.
But, they were met with feathers
and stink and feet and crop
No nicely packaged in plastic
No frozen bird for them
For theirs was the age before
refrigeration and only a cold winter
their meat locker unless they canned
or brined it or buried it in straw.
But, why can a bird or freeze it
when a freshly caught one in the yard
will bake nicely during church.
My grandmother and her mother
ancestors back through the years
Probably killed and cooked their turkey
just before feasting time.

And I wonder if I'll remember
and get a fresh turkey or smoked
next year when I have conveniently
forgotten what it is like
to wrestle a turkey.

A honey-baked ham is sounded real good right now.
Anyone know of a honey-baked ham store
with a drive through??

1 comment:

Bob said...

I may not be the most sensitive person, but I did get the feeling that perhaps you weren't overly thrilled with the cat prowling around the kitchen as you set the turkey on the table last night. Maybe it was the steam from your ears as you said, "Get that cat out of here!" that gave it away.