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Enjoy, and Viva La Toucan

Laura, Toucan Editrice

Friday, December 31, 2010

Poem of the Week--Dear Turkey--Sean Pravica

This poem, perhaps, is a bit overdue--then again, we only received it December 10th. But, before it becomes totally irrelevant, like, say, in June, we wanted to shout it out, and start you on considering a sensible Thanksgiving alternative, like, say lasgana. There seems to be something poetic about ending the year appreciating and celebrating the lowly turkey--retrospective, thinking, "this is how it was" and hoping next year you don't end up in the oven.

Also, you really must read the letter that Sean Pravica sent us to accompany his poem. We often get quirky cover letters, which brightens our editorial duties considerably, but this is in the top three and compliments the poem in a way we often aspire to, capturing the true essence of the Turk--err, Toucan.

Dear editrices of The Toucan,

My name is Sean Pravica and I recently ate a turkey sandwich. It was fantastic. Shortly after, I wrote a poem. It's called "Dear Turkey," is free verse, and is way under the 60 line ceiling you're looking for in submissions. So please, if you will, read it and enjoy. And if you want, you can can even accept it. Yes, I will let you.

Sean Pravica is a journalist living in southern California. He has written an article about turkeys before. He has also lived among them in central California. Still, the former vegetarian can't deny it. They're delicious.

May you be similarly inspired by what you ingest in the coming year, and may it also be a happy one, even if you are a turkey.

Dear Turkey

by Sean Pravica

The Turkey
Gobbled in the oven
Or at least I heard it so
His beak long gone
The comb undone
And the feathers
floating in the wind

But I love you
Dear Turkey
Ugly as an unwanted child
Wrinkled, latex head
A throbbing, pink sight
Skin tight around birdskull
I can only imagine
How it once sounded
Perched on that waxy neck
Squawking in your pansy-ass voice

You’re fat now
Dear Turkey

I can hear you still
Gobble Gobble
You’d cry on Christmas
Even if your head
Evaded the block

I can see your wings
Outstretched in a mild sun
Funny in flight
Stumbling skywards
To a splintered fencepost

Now look at you
You’re gobbling silently in my oven
As I look over

Your golden brown

Thank you
Dear Turkey
Be mine
Be ours


Just shut your mouth

They can’t take it like I can
They see food
I see you



One more?


Thank you
Fowl Friend

Who knew a turkey
could sing like a swan?

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