A turkey by any other name would still probably taste as dry…
Dear Big Turkey,
I see you, in the poultry aisle, a sad and cavernous thing, so large and so irrelevant. Years before you were the most important part of the meal, a beastly thing aggressively alone. Prior, you were coveted, a turkey large enough for a feast of 15, and now here you sit, alone, among the ice chips, as the tiniest measliest turkeys are sought after, searched for. The other day, a woman reached for you, as if to take you into the bosom of her shopping cart and season you just right. You feel it, that moment of anticipation. But she was just searching under you, if you were hiding behind your monstrous thighs a smaller, less intimidating turkey. When someone reaches for a big turkey these days, they do it anxiously, checking both directions before grabbing them as quickly as possible and hiding them under purses. No longer is the caress of a white woman’s hand wondering if this is “the” turkey. No longer the lines of Karens piped up so high on pumpkin spice and adrenaline that they lift your whole body into their overflowing carts of delicacies with one hand.
I see you turkey, I wish to return you to the wild, to allow you to flap your wings once again, to relinquish from whence you came. You remind us of days prior, simpler times when the biggest concern of American households was keeping you wet. You were engaged in a flurry of activity, stuffed, filled to the brim. As you were consumed, we all said we loved you, not because we meant it, but because the moment called for it. We relished in the aftermath for days.
Turkey, you are enough. I love you. The world may not be ready for your size, but a day will come again when you will be embraced for everything you are, every bit of you will be consumed until satisfaction.
Until then, stand proud in the poultry section, your day will arrive.
All my love,
(P.S. I’m a vegetarian)
A big turkey from bygone days via Bwog Archives