And so it happens every year:
They gather together the day after
And stuff themselves with fermented feed,
Trying to forget the feathered friends
Consumed in the ceaseless reverie
Of Thursday’s celebration.
These “E-bird-nezer” Scrooges never
Realize this solemn binge
Portends a future rendezvous
With the Host of Christmas Dinner.
Perhaps they do not care,
For hope ne’er springs eternal
In the turkey breast…
At least, not for the turkeys.
For them, it truly is a Black Friday.