one last piece of pie

i stare

into the cold blue light

of the fridge

and see

the carcass of the turkey

staring back

at me.

the bones

of it all,

now flattened

into piles of dark and white

meat.

i wonder if i can squeeze one

more meal

out of it.

slap it all between

to slices

of wonder bread.

there's hardened hills of potatoes

too,

and stuffing.

the carrots look sketchy though,

as do the

Brussel sprouts.

the gravy

looks terminal.  a greyish

brown

gel, begging for the trash.

what about this last piece of

pumpkin

pie, still in the box.

i pinch my stomach, and nod

yes.

i'll have a go at that.