The turkey shot out of the oven and rocketed
into the air, it knocked every plate off the table
and partly demolished a chair.
It ricocheted
into a corner and burst with a deafening boom,
then splattered all over the kitchen, completely
obscuring the room.
It stuck to the walls and
the windows, it totally coated the floor, there
was turkey attached to the ceiling, where there'd
never been turkey before.
It blanketed every
appliance, It smeared every saucer and bowl, there
wasn't a way I could stop it, that turkey was out
of control.
I scraped and I scrubbed with displeasure,
and thought with chagrin as I mopped, that I'd never
again stuff a turkey with popcorn that hadn't been
popped.