NO THANKS FOR THANKSGIVING

Pigs live long, eat good, grow fat and know what their fate will be. They'll feed humanity in a variety of ways, a pork chop here, strips of bacon there, a slice of ham with a candied yam, a rib to spare well done or rare. Delicious dishes for the family.

A chicken fried, roasted, broasted, barbecued, slowly stewed, soup with oodles of noodles or matzoh balls, fricasseed southern style, a yummy drumstick. wings or other things, a fowl can make the belly growl. There ain't nothin' beats the dickens like those finger lickin' chickens.

A duck quack quacks, a goose honks back, a rooster crows, a hen bestows its eggs for quiches, knishes and all sorts of delicious dishes, fulfilling every gourmet's wishes.

Now we get to the turkey, a quirky bird that doesn't chirp or cheep or peep. It gobbles. While it's gobbled up all year round it's found most on one holiday. In fact its basic reason for living is to satisfy the family on Thanksgiving.

And when the feast is through, what do you do with the residue? How many sandwiches can you eat? Which is what this poem is all about. Turkeys are so big and fat, you can't eat them up just like that. And as November comes to a close, you'll wish the Indians chose another bird to feed the Pilgrim population, symbol of our pioneering nation.