Thanksgiving

I sit beneath the tabletop,

Examining the shoes,

The clock ticks, the oven dings,

Bob Dylan sings the blues.

The relatives have all arrived,

The children gone to play,

But here I sit, alone and content,

Enjoying Thanksgiving Day.

The adults all talk loudly,

They gossip and laugh and swear,

Memories of days long gone,

Each retelling adding flair.

Mother calls “the turkey’s done,”

The shoes all disappear,

I’m the last one to emerge,

Thankful to just be here.

Advice

Listen to the ones with no voices.

The ones who cannot,

Or who will not talk.

They need you the most.

The ones with love written on their arms,

But not in their hearts,

And the ones who sit alone on the bus,

Who scream at walls, home alone,

Who the teachers wonder about

But never ask.

The ones without lunch money,

Or in-style shoes,

But who write the most spectacular poetry.

Remember them.

They are asking for your help,

Even if they don't know it.

All you need to do--

Is listen.