I gave thanks only the once,

over a meal hosted by my grandmother’s

cousin in a small town near Philadelphia

and the small party of four, a second cousin

twice removed

and his wife both took a hand of mine

and prayed.

 

I was silent, but acknowledged their words

and I thought of home

as we sat in the heat

of a crowded restaurant,

the steam of the passable gravy

warming the inside of my nose

as I prepared to smother the turkey.

 

I gave thanks and I still do,

an American tradition I was glad to bring

back to the small island

dotted with poppycock

in the North Atlantic,

and whilst I can’t abide the taste

of the overfed poultry, I bow my head and say thank you.

 

As traditions go, it is a simple

yet effective one,

as that long exhausting,

yet spiritually enlightening trip

allowed me the grace to witness,

and yet the day has been swallowed

with vile commercial intent

as Black Friday stalks the night.

 

Black Friday, the sheer rot

of it all, just another invention

like the worst aspects of Halloween

and Bonfire night, designed

with money

and insanity in mind,

it is the true meaning of

November twenty-seventh.

 

A month which Americans remember

their fallen war heroes,

the end of Camelot, the innocence

lost on a Texas day and the honour

of giving thanks for being with loved ones,

to share a meal as they remember the struggle

of survival,

is ruined by Capitalism, in its very worst form.

 

Black Friday, a day of atonement

for the rot of a sale,

the foolishness, the stupidity

of placing the best of days

next to humanity’s folly,

It is no wonder that the cash-strapped Devil

laughs on such a day,

for thanksgiving to become a day

laying in wait for the nature of credit

based foolishness…

 

Now that is surely

the Devil’s dance

the foolishness offered

in praise

of sympathy for the drivel.

 

Ian D. Hall 2015