The oldest turkey in the barn.

A thinly disguised yarn about myself.

It's Xmas time again, that most painful time of the year for us old turkeys;

the omnipresent fear of impending death is always near.

This Xmas day will be the 42nd one when I'll be waking up alone,

feeling gingerly round my throat to make sure that my head's still on top of my neck

and my lifeless carcass isn't hanging upside down in the...

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Tags: old turkeys, sylvia plath's grave., Xmas time

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