Brit's Thanksgiving Poem

by Ben
(Portland, ME, USA)

I hold my hands up and admit it straight away: I am not an American citizen by birth, having moved here 5 years ago from England to live with my wife in Maine. There are things about America that I loathe, but even more that I love.

My favorite American tradition is that of Thanksgiving, and I want to share my first Thanksgiving over here.

From watching American sit-coms, I had a rough idea of what Thanksgiving would entail, but coming from a small family of 7 cousins and 3 uncles, nothing prepared me for the gathering that awaited at my parents-in-law’s house that day.

Their house is always used as the meeting place for Thanksgiving, and so both sets of family were invited. With all the uncles and aunts and cousins and second cousins, there were over 100 people. And each of them was desperate to meet the new British addition to their group.

The family tradition is a pot luck dinner where everyone brings a dish. I don’t think I’ve ever seen, or eaten, so much food!

Everyone was so intent on making me feel welcome, I ended up having to try a little piece of everything that people had brought. I had been warned not to eat much for the days running up to Thanksgiving, and I was glad that I had heeded the advice.

By 8pm I was ready to burst, and by 9pm I was holding audience in the sitting room so I could lay my congested gut out on a sofa.

I survived (but didn’t eat anything until Monday)!

Now that I’m known throughout the family, I’m not being force fed any more. I have, however, joined in the tradition of food-based "hazing of newcomers" to our family.

Brit's Thanksgiving Poem

My belly is empty and my nerves are on fire,
when through the door comes the Clan MacIntyre.

Laden with pumpkin and turkey and ham,
they all gather round to ask who I am.

I answer their questions and eat from each dish,
but as evening wears on, I have only one wish.

To be given some respite from the food and the booze,
and to find somewhere quiet to lie down and snooze!