Turkey Poem II

I have thought
of turkeys differently
since I saw that tom and his hens
out by the Quabbin Reservoir.

Now,
if my voice has any sway in the purchasing
of holiday gobblers,
I will advocate
for the buying of a bird
that had a nice life.

Something that died happy
simply tastes better than something
that spent it’s life penned
in an obviously too small cage.

After all, I’m going to have
a creature murdered
merely to grace my holiday plate
I at least what to know
it saw sunshine,
knew grass,
and had sex.