He didn't understand. The meat was rancid again. This was the third cow of the day, the third that released an overpowering stench when opened. On the first, he thought it had some unknown infection and continued butchering until the smell forced him to stop. The second cow stinking of rotting flesh concerned him and now the third...

He paused at the fleshy slapping sound behind him. Initially, he saw only the dangling intestines as the first cow rose. As it lumbered toward him, he realized daylight was visible through the hole in its head left by the rifle bullet.

So interesting that we celebrate

a holiday not for us,

while those who should celebrate

cannot come in to join.

The wall is too high.

A chorus of thank yous is heard over the clinking of silverware as Mom passes the mashed potatoes around the table. The stuffing comes next, the thank yous now thick and buttery from those who are already stuffing themselves. Grandpa looms over the turkey, carving fork and knife in hand. As he makes the first cut, the drumsticks waggle and the kind of muffled squawk that can only come through a sewn-closed neck hole startles the guests: “No thank you!” Grandpa cuts anyway, carving off huge chunks of meat, and the squawking doesn’t stop until the plate is almost full.