Thursday, November 28, 2013

A Poem for Thanksgiving Day


No other word will do. For that’s what it was. Gravy.

Gravy, these past ten years.
Alive, sober, working, loving, and

being loved by a good woman. Eleven years

ago he was told he had six months to live

at the rate he was going. And he was going

nowhere but down. So he changed his ways

somehow. He quit drinking! And the rest?

After that it was all gravy, every minute

of it, up to and including when he was told about well, some things that were breaking down and building up inside his head.
 “Don’t weep for me,” he said to his friends.
 “I’m a lucky man. 
I’ve had ten years longer than I or anyone

expected. Pure Gravy. And don’t forget it.”

                                    --Raymond Carver

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