Let’s Talk Turkey

Ladies and gentlemen, gather round,
and let me introduce Tom—
no ordinary turkey,
no run-of-the-mill, feathered, giblet-bearing fowl.
This is Tom Esquire,
graduate of Stanford and Harvard Law,
the feathered prodigy of the barnyard.

With a briefcase tucked under his wing
and a Constitution in his beak,
Tom waddles into courtrooms,
declaring, “Turkeys of America, unite!
The age of oppression ends today!”

His opening statement is legendary:
“We are more than drumsticks,
more than gravy-laden centerpieces.
We are turkeys.
And we have rights.”

He files lawsuits faster than you can baste.
Butterball? Subpoenaed.
Perdue? Summoned.
The National Turkey Federation?
He’s got them sweating like a bird in November.

And when Tom takes the stand,
he ruffles feathers:
“Every November, millions of us are stuffed
without consent!
We are brined, buttered, and broiled—
and for what? Tradition?
No justice, no peas!”

The turkey farmers howl in protest.
“Turkeys can’t sue!
You don’t even have opposable thumbs!”
But Tom retorts,
“Neither do you when holding gravy boats!”

Tom drafts legislation—
“The Turkey Bill of Rights,”
delivered to Congress
with a flourish of his tail feathers.
“From this day forward,” he proclaims,
“turkeys shall no longer be stuffed
against their will,
shipped in tiny crates,
or forced to listen to holiday music in slaughterhouses!”

The Farmers Association panics.
Processors quake in their aprons.
They send lawyers—
sharp-suited foxes armed with contracts,
but Tom dismantles their arguments
with the precision of a scalpel.

And so it comes to this:
a Congressional hearing.
Tom stands proud, flanked by his flock,
turkeys of every shape and size.
“We demand reparations for our forebears—
and a holiday dedicated to us,
featuring tofu loafs and cranberry juice boxes!”

Some Congressmen laugh.
Others take notes.
The room grows tense as Tom delivers
his closing argument:
“Turkeys are more than meat;
we’re America’s moral compass.
Who else volunteers every year
to teach gratitude?”

When the gavel falls, the world waits.
Tom returns to the farm, victorious,
a hero to poults everywhere.
He struts past the henhouse,
past the coop, past the cornfield,
and whispers to his comrades:
“Let’s talk turkey.”

And they do—
over a nice plate of mashed potatoes,
hold the gravy.