Toshiro Mifune had been living in our house
since last night, when
Walter Cronkite showed President Nixon
pardoning a turkey
so it wouldn’t get eaten for Thanksgiving.
Now my mama has returned, and says,
“Mimi-chan, draw a big sign—
Pardoned Turkeys—
and put it in the front yard.”
Then her eyes fill with tears for Rufus.
We come up with a plan:
Anyone who wants a turkey
has to sign a paper
promising they’ll keep it as a pet
and let it die in its sleep
after a good, long life.
I tell Mama, “Rufus would be happy to know
he saved all the other turkeys
from Thanksgiving dinner.”
Mama wipes her eyes,
and I make the sign and type the promise
on nine pieces of paper—one for each turkey.
Pattress will be okay, and now
the turkeys are pardoned.
I run to the coop and tell them
they have something to be thankful for.