The leftovers are consolidated, stored in plastic, pushed to the back of the fridge.

Turkey sandwiches went out the door, when the kids packed up and headed back to school.

The car’s filled with snacks, winter clothes, and comforts from home

forgotten back in August.

The house is silent,

except for the sound of the dishwasher scrubbing the last casserole dishes.

Another Thanksgiving is over,

and I feel like leftover mashed potatoes-

cold, old, and whipped.

© annettealaine-2012

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