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  • Adrian Slonaker



In the window next door

a crude turkey traced with

a seven-year-old hand

and cut from construction paper

must've had

chilled giblets since

the end-of-November breezes

were even nippier than normal,

making Thanksgiving even odder

for Henry, who's used to

Tofurky and pumpkin pie amid

a blazing luster of

leaves in October in Kitsilano

on the day when his new neighbo(u)rs

who say “shone” with the wrong vowel

and can't locate Lethbridge

debate the dubiousness

of a holiday for Christopher Columbus.

—Adrian Slonaker


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