When her neighbors left a bag
of candy corn on her doorknob
with a note that said "give thanks,"
she wondered if the sentence lacked
an object; it certainly could use a "please."
She made up her mind to give thanks
to her neighbors when she next saw them.
But through the afternoon, her mind's imagination
skipped ahead of her -- would her thanks
require more thanks? She didn't
really know her neighbors.
Soon her mind's home was bursting
with candy corn; when she opened
her door it spilled on to the lawn;
it filled her car trunk -- no room
left for her golf clubs.
Now she eyes her neighbors suspiciously;
she likes the idea of candy corn
way more than she likes candy corn
anyway; one bag will do, thank you.