Friday
Thanksgiving comes on Friday,
the day they call Black Friday,
but it’s not at all a black day,
not at all a bad day.
It’s a day to play,
a day to be so happy and gay,
just because it is another day,
one coming after Thursday.
Thursday, sad day,
some of us they took away;
some of us became their prey;
but I say nay:
get away from Thursday.
Friday is the day:
that’s what we turkeys say.
--ed pacht
Sample of Ed Pacht's poems
Mass of the Visitation
Lament for the Hills
Reflections on Screaming Fire
Spoiled Milk
Why Do I Write?
Acrostic for Hannah Mulliken
Leah's Burden
Love-Soaked Road
Ed Pacht Captures Mickey Blue Eyes
Novum Ordo
From Random to Reason
Poetry Dances
Ed Pacht: New Hampshire Poet
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