The turkey's roasting in the oven; soon
It's pop-out timer will emerge. I'll laugh
And think of a Jean Shepherd tale and croon
To hide my mirth; I'll not repeat that gaffe.
No horde of hound dogs will invade and set
In motion such a chain of happenings
That send this bird a-flying, though the threat
Is not outlandish; next-door's dogs do sing
Like Bumpus' pack. And the trajectory
Our dinner might-could travel's similar.
It could land somewhere odd and pop out free
Hilariously. But this won't occur
Except within my head and, just perhaps
The universe next door, where I may lapse.