is there a day after or what tastes like cranberried truth?

 
The day after Thanksgiving
the rain has turned to snow
how pristine the whiteness of it all
after the bloody trail
the roast beast left behind;
and today is Black Friday,
the shopping frenzy again
begins
as if there is anything left
that
in the American way of life, is holy

Lest I forget, I bow my head and remember
when gratitude was a prayer and love
the only answer.

There is a logical fallacy when silence
flies away on fattened wing
when Quasimodo's bells
once again should begin to ring
and we're the fools
hungering for something
that
tastes of sweet, sweet bittersweet truth.