COWBOY POETRY: Turkey Fries

Cowboy poet Bryce Angell

I felt him tugging on my arm, then turned and there was Hank. A dark cloud always followed him. I’d say from what he drank.

His face looked oh, so desperate. He said, “I need a cook! I made a promise to the gals. Please get me off the hook!”

“The Women’s Farm Society has planned their yearly feast. I couldn’t boil hot water, let alone use baker’s yeast.”

“Well Hank,” I said, “I’ll be your cook ‘cuz it’s your lucky day. We’ll give those farm folks turkey fries, a meal the homemade way.”

“We’ll feed ‘em mashed potatoes with some peppered sauce on top. And a slice of turkey breast with all the veggies from their crop.”

“We’ll finish off with apple pie, and make it a la mode. The folks will be so doggone full they’ll think they might explode.”

Well Hank jumped with excitement but he questioned, “Turkey Fries?” I said, “They’re made of turkey. When you see you’ll recognize.”

We readied for the banquet. Seemed we’d worked a steady pace. So, we started with the turkey fries and served right after Grace.

The guests ate mashed potatoes with a slice of turkey breast. But the turkey fries were disappearing faster than the rest.

I heard one fellow chuckle. Said, “I’ve ate these things before.” But he didn’t say another word. Most farmers know for sure.

The turkey fries were by and large the favorite of the night. The gals were chomping down the fries with not an end in sight.

One farmer’s wife declared she’d like to have the recipe, and how to cook a turkey fry. She’d even pay a fee.

So, I told the woman what they were. You should have seen her eyes. ‘Cuz I said, “They’re turkey testicles just nicknamed turkey fries.”

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