5.30 Easter Poem

she wears a plastic ring
from a gumball machine
and the fake emerald matches
the plastic grass.
there's still a little bit of dirt
under her fingernails
traces of planting hyacinths yesterday.

The toothless man across the street
plays euphoric gospel tunes
"G-d is good" as if anyone ever says he's bad
or sings him that way.
He trhows meats on the grill
and offers everyone a plate.
His wife is hidden inside somewhere
over a huge tray of potato salad.

She looks at the odd candy eyes
of hollow chocolate bunnies
as if they had feelings.
Always start at the tail, never the ears.

Blown out chicken eggs are dyed in pretty colors
but she also made a batch of solid primary reds,
blues, greens, not from any Easter pastel kit.
Coconut, caramel & peanut butter ones lie hidden
inside and outside the house, waiting to be found.
She wrote down where she put a few of the harder ones
after accidental findings of ants over summer, traipsing
to the cache across furniture and bookcase
or the petrified one she located hanging Halloween lights.

Eggs.
She always disliked them for breakfast
now wonders over omelets made with Cadburys
how different versions could add other candies,
served cold or warm, more melted on the inside.

She still wonders how Jesus became a bunny,
a bloated elf, his nails to stockings and marshmallow peeps
and wonders what stores will be open in the evening
after all the children's squeals have entered and departed.