Puppies and bunnies in a wicker basket;
Eggs I planted out of the sun,
Lest the light shine off
Their neon shells; Marshmallow
Chickens, golden and inert,
And yet the black button eyes
Seemed so alive when I lanced
Them with a palisade of teeth.

I wore the blue suit. It was the least
Funereal of those that hung in my
Closet and the moths had not yet
Feasted on the wool. I stepped out
In my Easter bonnet, or maybe not
And went to her house to mourn.

She did not emerge in taffeta
Or any shade of pastel;
Her soul had been devoured
By a flock of vultures after she had
Already been abducted and held hostage
In the Land that Time Forgot.

We should have been singing hymns,
I always thought. It was a sunny day
After all and the Catholic girls
Were dressed in cornflower frills
That made me wonder why I had chosen
To hang my heart on someone
I always knew to be a vagabond.

Oh well, as they say:
Some years before
I’d found out the Easter Bunny
Was as mythical as the tooth fairy.
Having already attended the autopsy for Santa Claus
I always prayed that she,
At least, might be something more
Substantial and permanent.

I know. You can say it.
“Silly Rabbit, Trix are for kids.”

04/01/2013

Posted on 04/01/2013
Copyright © 2024 Ken Harnisch