You boiled the egg, you dyed the egg, you hid the egg — and you didn’t find the egg for a week. That was the inspiration for this Typewriter Rodeo poem.
The Easter Egg We Didn’t Find
Easter’s finally over
we’re well into Lent
when from somewhere in the kitchen
there starts to come a scent
putrid and sulfuric
as if someone died
and everyone at the funeral
flatulated instead of cried
there can be but one explanation
and so the hunt resumes
that we had thought long over
the chocolate bunnies left the room
but they left behind them
one now rotten ovum
and now the family’s searching
that terrible smell drove ’em
almost crazy ’til they found
in some rarely-used drawer
the long unfound, once brightly colored
egg that got ignored
now a nest of writing maggots
that fate left in store
for us careless parents
though for what it’s worth
it kind of fits the season
out of death, rebirth…
Produced by Laura Rice.
