Jesus and the Easter Bunny walk into a bar.
Sugar ants invade the bathroom, are crawling
all over the toothpaste tube and toothbrushes.
They are not, necessarily, on friendly terms;
it goes almost without saying.
The bunny goes in for Steam Punk art,
likes Jesus and the Mary Chain, which the Son
of God finds amusing, and in the off season
dresses entirely in black. Jesus has read the
four gospels and has many questions.
Sugar ants are easily bored, and they appear
to materialize out of nowhere, are interested
in what Jesus is drinking, a Pinot Noir most
likely. One would be surprised how many
varieties of biting insects there are in the backyard
and in the bedroom. Jesus wonders if sugar ants
are biters. Decides not to look into that any further.
The Easter Bunny drinks Bourbon, neat. He’s
curious why Jesus has invited him. They’ve not
been on what you could call speaking terms.
Customarily, Jesus does not kill insects, but an
ant swims around in his glass and has drowned
by the time he fishes it out. This one does not bite.
Have you read them? Jesus asks. Read what?
The four Gospels. Can’t say that I have, says the Bunny.
Do you know how many immaculate conception
stories there are, across cultures, across the
millennia? And how many resurrections?
As the sugar ants pass him by, one by one,
The Bunny picks them up and puts them in
his mouth. I have not counted, he says to Jesus,
but I suspect there are as many as there are
sugar ants crossing the bar. Do you believe them?
I believe sugar ants, Jesus says. They’re as plain
as the nose on your face. How do they taste?
It’s not the season, he says, too early. And some
of these guys have a decidedly minty thing
going on, almost like they’ve been swimming
in toothpaste. I mean to say, it’s not that unusual,
Jesus says, my birth, my death, my rebirth, or
yours, yours, yours. And the ants go marching.