#423: An Easter Egg Poem on April 17, 2022

Not like these.

On Easter Eve,
my house was egged.
Yeah, we were watching
television when suddenly
startled by the intense
bombardment on
the wall inside of which
we were engrossed
in a show, a wall covered,
I might add, with windows,
single paned, old glass,
that luckily, did not shatter.
These guys had to have
pretty good arms, because
our house is set away from
the street by a large margin.
These fools had to throw
over the fence and maybe
forty feet onto the property
to hit their target. They hit
their target and then they
drove off like chicken-shits
before we could even
figure out what had happened.
This was no random thing,
and that bothers me.
Today, on this Easter,
I have been thinking a lot,
way more than I would prefer,
about the kinds of things
I would like to say
to these assholes,
none of which is fit
for print, and none of which,
if I actually had the opportunity
to say these things
to the actual perpetrators,
would likely have any impact
on their pea brains.
But I’d feel better.

Yeah, I’d feel better.
Happy Easter.

2 Comments

Filed under Poetry

2 responses to “#423: An Easter Egg Poem on April 17, 2022

  1. Jon R

    Egged by chicken shits. Unintentionally redundant? 😂

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