My favorite thing to do on Easter morning
was to spring out of bed to search high and look low
for the small cans of Dole pineapple juice
hidden all through the house.
I cannot explain to you
anything so acidic
would make me want to cross a cold Kitchen floor before 8 AM.
I guess I thought it was normal—
that millions of kids were waking up and searching America
for rusty tin juice cans,
and cracking open plastic eggs
filled with almonds, raisins, and unsweetened coconut flakes.
It turns out I was the only one.
What a cruel joke.
I’d have been happier with coal.
Fuck you, Easter Bunny.