I remember how we four
liked to crack each hunt's

hard-won hoard against
our hard-boiled heads, and

the year the yolk was on us --
like a magician's trick

the sleight of hand was
seen at last while we stared

at one another paired
across the dining table,

gooey raw egg running down
our shell-shocked faces,

pretty pink and green shards
nestled in our hair,

mouths agape like baby birds,
super-glued to our chairs,

until laughter scrambled
with our tears.


© by Gay Guard-Chamberlin.
Used with the author's permission.