Tell me of chocolate. Junior mints. Peanutbutter and other sweet things
stinging, singing bringing nothing but joy to my tongue as they cling

You call that Easter Morning, I call it politics and dead bodies build
filled willed up to the heavens up to cemetery grassy and softly hilled

Tell me of beer. Guiness and chocolate stouts, lagers and pilsners and ales
wails and tales and holy grails of missed parties and forgotten details

You call that Good Friday, I call it philosophy as long dead languages fade
played grayed words displayed, then sung – all of us slung o’er damacles blade

Tell me of faith. Chocolate robes on large men and short men and monks
hunks and chunks and thoughts unthunk left to rot in Godless trunks

You call it Holy Saturday, I call it meditation as I nibble jelly beans
in jeans. greens (obscene) yellows, pinks, never whites – if you know what I mean.