easter egg hunt

there was always
a mean
kid
that found
the most easter
eggs
on a cold
sunday morning.
you remember
his face
being red
and flulshed in
the breeze. his little
teeth like
tiny tombstones
chattering
as he breathed
hard,
running around
from tree
to rock under
a cruel blue
of an april sky.
his fat fingers
reaching into
your basket
to take your
eggs
if no one was
watching.
even now,
there is a mean
kid, who has
grownup into
a mean person,
trying to
take more than
he should have,
reaching
into other's
baskets.