A seasonal haibun from Zane Parks

Easter Chicks

My brother and I get Easter chicks. Down so soft. Dyed pastels – one purple, one blue. One day they are no longer chicks.

“They're hateful. They peck my feet when I'm hanging the wash,” Mom complains.

Then the ultimatum. “They go or I go.”

At dinner, Dad says that some of the under feathers still showed the original dye. My brother grabs a drumstick, but I can't eat.

mom happy
with the new craze
pet rocks

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