On Easter, newscasters cluck and mingle
about a closure on Interstate 205.
Much to everyone’s surprise,
Easter eggs have spilled like blueberries
from a crate, staining the freeway coral,
squeezed strawberry, and Versailles—
currents of calcium ripple over concrete.
The fallen semi lies indecorously on its side,
heaving smoke next to broken fibers of its tires,
spanning 3 1/2 lanes without effort.
From the bunched blanket at the side
of the road wails a baldheaded baby
waiting for the stork to deliver.