Peeps in the Compost

If you are thinking that this is just a tad late, since Easter is past, no, this is actually the perfect time, as it is about the time that the peeps reveal themselves as hardened, jaded souls, questioning their faith, and often ignored. It is true that in their softer years, some are martyred. And for that and other reasons (like that I opened the compost and saw peeps staring up at me), I felt that the peeps should have a say and be recognized, since they clearly go through as much angst and uncertainly as the rest of us.

Peephenge. Source: the internet.

Peeps in the Compost

It is April, and Easter is past. 
This morning, I lifted the compost lid,
and four lined-up sugar-yellow peeps
stared up at me from the teabags,
coffee grounds, potato peels, and old soup;
bright human-made dye, black dot-eyes
 against the detritus of the day. 

It is an effort not to anthropomorphize.
But they have clearly been hardened
by their experiences, and haven’t we all?
What could they be thinking, 
with their little faces? With
their dark eyes staring unseeingly 
at whatever is up? It is in our nature, 

so why should we not? Indeed, 
there are entire dioramas 
constructed of peeps: 
Peephenge. Peeps viewing the
solar eclipse. The Colopeepum,
the empeeporor viewing (his?) gladiators;
alien peeps (“we come in peeps”) 
in their spaceships. A band of peeps
with their guitars. I have even seen
 the Assassination of Peepraham Lincoln. 

Peeps have their own colorful spin 
on history, bringing it to life in a 
perspective-providing manner, 
editorializing without, perhaps, 
meaning to. 

My compost peeps are in 
a diorama too, an inadvertent contrast 
of two forms of creation;
Bright yellow imaginations against
the earth’s potatoes. They both 
have eyes. Is this a metaphor? 

Perhaps. But no, they are the peepstrels 
of our time. See the little peep 
with (her?) guitar? They are telling 
the stories of the peeple of the world.