Jesus, exhausted, hollow-eyed,
With strands of grey in his
hair,
Looks in jaded disbelief
At a phalanx of chubby-legged
Naked boys with wings who
glare back
From the plaster cloud they’re
on.
The boys look to be three or
a bit less
One of them, having no neck,
Has a head that will soon
Roll off and have to be
retrieved.
They've brought a set of the
props
A crucifixion planner might
need:
A cross, a sponge on a stick, a spear,
A short but sturdy pillar of
flagellation,
And a brass pot of gall which
dangles
Just above a tiny
child-angel's penis.
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