Family Picnic

[Erthona]

Family Picnic

Blood on his hands.
Blood on his brow,
where he wears a fake thorn crown;
another in a long line of saviors.
Blood on feet where spike
has been pounded; feet that
never will again touch ground.
If he was a true savior, why
would he not heal his wounds
and come down, let his feet
walk upon the ground. Instead
listen to him rant,

Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani?

The cry of another delusional idiot,
just like the hundreds, or
thousands before. Big with words,
big with dying, ultimately another
masochist with a martyr complex,
getting what he wants, if not what he deserves.
Another egoist, making a spectacle,
of his death, rather than quietly
hanging himself from a tree,
leaving a bag of silver to pay
for his burial expenses.
Now that is a honorable man.
Unlike this slob, who hasn’t one shekel to his name,
letting the state pick up all the expense.

I bring the family and we picnic
on bread, fish and wine, sitting
on a speared out blanket, it’s the best
entertainment in town. Pity
the one in the middle died so soon,
hardly before we had gotten sat down.
My son ask me, why this happens,
I respond, ”Because they claim
to be King, and there is no king
but Caesar. He holds life and death
in his hands, but what do these
men on these crosses hold?
They have nothing in they’re hands,
as they squirm upon the tree."

I wonder which troublemaker
they will kill next week.
I hoped they do it upside down,
I’ve never seen a rock bleed.


–Erthona

©2014