A modest crucifixion
Millicent Stott
I saw Jesus crucified on a lamppost,
rosebud lips painted rouge.
Rotting pink petals and cigarettes
adorned the soggy pavement
by his bloody feet.
The savage decadence of those
unkempt seams of skin shimmered
playfully against the edge of that Tuesday night,
Heat haze.
Cheap neon glamour,
his leopard print glitz,
black eye,
the scene lit strangely before me
like a mirage.
Blood and dirt underneath his
fingernails.
He wore that string of pearls as though
to keep the white skin of his neck
intact,
a set of tacky rings each with assorted
stones.
Made up quite nicely, of course,
but an odd sight to behold
outside the post office,
crown, nails, lashes and all.
