Ecce Homo
Schlepping their expectations across the unpromising
land like one of his father's roof beams,
this fish in the desert leads his company, his words
remembered and revered; never a chance
to sit around and shoot the breeze.
No one to confide his human fears.
If he looks at Mary--all the girls seem
to be called Mary--or talks to her alone
the men glower and sulk.
Sometimes he wishes he were an older god.
Who has a better claim to wine
than he? Old Bacchus and Silenus get
to lift a jar; all he gets to raise is Lazarus.
Just once he'd like to be a normal guy.
But even if he tells a dirty joke, he knows
they'll never write that down.
originally published in Smash Cake magazine
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