CRUCIIXION

Exhausted, beaten, tortured—like so many—

then stripped, hung up, exposed to mockery.

The mood of the crowd a kind of levity:

an entertainment that didn’t cost a penny.

The smart mouths all competed with their quips.

It made us all feel good to humiliate

the loser who wasn’t us: You’ll see. Just wait!

Our insults will hurt worse than stones or whips.

The blood in his eyes. The burning mid-day sun

(halfway behazed, as if it were embarrassed).

The dust. The passing clatter. The flies that harassed

the victims till all consciousness was gone.

But the centurion—old pro of death—admired

his piercing shout when he at last expired.