it’s the name I found
when I went looking
for what happened
on Wednesday of the
Week we’ve labeled
Holy — using capital
letters as though there
were some sort of scripted
suspense instead of a simple
day of preparation for Passover,
for supper together, and the
selling of one friend by another.
No cloaks. No daggers. No
hidden microphones in camel’s
ears. Just a lot of getting ready.
I have to get ready for Judas
to leave the room tomorrow night;
it breaks my heart every time
because he didn’t last the
weekend. He never heard the
news he was forgiven.
Love was lurking through
it all like a thief in the night,
or a spy on Wednesday.
Peace,
Milton
