Three Men
Paul
A man at thirteen, he led
his lamb to temple for
slaughter, knew Hebrew
songs, the taste & sting
of desert sand. He spoke
Aramaic, wrote in Greek
through a glass darkly,
turn the other cheek,
without which what’s
a beggar between thieves,
nailed to another crucifix?
He saw Steven dragged
from the Sanhedrin,
but cast no stone.
Christopher
Saint of thoroughfares
& teamsters, available
wherever goods & souls
need to be hauled–
lugged overland, galley
slave-rowed–once a thug
called Reprobus, he mowed
the Devil down with his
backhand, his brandished
cross. The Christ child
put on serious pounds,
mid-river in his arms.
John …
