The Second Coming

You won’t believe me when I say this Indeed I speak it still in fear But the memory lingers with me, like the wound of a rusty nail I saw the face of Jesus Yes it’s true No please don’t mock me I did not believe it either, I did not recognize him at first But then neither did the twelve in that dim ether long ago His eyes were filled with love, inexplicable to me And yet there was an anger and a sorrow, even fear His hair was matted, rather dirty And the clothes were worn and tattered, hardly elegant or refined Yes, you laugh And think I’m crazy But I tell you that it’s true I saw the face of Jesus Imploring and alone If only I’d seen him sooner, but I didn’t recognize him, you see Till his body lay stiff and cold Swaddled in the corner of the subway station, only ten or twelve years old Homeless and forgotten And believe me, you who will, with more venom than the Pharisees Pontius Pilate and the rest We have crucified Him Again. (Previously published in Poetry Soul to Soul, Dec.2006)