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Good Friday

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Jesus, I want my sins back.
My prattle, pride, and private prices — 
climbing, clinching, clocking — 

I might loan you a few for the evening,
so you don’t show up at your own crucifixion
naked of all purpose.

But for God’s sake, don’t spill any
redemption on them! They’re my
signature looks. Body by Envy.

Make up & wardrobe provided by Avarice. Lord,
if you take away my inordinate cravings,
what the hell’s left? Do you know

how much I paid for my best rages?
I want them all back if they’re
so To Die For. Else shred my palms,

wash my face with spit, let the whip
unlace my flesh and free the naked blood,
let me be tumbled to immortality

with the stew of flood debris
that is my life.

Source: Poetry (March 2014)

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This poem originally appeared in the March 2014 issue of Poetry magazine

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Good Friday

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