We Got No Jesus

We Got No Jesus

by Linda Trott Dickman

for lost souls

 

Down Cropsey Avenue, lugging two railroad ties

all that remains of a garden boundary, headed

for the landfill they called Trash of Ages.

 

Joey, Lance and Tony passed Larry the homeless guy

lying on the side of the road

like a wrap, a blanket over his two piece suit.

 

Tony found a trinity of long nails. Let’s build a cross.

Joey said, “We got no Jesus.”

We could hang Larry down at Graves end.

 

But we wouldn’t kill him right? Just tie him up there.”

Tony fingered the nails. We got no rope.

They entered Calvert Park, poking around the cans.

 

Here, near the sign, let’s dig.

Calvera Bros. Constucion. Hey, that means skull

en espanol.

 

Tony stumbled over dolls, plastic trikes, landed

palms down in overripe avocados,

a rusted metal sign for Rose St.. Hole dug, cross built, Larry

 

still, sleeping like the dead. Hey, lay him out, help me

Joey and Lance lifted Larry, lowered him

lightly on the ties.

 

Lance saw a box and read “Hey INRI, just like Jesus.”

He grabbed a piece of charred wood, first “I” to “L” in one stab.

Gimme those nails. They held his hands out. Tony found a cast

 

iron pan. Wham! left, Wham! Right. Larry was awake, not aware.

they lifted the contents of his fallen bottle on a sponge.

His shoeless feet clung to one another. Wham!

 

These rails that had supported so much travel

would carry one more passenger, home.

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