I get to school early, take down the crucifix.
There’s one in every campus room. I lift it
gently from its hook, push it into the AV desk
among paper clips and wires. Or stand it
on a high sill, turn Jesus to look at the rain.
Or under the flap you lift to adjust the thermostat
where he vibrates a little when the heat turns off.
I like Jesus fine, just not when he’s being tortured.
Every day somebody rehangs him
beside the whiteboard, I don’t know who. It’s like
I’m playing a game at a distance
like Words With Friends against people I haven’t met.
Lately my life’s been so stupid and harried
I’ve been doing the prompts I give my class.
[… continue reading “The Deposition” at Plume.]