Run

An autumn afternoon,
in 1998.
A Thursday,
A classroom,
A cross legged audience,
waiting for tinfoil rabbits
and Willy Wonka profits.

Because, little boy,
Jesus sacrificed himself for you,
and you’d better run.

Sky-shirts,
navy-pants,
crosses over hearts,
and the dead Lord’s son
watching from the wall.
All the mass-produced symbolism,
for all the little children.
Because, you know,
he’s gunna die tomorrow,
but he’ll be back in three days.
And little boy,
you know you’d better run.

Whisper in his ear,
so the teacher doesn’t hear.
Hammer in your metaphorical nails,
with punctuated sneers.
That’s right fuck face,
Jesus died for you.

Prayer locked hands,
whisper in his ear.
Eyes shut tight,
whisper in his ear.
Lips forced shut,
whisper in his ear.
Palms bleeding sweat,
whisper in his ear.
Don’t you know,
Jesus sacrificed himself for you?

It’s over in a second,
and the whispering boy wails.
As the little boy trembles,
beneath the chatter of children.
Did you see it? Did you?
And they begin to beat their desks,
Crucify him, crucify him.
Did you see it? Did you?
Crucify him, crucify him.
And the little boy starts.
Crucify him, crucify him.
And the little boy panics.
Crucify him! Crucify him!
His rabbit-heart runs.
Crucify him! Crucify him!
And they scream it to the Lord.
Crucify him! Crucify him!
Crucify him!! Crucify him!!
Crucify him!!! Crucify him!!!
Crucify him!!! Crucify him!!!
Crucify him!!! Crucify him!!!
Crucify him!!! Crucify him!!!

An autumn afternoon,
in 1998.
A Thursday,
in a classroom,
and oh my lord,
little boy,
you’d better run…