They rode upon
the death chariot
to their Golgotha
three vagrants
whose papers to be in Caesar's empire
were not in order.
The sun
shrivelled their bodies
in the mobile tomb
as airtight as canned fish.
We're hot!
We're thirsty!
We're hungry!
The centurion
touched their tongues
with the tip
of a lance
dipped in apathy:
'Don't cry to me
but to Caesar who
crucifies you.'
A woman came
to wipe their faces.
She carried a dish cloth
full of bread and tea.
We're dying!
The centurion
washed his hands,
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