Spread before me the last supper
menu items bread, wine a dance with Mary,
a man with a camera,
tape recorder and a burly guard with handcuffs.
I have done unto the poor, to the least of these,
what I couldn’t do for you.
Say cheese and snap a picture,
a still photo landscape of what’s left.
I fear that God and number forty-five
have brought about the apocalypse
minus one percent.