St Mark’s Body Brought To Venice
Some time ago, in Alexandria, a man named Mark
Preached word about this Jesus guy; they dragged him through the park.
A rope around his neck was all he had, his clothes were gone;
They pulled his naked self behind a camel o’er the lawn
Until at last he died his death at all those pagans’ hands;
So much, I guess, for getting through to Alexandrians.
Venetian merchants picked him up to bring him back to Venice
Just as the orange sky began to roil with cloud and menace.
Away, away the pagans ran and rode to beat the rain,
Perhaps disown the history of Mark’s relief from pain,
And from their marble structures peer as th’ merchants pulled their man
Like so much soggy carpet, with their arms as his sedan.
A moment, quick and violent, lightning tears the salmon sky,
Lights up the buildings, casting deathly shadows on the guys
And knocking some remaining murderers onto their backs,
Who pull at rope and fabric trying to counter the attack;
Lights up the slipping body of the man whose house had just
Been visited by Jesus after his own death unjust;
Lights up the Grecian monks who spirit Mark along with th’ merchants,
The tail of the recession, bearing th’ pall with bodies urgent,
Before the camel, turncoat, follows all to leave the court,
Its misery completed, now its balks at the report
Of th’ lightning, lightening all, revealing what the world had done
To Mark, to what he stood for; worldly clouds that blot the sun.
originally written for Little Epic — poems by Phil — subscribe for free!
