This Bloke I Know Is Jesus

This Bloke I Know Is Jesus

I used to see him in the queue

Most mornings at the pool

Knew him just enough to say hello

Or pass the time of day

Then, perhaps, during swimming

Or in the changing room later

A quiet, unassuming man

With nothing much to say

I didn’t notice much at first

That his beard had begun to grow

To frame his youthful face

Adding to his gravitas

Nor did I pay much attention

As Easter-tide approached

That he seemed pre-occupied

And turned more within himself

But then I saw him in the street

Bowed and bloodied

A crown of thorns upon his head

Carrying a heavy wooden cross

A crowd following, shouting

Acting out the Passion Play

And its Good Friday journey

To the Market Place Golgotha

Where he was quietly crucified

Among a staring group of people

Three days later he lived again

And stood there in the queue

Waiting for the pool to open

I couldn’t believe it was really him

And that he had come among us

Just a normal day with its Good Mornings

And desultory chat among the regulars

He still looked like no-one special

He seemed to be an ordinary bloke

But now I knew one more thing about him

That he was Jesus in his spare time

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2018