Malchus

Bull at a gate in the garden, Peter’s out
With a stubby blade, and slashes in the dark
At the nearest of the looming figures—a lout,
And a slave with it, obedient to the bark

Of the officer bloke, to whom he’s a waste of space,
Named though he is for a king. And now it’s first
Blood to the partisans of peace in the race
To the hooked wood, the dangling and the thirst.

Advertisement

The stuff that crusted where the severed ear
Had been returned stayed with him through the night
And half of bloody Friday. He could hear
As well as ever, though he made a sight

For his mates to see while he talked about the stroke
And how the man commanded when he spoke.

Comments are automatically closed two weeks after an article's initial publication. See our comments policy for more.

Advertisement

Don't miss the best from America

Sign up for our Newsletter to get the Jesuit perspective on news, faith and culture.

The latest from america

Democrats, and the Republicans who understand Dreamers are owed protection, could take a lesson from people of color around the country in how to navigate a political process tainted by racism. The lives of 800,000 Dreamers depend on it.
Antonio De Loera-BrustJanuary 22, 2018
“Separating fathers from families has been going on for a while. But now, even mothers are being separated from their children.”
J.D. Long-GarcíaJanuary 22, 2018
“I ask forgiveness,” the pope said on his flight from Lima to Rome. “It’s a hurt [caused] without wishing it.”
Gerard O’ConnellJanuary 22, 2018