Judas muttered all the way to his suicide
“What profit if I gain the world but lose my soul?”
He couldn’t remember planning the trade—a life
for coin—gold coin to lead a healer to the knife.
He couldn’t remember why he wanted money,
and suspected manipulation from above.
He was surely damned anyway, so what matter
a rope? He’d tried to give back the money, but no.
All could be recycled—the rope and gold
and man. His story, too, like Adam and Eve’s, would
teach whatever object lesson the priests wanted.
Nothing is ever wasted in this paradise.
Judas moaned, “Ah, rope. Was I ever in control?
Who profited when I took money for my soul?”
For my prompt
My blog poems are rough drafts.
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© 2018 Susan L. Chast