Agony in the Garden

At supper he whispers something in your ear,

the Judas boy, who wants you.

We go to the garden where it’s cool

and wait.

From my place against the tree

I see you through the window,

watch as you walk from door to desk,

reach into your pocket,

pull out your wallet, empty it and leave it by the lamp,

pick up a pen, lean over to write, then don’t,

take something heavy from the drawer, put it back

then sweep the money into a paper bag.

You walk from desk to door and out, your hand

reaching back to put out the light.

On the security film you leave the building

alone, holding the heavy bag.

Off camera you walk towards the Charles, leave

your saddle shoes under the pedestrian bridge.

We wait in the garden.

And wait.

We don’t know yet whom you meet or why.

We don’t know yet that the river has claimed you.

Source: Honey with Tobacco (The University of Chicago Press, 2007)