In an upper room
twelve men arranged themselves
around a table
each jostling for the prime spot
next to their teacher, master, messiah
or whatever he thought himself to be.
Each within arm’s reach
and none out of sight or sound
yet each wanting his way
nudging others all around.
Jay Cee looked up
and with angry eyes
flashing
and dashing
and scolding them all
said, “Shut up, you dimwits, nitwits, dumbshits all!”
Then saying grace, he thanked the Lord
he’d be gone before the dawn
and his misery would be history
and o’er his corpse
they could forever fawn.
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