Good Friday

What was it like
to die
on Good Friday?  
Well,
back then,
it wasn’t called that — I still
don’t call it that.

I was crucified
that same day
in a town in Gaul,
and the soldiers let
the crows pick my eyes
even before I was
all the way gone…

just another day
in the Empire.

I know
there are stories about
what else happened
that day, how another
managed to get around fate
with help, maybe a sorcerer’s help,
maybe a father’s help —

I don’t know.  I’m just
a ghost of a crucified man
and when you say Good Friday
I’m clueless as to why…

so many others died that day, or before,
or after, who do not understand —
after all,
we’ve never met The Man.

Having been in his shoes
I’m skeptical,

but willing to be convinced
if it’ll get me off this vaporous cross
and give me a chance to rest.