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  • Writer's picture@ Cynthia Adina Kirkwood

Kiss of Judas Metes Out Death


Every year in my village,

The traitor, Judas, must pay for his kiss.

He and his wife hang from the chapel belfry,

Swinging effigies awaiting punishment.

The bells toll at midnight before Easter

And keep ringing as the rope is singed

And the couple falls to the ground.

Torched, the two are dragged round the church

Until they are ash.

The hundred spectators joke and jostle.

They cajole a boy to whack a smoking Judas.

Thus, the 13th is spared suicide

And justice is done.

Without collecting evidence.


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