Prize for anyone who knows what 'maundy' means. I feel I should have a poem about the last supper, or even the Lord's Supper, here but I don't know any. Helpful suggestions welcomed.

So instead I give you this. Which encapsulates something of the way I feel when I'm thinking about the cross. Part of me is being crucified too, while another part is there banging in the nails. I forget which song it is that has the line 'Ashamed I hear my mocking voice call out among the scoffers' but that's always rung true for me. I was there mocking and taunting, jeering and despising. And I'm there, weeping and mourning, crying and dying.

Nice Day for a Lynching

The bloodhounds look like sad old judges
In a strange court. They point their noses
At the Negro jerking in the tight noose;
His feet spread crow-like above these
Honourable men who laugh as he chokes.

I don't know this black man.
I don't know these white men.

But I know that one of my hands
Is black, and one white. I know that
One part of me is being strangled,
While another part horribly laughs.

Until it changes,
I shall be forever killing; and be killed.

Kenneth Patchen