I Met Jesus

I met Jesus 6 years ago,
when I was slimmer.
His long brown hair interfering
with each car he serviced.
Every few weeks,
we’d exchange parables,
until his kind Galilee eyes,
would send me packing,
small scribbles of orders,
my own loafs and fishes,
on a scripture of a note pad.
One week spark plugs, another oil,
always some motor trade miracle,
to pay my dues.

Recently, we discussed Jerusalem,
and other holiday destinations,
but such short notice, I said, try Jersey,
a 30 minute flight, lovely sand,
and Pontius the pilot (I thought) .

Then, with little notice,
he cut his hair short,
and went to Skegness.
He wasn’t Jesus after all.

by Jerry Pike

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