The week begins

They're waving at you.
Ride on.

Some wave to flag you down
like witnesses at a motorway pile-up.
They want you to fix the injured and dying.
You can cure them.
You can bring the dead back to life.

Ride on.

Some are waving Hello.
They want you to come to their party.
They want to show you off to their friends.
They know some very open-minded Pharisees.
They are sure they will be reasonable about it
once you explain.

Ride on.

Some wave the team colours.
They want you to stuff the opposition,
they think its time our guys won.

Ride on.

Some wave business cards.
They want you to endorse their products.
You are hot property for chat shows.
Your position statements will be prepared for you.
You will be dressed by Armani and Calvin Klein
for your limitless media opportunities.

Ride on.

Some wave to warn you.
They want you to take care.
They'd like to re-direct your route
away from likely trouble spots.
They have your best interests at heart.

Ride on.

Some wave in desperation
as if you are their only hope.

Ride on.

Some wave their fists.
You were the wrong answer to their prayers,
and their disappointments have blossomed into anger.
You could have sorted out the whole bloody mess
and here you are out donkey riding.

Ride on.

Ride on until
the temple looms in front of you.
Dismount.
Walk the last few steps towards the tables
where religion is prepared.
Push them all over.
Leave no room for doubt.
Walk into the dark garden,
the false kiss,
the clever trap,
the rigged trial,
the beating,
the goading.
Stop for nothing
and at nothing
and when you have nothing left to give
give all that you have.

copyright Godfrey Rust from Welcome to the Real World