The Last Supper Party

Judas, jilted, watched his ephebic Lord
Dip his long hands in rose-water, and take
The towel from James. He started forward

But paused in the door long enough to make
A quick adjustment to his sky-blue robe
Where it stretched across his gut, and to shake

The dust from his hem. He squeezed by the stove,
Sooting his ample backside, avoiding
Eye-contact, breathing in the scent of cloves

From a groupie's hair. He heard in passing
One pretty boy sing to another a
Fragment of a popular tune, flipping

His hand to the rhythm. Bartholemew
Was whispering, agrieved, leaning accross
The table to disagree with Andrew,

Who looked amused and leaned back to toss
An almond into his fat-lipped mouth.
Judas took the bench across from his Lord,

Hooked a wine-bowl from in front of Matthias,
That earnest hanger-on, and gulped it dry.
James nudged him the towel, then returned his eyes

To his Lord, who was wrapping up a joke.
His Lord smiled and shrugged a brown shoulder back
Into his seamless robe, coughed, turned, and spoke

Too quiet to hear. They shushed, the door clacked
Shut to keep out the street noise, and their Lord's
Sweet voice held them all like planets, in fact

Even the city boys hung on his words
Like dresses on girls. They jostled for sight-
Lines, but quietly. Some stood on the curve

Of the hearth. The sagging benches were tight
With the twelve and their closest friends and aids.
Their Lord got down to business, asked for light,

And thumbed the ledger. Boring stuff, he said,
But we had to balance the budget, keep
The purse-strings tight, pay for rooms, wine, and bread.

He went on. The boys shifted on their feet.
Judas remembered the heady days when
His Lord had been mobbed by throngs on the street,

Even had his robe torn, his name chanted, been
Hassled by the Romans and the pious
Both. But now these fine robes, this good red wine,

These boys with their oiled black hair who eye us,
The acknowledgement of the priests... What now?
The poor widows outside and the silk that we tie

Our robes with indict us. Judas looks down
At his disgusting belly and at the
Shadow of his loaf-like nose. John's head bows

And starts awake. James' knee presses at
His Lord's. Judas stares at his Lord's brown ear,
More perfect than any man's. His Lord pats

The ledger, closes it, and smiles. He clears
His throat, and the room relaxes. Its axis
Doesn't change: their Lord is their shepherd.

The mood lightens. John yawns and stretches.
Judas' Lord smiles at him, catching his eye.
"He maketh them lie down in green pastures",

He says, and winks. Judas, confused, just smiles
Back. His Lord speaks again, this time to the guests:
"How about some supper? Please, stay awhile."

And when they were served, their Lord took bread
And broke it, and said: "I am tired", and ate.
Then he drank wine, and some ran down his beard

Like blood, and James caught the drips before they
Could stain his robe. And Judas' Lord said:
"This is why I wear a red robe to these affairs",

And he leaned into James and laughed, his red
Lips stained with wine. The room a sudden din
Of drunken babble. Judas sat back, fed

Too full, very drunk, and beginning to spin.
He heaved up from the table, wiped his mouth
On his sleeve, glanced around, and couldn't think.

His Lord watched him stagger his way around the
Guests on the floor, unstable and heavy.
He lurched past security, and out the

Door, into the cool street, where the lepers
And beggers kept their patient watch. Roman
Guards approached, tipped off by the neighbors.

Picture Judas, a fat and ugly man
Wearing a fine robe, drunk, love-sick, moon-lit
In a silent crowd of grey-ragged bums.

The guards went to him, of course. "You Iscariot?"
Like they owned the place. "Tell us you name",
The small one demanded in bad Aramaic.

Laughter came under the door. Not the same
Delighted laughter they'd had for their first
Big crowds, before the ledger and the fame.

Judas was about to speak when the door burst
Open and out steps his Lord, unsteady,
The beggars stood, but Judas got there first

And kissed his surprised Lord. The guards were ready
And grabbed his arms, and pinned them. "I'd give you
Thirty for that robe, Jew" one soldier said,

"If I had it", he laughed. They marched him through
The still-recoiling crowd, and away to
The holding cell. Judas, along with a few

Of the twelve followed, but other guards moved
In and held them back. That night Judas tore
His sky-blue robe and hanged himself by stepping
Off his narrow bed.