Five o’clock
Is wake up time,
Time to peel away
The leech-like rags
Of blanket
That suck away the warmth
All night –
Time to drink cold water
And fear the breaking dawn.

At six o’clock
We board the bus
And journey
To Pilate’s gates.

Seven is time to be counted,
And owned;
Time to head the warning Sjamboek.

And at mid-gut hour
When the managers lunch
And wine,
We blow our noses
Bare hands
Beneath the scaffolding,
Soothe the bruised scars
And wipe the hate
From our brow.

At five o’clock
We return to Gethsemane;
For this crucifixion
Is never completed,
Lest no more gold flows
From the graves at Golgotha.