he knew where these calloused feet,
now clean, would lead.
a race to exchange.
a kiss to hail,
the Son of God for sale.
but the only gain secured from trade:
clean feet and a filthy heart.
he knew the teeth tearing the loaf
and tongues lapping the cup
would carve gateways
for a stream of lies
and a tide of denies.
as heart is split and love is spilt;
the bread and the wine.
he knew the answer he’d receive
to his blood-soaked pleas
rising from the sleeping garden
would be “no,”
only to rise alone.
for the feet he cleaned, now flee
to watch the table be set.
what mercy would know, yet serve?
what grace would know, yet give?
what love would know, yet go?
only a broken and poured out life.
supper served.
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