Best Supporting Actor

Every morning we play Jesus
And rise from the dead.
Hours of memorizing the long shadows,
Our alarms ringing madly,

And we appear in our garages,
On the foggy road to work,
In front of the big boss to recite our lines,
Understudies rushing ahead of him.

The homeless soothsayer in the medium,
His beard against the sunset
Like clouds on a travel brochure.
Indeed, we need a big break.

At night, of course, we’re crucified.
It’s dark in the room with the lamp off.
You can hear an ambulance in a stage whisper
Dramatically climbing the hill.