Zacchaeus
His kind invitations were always declined;
the most he expected were gruff pleasantries.
He piled up his money to form golden shrines.
If the Romans asked six he charged people nine,
then fiddled with figures and pocketed three.
His kind invitations were always declined.
On the Jericho streets, he was pushed down the line;
when he could not see Jesus he climbed up a tree.
He piled up his money to form golden shrines.
‘No, I’m not fooling. The honour is mine.
Now get down, Zacchaeus. I’m coming to tea.’
His kind invitations were always declined.
Zacchaeus raced home and selected the wine.
The meal was eclipsed by sublime company.
He piled up his money to form golden shrines.
He drank of God’s favour, his wealth lost its shine,
and his heart was released from its grim poverty.
His kind invitations were always declined.
He knocked down his altar and scattered the shrines.
- © Claire Watson 2021
Claire Watson is a Salvation Army Officer who turned to poetry after the death of her daughter, Hannah, in 2014. Her memoir, Fingerprints of Grace, was published in 2017, and her poems have been published by Meniscus, Quadrant, Hunter Writers Centre, and Friendly Street Poets. She lives in Murray Bridge, South Australia.
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