Sometimes he’d say welcome
Other times it exhaled without sound from his collapsing retinas
But it made us happy all the same
Because we knew he meant it
Even if it was his job to mean it
To bleed on wood
And to observe us fucking
And buying
Or doing both
Sometimes not knowing which
Sometimes disappearing into meat
And reappearing cleansed
And full
I wasn’t sure who nailed him up there
But it was done with replicable corporate precision
And without passion
Suffering for the sake of necessity
And some days I wanted to suffer like he did
To accumulate enough to die in the comfort of my home
To my favorite show
And I wondered sometimes if there were other saviors
Or if we were saviors to him
As he bled out and examined receipts
Mom said if we were lucky enough
When we sinned or bought something on sale
They’d sometimes drive a nail deeper
Or flog him to climax
And they weren’t that different
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