The Deposition
The Deposition I take a deep breath, let half of it out, Hold the rest and take aim The way hunters teach their sons to do. Through the viewfinder I see The wound in his hand — Smaller than it must have been. Though he’s already been hit Five times, I shoot, then Move to the other hand, shoot again, Shoot him in each foot, Shoot him in his naked side. Quiet as the museum is, No one hears the shots — I put my camera on silent mode So as not to spook him. This is The Deposition by Raphael. After this, they’ll put him in the tomb But he won’t stay there, Like a deer who, poorly shot, Was only wounded, whose blood The boy and his father Kneel to find on the snow.