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A LAST SUPPER

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Firstly
Lovers from the past will be there
To arrange the chairs

I will be guest of honour
Literally
My own personal Jesus
And feet washer

Leonardo Da Vinci
Would be maitre’ d
He would say grace
And later sketch us all
Graffiti for a cafe’ wall

And while on walls
I’d tell him
Like God
Mona Lisa is a ruse
She is hiding in a room
Hiding from the gloom

To sing I’d ask the
Born-again Johnny Cash
All maudlin and black
He could sing ‘Hurt’
And how everybody goes away
Notwithstanding Lazarus
And stay that way

There’d be Leonard Cohen
I’d ask him
As a Buddhist Jew
If he’s any wiser
And if so
How he knew

He could explain it to
Stalin (yes) the poet
And two word epigram
Sensitive madman

I’d have T.S. Eliot
To critique the cake
And pass out the coffee spoons
With which he measured his life
That and cigarettes
Which brought about his death

I’d invite Peter Singer
That quintessential lonely man
A vegetarian
In his own land

And I’d want Richard Dawkins
The iconic
Put him next to Leonardo
Then watch the logic

There’d be the girl from the checkout
Who says have a nice day
I’d put her next to Hitler
Let her have her way

Finally
I’d invite my father from the grave
And mention my pain
Then ask him what reasons he gave

Then reconciled
We’d talk of all the hurt
And what it’s worth

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