Busking at Easter

My Good Friday was a bad one.
I carried my guitar’s cross
Along a Northern Line’s Via Dolorosa
To a Central Line’s Golgotha: Chancery Lane
Where I was strung up on my guitar
For public humiliation.

They threw things at me:
Coins, glances; cursed me with their ennui.
And their opinions - my purple robe - divided amongst them.

Signs saying Beware Thieves -
Keep valuables out of sight
Were nailed to the wall either side of me,
To the left and to the right

A mother beheld her son,
As I murdered Amazing Grace
And when I sung Piano Man,
A tear ran away from her face.

And I wailed House of the Rising Sun
And some lads aimed insults at me
But a Yanky tourist said Gee, say Martha,
This guy oughta be on TV

Then when the time came and I’d bled all my sweat
For thirty silver coins and a dime
I laid me down on my way home
But I’ll be back in two days time.

© Peter Thomas 2007