Gospel

A deaf-mute,
he speaks in prayers
scribbled on cardboard,
psalms tattooed on dirty skin.
I feel the ribs of this starving city
shifting under my feet,
jackhammers drawing the blood of saints
from gum-littered concrete
and I see his three commandments
spray-painted on walls without doors ―
Thou shalt not wilt.
Thou shalt not wither.
Thou shalt not die.

Jaundré van Breda © 2020