Jesus Shopping for the Apocalypse

By Lincoln Jaques

Every morning, getting off the 243

I see Him sitting, sewing a new pattern

of silence into the skyline. Hair tangled

up in hawthorn, sandals stained in blood.

​

I catch him, lunchtimes, in the 7-Eleven,

aisle 5, junk food. It’s what He loves;

moving with a limp, quietly, in case

He disturbs the cockroaches in aisle 4,

hiding under the stuffed olives past expiry date.

​

I’m loading up every day. Ready for

the apocalypse. Ready for the sun to burst.

Waiting for the Extinction Rebels to kidnap

the corporates. I move gently too, so as not

to disturb the cockroaches.

​

We have the same tastes: sour cream

and chive chips, mallow-puffs; I’m

stocking up on tins, on jars past expiry,

for soon I’m going into hiding, with the

cockroaches. But we’ll miss Him;

the streets will empty out, the waters will

come. Afterwards I’ll find pieces of Him

running in the cracks of the tarmac.

Lincoln Jaques holds a Master of Creative Writing. His poetry and fiction have appeared most recently in Mother Mary Comes to Me: A Pop Culture Poetry Anthology (Madville Publishing), a fine line (NZ Poetry Society), The Blue Nib, Mayhem, Fast Fibres, Shot Glass Journal, Poetry New Zealand Yearbook, and Flash Frontiers. He was a finalist in the 2018 Emerging Poets. He lives in Auckland