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