Hamburger

On Good Friday I'll be posting the next
installment of Dogged by the Curse, so
I'm posting my annual Easter poem today.
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He was given to the butchers,
Little more than a side of beef.
They planned to serve Him up
But He had to be prepared properly first.
The Cuisinart of the time
Used leather blades
Powered by human arms
And they beat Him
And chopped Him
And pounded Him into hamburger.
The head chefs grilled Him for answers
That didn’t satisfy them,
Then they fed Him to
A mob hungry for blood.

The prophet Isaiah wrote,
“He was wounded for our transgressions,
He was bruised for our iniquities;
The chastisement of our peace was upon Him;
And with His stripes we are healed.”
It’s a necessary truth…
But unless you’re a butcher
It ought to make you lose your appetite
For hamburger.