451. THE RIBBING OF JUDAS ISCARIOT

THE RIBBING OF

JUDAS ISCARIOT
Like Judas Iscariot they went traipsing down
the road singing some miserable song about
angels, heads of pins and lightning pushing
fire through clouds. Everywhere one looked
they'd left their traces of Death and Misery.
Siamese twins entering Hell wouldn't have had it
any easier - getting away with the trickery,
getting away with the stealth. Murder was
nothing at all. All it took was nerve.
-
In the lane at the bottom of the hill,
the basket-weave lady was selling
her wares. Italian bags, Italian eyes,
Italian profit. Anything for nothing
and one for all. The little red car,
from the left, just then entered
the picture.
-
A man steps into the trattoria by
the fountain. 'Give me a drink',
he says. He looks around, points
to the small man at the end, and says
'Give me two of whatever he's having,
and one of what everyone else is drinking.'
He throws down some Italian coin and
refuses to go away.
-
Finally, Judas comes by.
He enters, sits right down,
pulls out a pistol, and
shoots himself in the brain.