A Poem for Palm Sunday

The Hick from the Sticks

My Uncle says that little Nazareth
has only about 300 poor folks
and maybe 20 buildings made of stone…

This guy from there with healing hands, worked with
his dad with wood. His neighbors there make jokes
he’s no account–he always lived alone–

no girl would have him. But then just a year
or so ago he left home and began
to walk around Judea with a band

of followers, just fishermen. We’d hear
wild tales of miracles, of food and wine
he multiplied, of wise things that he said…

And now here in Jerusalem today
he comes with crowds who think that he may lead
a revolution. Even I will have

a palm branch I can wave, though I must say
I doubt that from that hick town any good
can come. We city folks are hard to save…

-Steve Shoemaker, Urbana, IL, March 24, 2013

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