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By Their Works

Written by: Bob Hicok | Biography
 Who cleaned up the Last Supper?
These would be my people.
Maybe hung over, wanting desperately a better job, standing with rags in hand as the window beckons with hills of yellow grass.
In Da Vinci, the blue robed apostle gesturing at Christ is saying, give Him the check.
What a mess they've made of their faith.
My God would put a busboy on earth to roam among the waiters and remind them to share their tips.
The woman who finished one half eaten olive and scooped the rest into her pockets, walked her tiny pride home to children who looked at her smile and saw the salvation of a meal.
All that week at work she ignored customers who talked of Rome and silk and crucifixions, though she couldn't stop thinking of this man who said thank you each time she filled His glass.



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