Maybe Jesus is wandering these roads tonight,
Unrecognised, unacknowledged, utterly alone,
Passing half built apartment blocks investors own,
Passing burnt-out cars, glass shards, twisted chrome,
Threading a path through Neilstown and Quarryvale,
In Dunnes Stores white socks, with his jacket torn.
Maybe we are so adrift in our own cares that we fail
To see whip marks, collapsed veins, his crown of thorns.