“[Jesus] said to them, ‘Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately as you enter it, you will find tied there a colt that has never been ridden; untie it and bring it. If anyone says to you, “Why are you doing this?” just say this, “The Lord needs it and will send it back here immediately.”‘” – Mark 11:2

I was just minding my business, which is:
Kicking at cobblestones. It’s what I do.
Others may carry the great and exalted
or strain to haul carts, but not me. Oh, no.

I kick at the cobblestones. It’s what I do.

Along come these dudes. I’d never seen them
or smelled them or known them, so what did they do?
They untied the rope that ran from my halter
along to the post. I didn’t panic. Or move.

I kicked at the cobblestones. It’s what I do.

Give me a chance, though, idiot dudes,
and I’ll kick your cobbles. You know that I will.
They fussed at the rope and they petted my nose.
I sniffed them for sugar, but they weren’t that smart.

I kicked at the cobblestones. It’s what I do.

A couple of neighbors – I’d seen them before –
spoke to the dudes. I paid no attention.
I had my afternoon plans good and set.
Neither neighbors nor dudes would bollix those up.

I kick at the cobblestones. It’s what I do.

There’s a tug at my halter. Both neighbors and dudes
are nodding, and telling me, “Come along now.
The Lord needs your services. Step down the road.”
I’d have reared or planted my feet, but I went along.

I kicked at the cobblestones. It’s what I do.

Next thing I know there’s cloth piled on me.
I thought about kicking it off. It was hot.
But then there’s another dude sitting upon me.
I braced then to toss him off, placing my feet,

Kicking the cobblestones. It’s what I do.

“A moment,” the dude said, and breathed in my ear,
“I need you today,” and his hand brushed my neck.
Are you kidding? There are others who’ll carry
and haul. They’re not me. I’m my own. I won’t carry at all.

I’ll kick at the cobblestones. It’s what I do.

But my hooves took their steps down the Bethany slope,
into the valley, along to the gates.
There were people about and they shouted, “Hosanna!”
They laid clothing and branches ahead of our way.

They covered the cobblestones – but it’s what I do.

I kicked at the cloth and I kicked at the greens.
The dude on my back, well, he chuckled at that.
“Kick away, little friend,” came that intimate whisper.
“It won’t be too long ’till you’re back home at last.

“And kicking the cobblestones.” It’s what I do.

With anyone else on my back I’d have bolted.
The noise and the heat, the dust made me sneeze,
the leaves made for treacherous footing beneath,
so that kicking made balance a tenuous thing.

When kicking the cobblestones is what I do.

The dude left my back with a softly said, “Thank you.”
Two of the dudes stripped the cloaks from my spine.
They turned me around to the gates and the valley,
and back up the Bethany hill to my home

Where I kicked at the cobblestones. It’s what I do.

A poem/prayer based on Mark 11:1-11, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year B, Sixth Sunday in Lent, Liturgy of the Palms.

The borrowing of a “colt that has never been ridden” is an odd element in the odd story of Jesus’ serio-comic “triumphant entry” into Jerusalem. Mark gave it twice as much time as he gave to describing the procession itself. The entire project of borrowing an unridden colt begs for disaster: arrest for theft, an animal that refuses to move, Jesus careering through the streets on a bucking colt. I don’t claim to have captured the colt’s perspective in any real way here. Hopefully I’ve given some idea how odd it all was.

The image of a child and a donkey is by a Byzantine mosaicist of the 5th century – The Yorck Project (2002) 10,000 masterpieces of painting (DVD-ROM), distributed by DIRECTMEDIA Publishing GmbH. ISBN: 3936122202., Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=148600.