a sculpture of christ with swings and a slide

I found him like a fossil in the rock,
in the slab, waiting to be broken out.
Others I’ve chiselled have burst from the blocks
like genies from lamps, and one creature sprang

like a jack from a box. But not this one:
I took back the stone like flesh from a bone
while he dozed, sleeping it off on his cross.

The council bought him, stuck him in the park,
as out of place as a dog in a church.
The simple people came, told him secrets,
dressed him with flowers and polished his face,
put sweets in his mouth and gave him a name.
That’s when I saw the thing these hands had made.

from The Dead Sea Poems, Simon Armitage