Ooohhh, Pretty Little Baby (John I:4)

In him was the life; and the life was the light of men

Light in the east—
Three Wise Men?—
The Sun, of course.

Why do we have these ridiculous Wise Men, anyway?
Melchior, Caspar, and Balthazar.
Caspar was an old deaf king.

I suppose the Kings were to signify
the universality of the world’s
accepance of Jesus.

Black Balthazar,
worshipping the Christ Child
in his minstrel-show getup.

The problem is, Jesus gets all twisted—
Platonized in the first place with all that
In the beginning was the Word stuff

(Word, indeed—what word?
And the light shone in the darkness,
and the darkness comprehended it not),

and in the second place installed
as a blood-sacrifice substitute
into a world-domination regime

in which my own country is a principle player,
sending fighter planes in the shape of crosses
against the Paynim hordes.

But the little boy Amahl is restored his feet,
after the startling Thief, thief! scene—
Good woman, you can keep the gold.

The Littlest Angel gives their little box from
under their bed at home,
containing objects of no value, to the Holy Child.

The Little Drummer Boy drums
pa rum pum pum pum.
Christina Rossetti gives my heart.

So much candid generosity in the world!

So many willing to offer their crutch
to the little baby come to be the light of the world.

Poems for Advent 2017