Might not now the Child be born—
He who is kept in abeyance,
Questioned by authorities,
Denied due conveyance.
The Mother does not act.
The Father is suborned.
They do not think enough
To take the risk of scorn.
But the Child forever forces out.
Confluence, connection.
Bring forth the braver Boy.
A truth: the dawn’s reflection.
“Child, Child, come forth today.”
Times insistent calling.
The Father’s ruined much.
His decisions are appalling.
The Child comes from the West
Where the sun has not yet set,
Forcing Himself to birth
As a last, fateful bet.
Madonnas do not succor.
Mary is on strike.
Joseph’s a day trader
Without some stock to like.
Child, Child, the lone option,
The last remaining choice
While immigrants are punished
As sane Christians rejoice.
What is salient design,
What is mere chance?
The Child’s birth of purpose,
Biography’s leaner lance.
Truly, who will teach this Child?
We hunt down competence,
Tar it full of feathers,
Force wisdom’s repentance.
Joseph cannot be trusted.
Mary has overdosed.
Christians have gone missing.
Labor’s a vacant toast.
We Three Kings have gathered
As a lark for once.
No need for hosannas.
“What is served for lunch?”
One per cent is enough.
Enough to prime the pump.
The markets must discount
This damn collusion hump.
Can the Child preach today?
Will the Christians hear Him?
Will they listen closely
Take a lesson or queer Him?
He hath come transgender,
He hath come cross-dressing,
He hath come in beauty,
He gives a ready blessing.
Child, Child, hope so austere—
The hope past hope calling.
“We will treat you better
This time: no cross, no mauling.”
“Child, dear Child,” lured again
The same false piety.
The oligarch’s checkbook
As open as open can be.
The Child asked succinctly,
“What about the others?
Are they not head for Heaven,
All my sisters, all my brothers?”
“We can't crowd out Heaven.
There's only so much space
Must get full conversion
Real Estate’s Heavenly Place.
The Child preached loud and clear,
“All must taste the wine of life.”
“The outsiders included?
What a waste,” opined Freedom’s Strife.
“But why must our Abundance
Be allotted to so few?
Why must so much manna
As right be wasted, due?”
They called the Child “Naive.”
The labeled the Child worse.
Names that scarred, names that threatened
They sentenced him to nurse.
To nurse? Yes, be kept a Child,
Marginalized,
They sentenced Him to Childhood
That His preaching not be realized.
But so the Child triumphed
By chanting in Childhood’s voice.
“We must rise together.
All must risk a better choice.”
“We must rise as Children
As a Child with a shiny toy.
Children who choose to build,
Children who will to destroy.”
Freedom’s Strife will call us names,
Will gather names on lists,
Will threaten poverty of higher taxes
As if that is the worst that exists.
Gather the Abundance.
It is here and must be spent.
The Childlike voice rings clear,
“Now or forever repent.”
Gather the Abundance.
We who ask in beauty.
“Build, build around us.
It's Childhood’s final duty.”
