From the Palau Nacional in Barcelona, Spain (Photo by Enfo/Creative Commons Share Alike 3.0)
Sweet baby boy, Christ child,
do not fear me
My eyes may not be the same
supposedly heavenly blue of your Bethlehem gaze
but I come to pay my respects from a future
yet to come.
(For the record, this is why history will forget me
and label me a sorcerer).
I bring you blood diamonds from Africa;
this fashionable tee shirt
with an image of a revolutionary
who will rise to power to condemn sodomites
in Cuban concentration camps;
and condoms to protect yourself from intimacy
which could lead to disease.
(Never mind, I’ll keep these
since they will be useless to a poor carpenter
who believes in abstinence).
Sweet baby boy, Christ child,
please accept the rest of these offerings
as symbolic and useful to a baby as gold,
frankincense and myrrh.
(I wouldn’t be insulted if your parents sell these also
to finance a trip to Egypt.)
These gift items will inspire the world to celebrate
your miraculous birth
with shopping sprees and songs of joy
to drown out the famine, poverty, and suicide rates
and the sounds of children playing
with real machine guns.
There will always be war upon these lands and waters you will learn
to walk upon.
The intoxication of your blood and other cocktails
will help mankind
forget the loss of loved ones and all suffering
on your birthday until the day you return to fulfill your prophecy.
I pray your angels watch over you
and guard you from pestilent drugs,
which will plague generations to come
with the desire of feeling closer to you.
Sweet baby boy, Christ child,
bless me with your laughter.
(And if any of the magi touches you inappropriately,
cry until they are deafened by their sins.)
Know that I adore you regardless
of how you may have truly been conceived
and that this day will bring families and friends together.
I hope I get to see you again someday
as I will have many questions for you,
sweet little Emanuel.
I will keep an eye out
for any astrological signs of your second coming
like natural disasters, global warming
and whatever pamphlets might be handed to me
along my travels.
Until then, in memory of this day,
I will pretend there is peace on earth always
and look forward to another year.
© 2010 by Emanuel Xavier
From If Jesus Were Gay & other poems (Rebel Satori Press)
