The Name Thereof
The duty of naming was God-sent,
On man and on animals too:
The Dog’s name for Adam was Odd-Scent;
The Cat’s (when God pressed it) was Who?
Queens’ Ambit
The Magi-Kings of course have wives.
On Boxing Day their troupe arrives
To fix a practical mistake
(The kind that royal scholars make).
They glide across the makeshift room
With light detergent and a broom;
Then, shooing out the final sheep,
Turn to their carrying équipe.
Up to the camels’ humps they shift
Each wonderful, appalling gift—
Unloading first an easy chair,
With something comfortable to wear;
A ruminant-excluding crib,
Some shawls, a sippy cup, a bib;
And all the while they offer, thrice,
Clucks, cooing, cuddles, and advice
For nursing Mary—in her snug
New hypoallergenic rug.
The situation might be tense;
Their motherly experience
Is not the same, by any means:
She is a virgin; they are queens;
But still they share some special things
Unguessed by carpenters, or kings,
Or even angels—not to speak
Of ox or ass (however meek).
Ere suppertime the guests depart;
They like to make an early start,
They tell her—tactfully intent
On sparing her embarrassment.
They vanish in a kindly blur
Of praise, solicitude, and myrrh;
And when poor Joseph tries to scold:
“We really could have used the gold…”
She tweaks his arm: “But sometimes we
Could use some female company.”