CHRIST CLIMBED DOWN  
(with apologies to Lawrence Ferlinghetti)

Christ climbed down
from His bare Tree
this year
and made his way to where
rootless Christmas trees
hang with candycanes and breakable stars

Christ climbed down
from His bare Tree
this year
and made his way to where
gilded Christmas trees
and tinsel Christmas trees
and retro fibreglass Christmas trees
hold court in glittering malls
threatening with long-lashed eyes
startled awake to bid good cheer
to snow-booted children 
and shoppers dodging piped-in carols
and Santa Baby at the Cinnabon.

Christ climbed down
from His bare Tree
this year
and made his way to where
Amazon deliveries
pile up on porches 
betraying buy-local pledges
that fell apart on the snow day.
And also with the covid.
Where photo shoots
with garlanded cats
require better smiles
and maybe some holly
and definitely egg nog.

Christ climbed down
from His bare Tree
this year
and made his way to where
a pillowed and handshaking stranger
in a red flannel suit
and a fake white beard
proclaims unbeatable deals
on brand new Toyotas
for someones who have everything
but the smooth ride of Japanese engineering
born aloft by eight reindeer 
to the dizzying heights
where angel choirs herald Boxing Week
and the shepherds at the self-check-out
watch over their flocks by night.

Christ climbed down
from His bare Tree
this year
and made his way to where dreams 
of a white Christmas wonderland
shimmer with sugarplum sweetness
and the sharp tang of propane heaters.
Where angelic children briefly implode
When their antlers won’t stay on
And they’ve forgotten all the words
And there’s something in their shoe.

Christ climbed down
from His bare Tree
this year
and softly made his way into
some anonymous Mary's womb again
where in the darkest night
of everybody's soul
He awaits again
In Bethlehem?
Perhaps in Gaza…
an unimaginable
and impossibly
Immaculate Reconception
the very craziest of
Second Comings