Howard Firkin
The magi bought straight from the registry
which meant the rest were left to hum and haw
and mumble, shuffling sandalled feet in straw,
to wish the god-child — what? — longevity?
Why’s only half the story ever told?
The myrrh and frankincense went up in smoke
but how did Joe and Mary then dispose
of all the gold? The truth is, no one knows,
but humble baby Jesus? What a joke!
The kid was loaded, like the dice Dad rolled.

This Christmas card may come a little late—
it might just feed your green recycling bin—
but know I took the time to contemplate
the miracle of birth devoid of sin.