Having dimmed his inn’s lights, he walked through chilled
night to check the stable, holding warm soup
chest-close, fresh vegetables to help fill
the soft-spoken couple; glanced through slight loop
of curtain to avoid disrupting her
breast-feeding the child, now a week old. How
surprised he was. Three stylish men knelt there
at the manger, bright robes draping damp straw
and soil. One lifted a small, carved chest
of gold coins; one held the medicine
myrrh; the third waved putrid incense, a pest
repellant to Abdeel’s nose. Cause a scene?
Not him. He’d enter, bow, faking a cough,
hoping his charity at last paid off.
Roger Armbrust
December 20, 2007
