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Poem

Tonight somewhere another Mary knock vainly on our doors
Another Joseph would pay anything for you to let him in
The powerless, the dispossessed, the broken on our shores
The children wandering on the streets stigmatized with sin

A teenage pregnant daughter, an idealistic boy, a child cold
And shuddering in wintry snow and rain, their body marked
With graffiti of grief, O too pierced and blemished to be sold
For anything but a diminished dime, for bed only in the park

And on pondering city stones the cops boot irreverent pounds
"Get up! you cannot sleep here, clean this garbage, go home!"
The cold law without compassion, the barking of hell's hounds
The fragment sleep, the figment dream, a city wide to roam

But home, but home, no, O no! Not that pale brittle place again
Not the silence of the voice, not the agony of inner shame
Not the torment of abuse, the battered beast breaks the chain
And streets are solace of the pain, the rage without a name.

What abandoned building is the inn, what bridge the manger
What throw away child is the Saviour's mild muffled cry
What needle, what prophetic pipe, what project is the danger
The mule is pregnant with the dope, and foul heroin fly

What magi will tell us, what star will mark the maggot space
Where homeless children come to sleep, and begin anew
Their journey for the cross? O love by theories now defaced
Give us grace to save a few, courage now to rise and do.

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