The journey of the magi (cont.)
Coming as they did from the first century
they had a few problems with London traffic
and were seriously misled by signs
to the Angel and King's Cross.
Inquiring diligently about the star
they were referred to Professor Brian Cox,
who thought it was amazing
while smiling in a constant and strangely unsettling way.
In Harrods the camels
made a mess over Soft Furnishings.
On the Underground
commuters glared at No Smoking signs
as incense wafted gently through the carriages,
and when the great day came
they saw the entire voting population
slumped on sofas by four o'clock,
rendered senseless by too much
dead poultry and the Queen,
while over Liberty's and Hamley's
the flickering angels sang
Glory to God in the High St
and they found him,
with the inns full up once more,
in the old familiar place,
bringing their unregarded gifts
to the empty stable
of the human heart
where the infant Christ is born
again and again.
The second sentence of this poem originally referred to the celebrated and now sadly late British TV astronomer Patrick Moore ("who hadn't actually seen God, but would keep an extra eyebrow raised"). I replaced him with his natural successor in 2013.
© Godfrey Rust, email@example.com. See here for permissions.