Joseph
The gods of my youth have left me behind
The blind leading the blind
Maybe Mary was actually great with doubt
Wondering if she was simply ill
Or at the very best insane
Servant, certainly, when it suited her
Either she’d give birth or not
And one way or the other she’d know for sure.
Perhaps Joseph had the harder job
Believing his wife wasn’t getting some on the side
Angels and dreams are all well and good
But I ate some Mexican food one night
And dreamed my dad had taken up naked gator riding
As a means of discouraging a particular relationship
So how clear was his situation, really?
And how did he carry on?
And did he really think that he’d be rearing God?
Was he jealous that it wasn’t his, or relieved that
If Jesus was more spectacle than spectacular,
The failing wouldn’t be because of his bloodline?
Did he ever come to terms
With the supposedly divine hijacking of his entire life
Or did he always wonder why he was stuck
Parenting a child that wasn’t his and working with wood
When possibilities untold were purportedly at his child’s
command?
Or maybe he was just happy that if everything broke right
Someone might remember his name.
And that made it easy to believe.
