Frankincense and Myrrh
I felt like a fraud when I stood
In front of a class as I
Do when I am reading poems
Or talking over baseball
Pictures in a slideshow that
No longer surprises me
Except in the fact that an
Audience was coerced to
Watch it instead of pecking
At their phones—do we all live
Past nostalgia, I wonder,
As my dad’s face flashes on
The back row of a ball team
And I no longer mention
Him in his blue coaching cap.
Or that he was so sure of
His belief in what he was
Doing and where he was going
That he transcended fraudulence
When he spoke about the Lord.
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