He stands front of City Hall
framed by shimmering Christmas lights.
Florid face set hard as flint
finger-pointing, fist-pumping,
spewing fire-and-brimstone fury.
MAGA hat incongruous on the Belfast street.
Judgement cast like stones:
YOU’RE A SINNER,
YOU’RE ON THE ROAD TO HELL!
Lusting for an argument, for confrontation.
Shoppers quicken pace, hurry past.
PREPARE TO MEET THY GOD.
But what kind of God, I wonder,
is this angry man expecting,
and where is he to be found?
Roiling vitriol pours across the road,
brings no solace to the huddled figure
blanketed against December’s bite.
Pleading eyes hope for a spare coin,
anxious faces rush by, avert their eyes,
clutching wrapped gifts of perfume and gold.
In the distance a children’s choir is singing,
lilting voices lightly drifting down,
familiar lyrics falling soft as snow,
crushed underfoot on crowded pavements:
with the poor and meek and lowly,
lived on earth our Saviour holy.
Gifford Savage is from Bangor and is a Diocesan Lay Reader in the Church of Ireland. His poetry has appeared in a number of journals including Honest Ulsterman, The Storms, Flight of the Dragonfly, The Bangor Literary Journal, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Agape Review and The New Verse News.