Chris McDonnell: No Room at the Inn
No room at the inn
Then
plenty of straw. And contented stock.
A woman in blue a man leaning on a staff,
well-lit, neat and tidy
with a baby wrapped in white.
Star-lit
Familiar.
Now
Scattered rocks, twisted iron
A man in a sweatshirt and
A woman in a shawl watch over an infant
Wrapped in a keffiyeh amid dust of plaster
And hanging drapes, the aftermath of attack
This troubled, turbulent year.