He cursed the visitors from the East,
the so-called wise men
with their outlandish robes
and queer accents
and preposterous pronouncements. 

A week passed,
and they had not returned.

Stargazers, astrologers, bah!
Why had he listened?
They had betrayed him, yes?
Or were they too stupid (too foreign)
to find their way back to the palace?
Were they–and his advisors–
simply pandering to his power?
No matter.
He did not need them–
any of them;
he was the power, yes? 

"A new king. An infant king."
No bawling Jewish runt
would threaten his status quo.
He had a plan,
a clever, kingly plan,
certain to succeed,
yes?

Text and
image © 2013 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.