Lie the fuck down, Lord Jesus
December 25, 2017
On December 20, HILOBROW friend Madeline Ashby read the following “Go the Fuck To Sleep” pastiche — which she composed for the occasion — at “Putting the X Back in X-Mas,” a Chiaroscuro Reading Series event in Toronto. We are grateful to her for allowing us to republish it. Merry Xmas!
The cats nestle close to their kittens,
For today they have made their last leaps.
You are cozy and warm in this manger, my son.
Please go the fuck to sleep.
The magi are quietly snoring, child.
Their gifts were hidden safely, tout suite.
I’ll read you one final scripture if you swear
You’ll go the fuck to sleep.
The star twinkling above in the sky is at rest
And the creatures who crawl, run and creep.
I know you’re not thirsty. That’s bullshit. Stop lying.
Lie the fuck down, Lord Jesus, and sleep.
Herod sleeps calmly in his palace, my son.
The Pharisees, they make not a peep.
It’s been thirty-eight minutes already.
Jesus Christ, what the fuck? Go to sleep.
The children of Bethlehem are in dreamland.
The shepherds have gathered their sheep.
Hell no, I won’t change your swaddling.
You know where you can go toddling? The fuck to sleep.
The innkeeper has poured his last flagon.
All he has left is to sweep.
The hot, crimson rage fills my sacred heart.
For real: shut the fuck up and sleep.
Your future disciples are snoring
Wrapped in a big, snuggly heap.
How come you can do all this other great shit
But you can’t lie the fuck down and sleep?
The angel who announced you failed to warn me,
About just how the pain would run deep.
No more questions, this interview’s over.
I’ve got two words for you, Lord: fucking sleep.
Well Joseph, he wanted to divorce me.
His mother, she called me a creep.
But fuck all those haters, he’s the one that’s betrothed me.
Close your eyes, cut the crap: sleep.
The Romans are already marching
Into the mountains so steep.
I’m still a virgin, and I’m very frustrated.
Stop fucking with me please, and sleep.
Let the mothers without sin cast the first stone
As I lie here and openly weep.
Sure, fine, whatever, I’ll give you some milk.
Who the fuck cares? You’re not gonna sleep.
MORE POETRY AT HILOBROW.