Our lord of misrule, this five-year-old Falstaff,
after too much root beer and chicken fries,
wearing a Burger King crown and waning
ash-cross on his forehead, only the bottom
of the vertical line now showing itself
below the cardboard edge that slides
down toward the arch of his nose,
wonders aloud why he needs to give
up anything for Lent—why, he should
have to love television, computer games,
juice boxes, even cookies less, and excuses
himself from the table, walks to his room
with his crown now almost covering his eyes,
rests his head on his bed and whispers in sighs
only the Spirit can hear. Uneasy
lies the head that wears the crown.
Uneasily, I lay my head beside his ashes
his dust his waning cross and stained lips
his growing and groaning body broken
with the weight that is all of him.
Jacob Stratman teaches in the English department at John Brown University in Siloam Springs, AR. He is working on a book-length collection of occasional poems for his sons.