MY GODMOTHER DOES NOT RESPECT MY SINS

Most Jews don’t have a godmother
But I do: my mother's old friend Alice.
The pale blue congratulations she sent
When I was born spoke well of the world.
We lost touch after that; I presume she's dead
Since she’s begun dropping by my dreams.
A heavyset blonde with a pleasant face,
She sits down on a camp stool and complains
That my sins are a pale, uninteresting lot;
They should exercise, get out in the sun,
Shed their dark shirts and faded jeans
In favor of codpieces, ruffs and furbelows
Or at least put on vizards and purple cloaks
When they venture into the street. “Your sins
She says, “aren’t feared or loved. Change them!
Sins in farthingales, sins in  slashed doublets
Are the life of every party. When I answer for them,
I want folk to be amazed when we go by
In gaudy procession." She's from California
So I guess I really shouldn't be surprised.

FOR GLB

When I was born my godmother Alice,
Whom I have never met, sent me a letter.
It started: "Dear Lawrence Andrew,
Some world, eh?"
Sixty three years on I think she was right.
All I know of her is that she was my mother's friend,
The daughter of Communists, and lived in California.
Oh, also, she wrote in a small neat hand, in blue ink.
Conceivably, she is alive, nearing ninety
Probably not too mindful that she is responsible
For my soul and its salvation.

                                                      Jews do not
Generally indulge in godparents; I do not know
Why I have one unless my parents thought
I would be much prone to strange sins, a prey
To acedie and simony and the sin of Uzziah,
(Which would have required my first becoming King
And then deciding to be high priest as well.)
Thanks, no doubt, to Alice, I’ve committed 

None of these, nor have I moved boundary stores

Or taken less than market value for my soul
While I am grateful for her her stewardship
I am even more glad for her cheery welcome
Which, granddaughter, I now pass on:
Dear Ginger Luna,
Some world, eh?