We gathered in a little group

intent on seeing just once in our lives

the place where, history told us,

Christ was born.

Our skirts, our sleeves, our heads -

demur in cover in respect and honour.

She, as much as others,

had a need to attend this place,

then a moment of reality

told her she was out of touch.

She had not realised ‘respect’.

Tears brimming, heart crying,

she stood, demeanour flawed.

A bosom bulged over the confines

of a bikini bra.

Mini shorts barely covering fleshy buttocks,

in her eyes - cute - provocative -

until today. She gazed at us embarrassed,

so we moved as one; our circle covering

her inexperience, her confusion.

We eased her, unseen by those pillars of faith

into Bethlehem’s shrine,

and wondered, silently, in our prayers -

was the bulging flesh of our society

an improvement on the burqa?

Or were they both

in their stubborn, foolish way,

a great mistake.