Irish Catholic

I spilled into creation, 

personhood liquified, 

an unknown hand pouring

from an unwonted glass.

I stumbled upon it, 

like a penny on the sidewalk, 

Lincoln’s nose to the cement.

I was baptized in the waters of guilt

under the gaze of Mother Mary

and the crucifixion of Christ,

and like ossified chewing gum 

glued to city streets,

it cannot be washed away. 

He—the Father, the Son, 

and all that lies between—

smiles down upon thee;

they say this as I, a headless cockroach, 

scurry across the kitchen floor 

in hopes of finding 

a gap beneath 

the washing machine.