WHAT HAPPENED AT THE BAPTISM
The infant is held aloft, above the priest’s head
and shoulders. “Our trophy!” he cries, to
applause and tears from the congregation. The
baby’s penis looks like a tiny candy in its
wrapper, placed awkwardly between two fresh
human legs. It begins to cry uncontrollably, to
shake. It has been welcomed to the world in
which it will live until its body gives out. Like
all living things, it will die the worse for wear.
Please go to Matador Review to read the full poem, and of course all the other poems and stories in the issue. This wasn’t the kind of poem many journals would have taken, so kudos to editor John Lachausse for accepting it at MR.