contagion

i've seen his face.
and it's crippled with eczema
and grown-up freckles.
and his curly red hair
should have been a sign.

and he's the reason why
my own hair is thinning,
and doesn't fill out 
the way it used to.

he's the big brother type
that attacked me with a
piping hot latte in one hand,
and a machete in the other.

his name?-
the devil, of course.
and there's a variation of him
in every language.

the devil even baptized me-
which leads me to wonder-
did it actually count for something?
or was it a null event altogether?
maybe i should find some holy water
and be baptized all over again.

i've looked into his eyes and seen
a gaping hollowness staring right
back at me. the whole thing was like
a pizza party in the crux of the exorcist.

the thing is, i don't like to talk about him
very often. none of us really do.
it just seems so impossible to escape
his pasty clutch-
especially when he's always seated
two pews behind you.