Sherry from makeup tells me I am
cherubic, my face something mischievous,

a wallpaper torn–or an advertisement
from biblical times. I, however, do not believe

I am responsible for the ten thousand dollars
she thinks I owe. This cash she says my

hidden hands hold are shredded shards
of fallen founding fathers. If you think I am

a liar, a pig– come touch my face.

(originally published in where is the river, Winter 2021)