SEAN GLATCH

Ode to the Cockroach My Roommate Trapped Beneath a Wine Bottle in Our Bathroom

The cockroach croons at the sunset
bathed in crimson, sings in baritone
of wilted love & architecture &
how our bodies can be exterminated
at another’s touch. We pray together:
boric acid, bay leaves, baking soda, 
our quiet desires crossed in communion
as wine conspires with blood. Yes,
I understand the cockroach, have felt 
that desperation: crushed beneath the sin 
you think will slaughter you. Yes,
I admire its resilience, its stubborn 
tenderness, its only wish: to embrace 
death as peacefully as the sunrise 
embraces the sea, fractures the sky—
& yes, I pretend the cockroach 
wanted to die like that, suffocated 
in rhythm, the bottle’s hollowed bottom 
hallowed in echoes. I still believe 
I’m the monster in every story,
the quiet annihilator whose unholy hands 
could devour the moonlight in seconds;
I also believe in alternate timelines
where kindness is the first kiss 
of faggots & sinners & roaches,          
where the boys of broken households  
become transfigured by love as priests  
turn wine into Jesus. Still, hungry, 
trapped beneath the bottle, I know 
I‘d die before hearing the music.

Sean Glatch is a queer poet, storyteller, and screenwriter in New York City. His work has appeared in 8Poems, The Poetry Annals, Rising Phoenix Press, Ghost City Press, on local TV, and elsewhere. Sean currently runs Writers.com, the oldest writing school on the internet. When he's not writing, which is often, he thinks he should be writing.