I was baptized at thirteen
In a muddy, slow-moving river
While a choir belted out Take Me To The Water
And fishermen gawked from upstream
Brother Roscoe lifted my head above the current
And I watched my sins drift away
Bobbing among sticks and leaves and dirty foam
Before disappearing in the morning sun
I waded out, my soul and conscience both scrubbed clean.
Later I embraced the fact that sin,
Much like fresh-shaven peach fuzz,
Has a tendency to grow back thicker
© 2016, Dave Allen. All rights reserved.
The author has granted WritersCarnival.ca, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.