When I see a cockroach
I don’t grow violent like you.
I stop as if a friendly greeting
Had passed between us.

This roach is familiar to me.
We met here and there,
In the kitchen at midnight,
And now on my pillow.

I can see it has a couple
Of my black hairs
Sticking out of its head,
And who knows what else?

It carries a false passport—
Don’t ask me how I know.
A false passport, yes,
With my baby picture.