On Conformity

Here's a poem I wrote in my Creative Writing class:

Blessing the table:
they begin with the sign of the cross and then comes
 the preheated blush of words.
 I struggle along with the sentences.
 I watch their mouths and my own voice falls rapidly downward as
I spit out the keyholed shapes and sounds of prayers.

This is what. Conformity (in the sense of religion) is easy to chew.