peace be with you

occasionally we'd play
the parish of St. Thomas More
in a practice
game of football. we were a rag
tag
bunch from oxon hill.
hardly enough boys to take the field.
the one thirty five pound team
in a scrambled league.
the coaches thought it was
a good idea to play them.
it would toughen us up.
we were in junior high
too small for the varsity.
they'd beat us to a pulp.
smarter, faster, more disciplined.
they seemed to find pleasure
in grinding us into the ground
after going to mass just an hour
before the kickoff.
communion wafers just melted
in their mouths.
their brilliant white uniforms,
with red stripes
and a small red cross emblazoned
on their chest.
there would be nuns on sidelines
with blood thirsty cheers.
priests, sipping from flasks.
high fiving after each blow we'd
take. it was a blood bath.
and in the end, we'd line up
and shake hands,
what was left of us and
listened as one by one they each
said, peace be with you.