cabbage rolls

she was a beauty.

black eyes,

black hair.

lean,

the Lebanese girl i met back

in the late

seventies

at a club called The Dome

on M street.

her mother hated me

because

i'd pull up in front of her house

and beep the horn.

i wasn't going in to

eat Kibbe and cabbage rolls.

the girl could dance.

she smoked.

drank,

cursed and drove a Pontiac

Firebird

with big tires.

but she went to church

every sunday

morning.

no matter where she was,

who she was with, or

how big of a hangover

she had.

it didn't matter.

off she went.

confession and communion.

rinse and repeat

and do it all over

again

the next weekend.