by the old church to get in a few
prayers
before the basketball tournament
begins.
i'm hoping
that God is on my side
this time
around and not on
the opposing team.
i just laid down a hundred
dollar bet,
but then, with my head
bowed, while on my
knees, with hands
folded in front of me,
i hear Father Smith,
and Monsignor Francis
trash talking
to each other.
they're in each other's grill,
giving each other the business.
didn't you wear
that robe
yesterday, Francis said
to Father Smith, blue ain't
your color, poser.
how many times
are you going to repeat
the same homily, dude,
like you got to step it up, my man,
and get some
fresh material.
your Blue Devils suck.
your momma, Francis
said,
then Father Smith
grabbed him around the collar
and smacked him on the head
with his rosary beads.
i had to step in
to break them apart.
things tend to heat up around
tournament time.
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