Father Smith eating a hot dog at 7-11

i run

into Father Smith

at the 7-11,

he's sitting on

the curb

about to each lunch.

he's been jogging

and is all

sweaty. i check out

his black

shorts,

black socks

and black

tennis shoes.

his white collar

still snug

around his black

t-shirt.

he crosses himself

before he takes

a bite of a quarter pounder

hot dog

from the greasy

spinning

wheel. then washes it

down with

a big gulp

of coke.

hey, he says, when he

sees me.

please, have a sit,

join me.

he breaks the hot dog in

half

and hands it to me.

haven't seen you at mass for

awhile,

he says. what gives.

it's my

knees, i tell him.

hard to kneel because of

the arthritis.

i don't believe you, he tells me.

look,

we all have doubts my son,

but you

should come back.

he wipes mustard from

his chin then

breaks open a small bag

of Doritos

and offers them to me.

here, he says.

have some, have as many

as you like.

He'll make more.

God's love is bottomless.