Monday, March 24, 2014


Another little soul
saved in the church
of St. Theresa.

The old priest's hands wave,
call forth the saving spirit
bless this child, bless that one too.

One hears the click, click, click
of cameras, moms and Godmoms
in fluffy prom dresses, dads and
god dads in clean jeans and new shirts.

The freshly christened
crawl and wail
in their escape.

No Mass. Really?
No one
understands its
moral gravity

It's time to party.
Tequila, hot sauce,
sheet cakes.
On every table
bowls of baby angels.

The DJ's crowd-pleasing music
Too loud. But the throng dances
til closing, demands
and gets one final song.

Some sit ill on the steps
over puddles of vomit,
others scold or weep or trip.

Such is the rhymn
and the mystery
of the faith.