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I was able to access
the church statuary
lastWednesday
after my morning walk
to Starbucks
When I had left home,
the sky was gun-metal grey
which was perfect weather
for a perambulation
Unannounced,
the big yellow ball
hijacked the sky
immediately after
I left the coffee shop
There was
virtually no shade
for the next mile
All I could think about
was the cool shade
under the nave
of St. Anthony's
I hadn't intended to
go to church
but it was one block east
of my route home
However,
all doors and the front gate
of the church
were locked
Not so for the back gate
So I entered the statuary
But something was burning
and it was my feet
Being an old-school
kind of guy,
my oldest socks
were my favorite
There was a slim chance
that they had been purchased
this millennium
But now
my feet were on fire
and they were the reason
So
I sat under a shade tree
in front of St. Anthony
Quickly,
I removed the shoes
and the inflammatory socks
There was barefoot relief
and a National Lampoon notion
of a hagiographic photo
and
(of course)
disposal of the tattered hose
However,
Somebody shouted
with a sense of urgency:
You're not supposed
to be in here
I have to lock the gate
That was Reggie
—school security guard—
who knows me
from my church gig
as a bagman an usher
I was off church property
quicker than you can say
the HAIL MARY prayer
The photo had been taken
the feet were shod socklessly
but what I hadn't done
was move the socks
from their sacrilegious position
Then along came First Friday
when the CarPeos
go to church
(Sundays are too crowded
and Covid-ish for our liking)
I zapped my way
through a speed recital
of the Rosary
out of guilt
for my "funny photo"
After mass,
I asked Father George
if anyone had brought
to his attention
"No"
he said
(Thank God)
So I confessed my sin
and
he said
You did nothing wrong
Even saints need socks
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