Every Spring the promise was made
to my mother that I would
go out for altar boy practice and
wear the black and white robes in the
Fall.
But there was baseball.
High flies, workups, and contested
double plays.
And every Fall my mother would sigh
as all the new boys in their black and
whites
would make their way up the centre of
the Church.
And every Fall I too was disappointed
that I hadn't yet learned to hit a
curve ball.
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