Two Cars

Thursday nights I run a poker game in the bell tower. House rules: no praying at the table, no crying at the table, and the house always wins. I'm the house.

I also deal. From the bottom of the deck. Old habit. Older than this one.

God sees everything. Luckily, He doesn't play cards.

Father Albert came up to save my soul. He lost his watch, his rosary, and the keys to a silver Mercedes he swore he never owned.

Vow of poverty, Father. I'm only helping.

Friday morning the bishop drove up in his big black car to put a stop to it. He looked at me. He looked at my Mercedes. Then he loosened his collar and asked what time the game started.

Nine o'clock. Bring cash.

He brought his car keys.

So here I am. Two cars, one nun, one problem. I can only drive one at a time.

Next Thursday the cardinal is coming.

I hear he drives a Ferrari.

Photographed, not generated. Salton Sea, 1 May 2016.

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