Balls

I stared

at that ugly

flannel

skirt

that I put on this morning,

now bunched up,

maybe torn

in the corner with a collection

of basket, dodge, and other various balls.

The room smelled of sweat,

from both gym balls

         and Jim’s balls.

I kept my mouth shut

out of fear.

What if one of the sisters were to hear?

I wondered how many Hail Marys

I’d have to say for this.

‘Hail Mary (thwap)

full of grace (thwap)

The lord is with thee’ (thwap).