Say one Hail Mary, the billboard
shouts in large letters above the street
in Atlantic City. Blue-draped icon of
the Blessed Mother reigns over
Pacific Avenue, a block from the
casinos,
one block beyond glitz to pawn shops.
Hail Mary, one tenth of a decade
of the rosary. Beads in church ladies’
gnarled hands contrast to gang bangers
hangin’
on corners. Angry eyes
glaze at limos, Escalades and Mercedes
waiting to valet park.
Say one Hail Mary for the
teen mother
crossing the street, pushing a baby buggy
and dragging a child by the hand.
Say one Hail Mary for the old man
with stained pants, belt tight on thin frame,
down on his luck near the tattoo
parlor,
or the hooker
in platform shoes and
micro-mini skirt getting into a waiting car.
Pile on the Hail Marys for the child
shot at age four. Soon you will have
the Sorrowful Mysteries of this rosary—
The Agony in Marvin Gardens, the
Scourging at Trump Plaza, the homeless
Carrying
their Crosses, and for the kids who
survive, The Crucifixion of Childhood.
Locked
in your car, drive past quickly,
silently, One Hail Mary at a time.
