the boys gather
around the car
that holy of holies.

the tobacco smoke rises, an
offering; they nod
along with the liturgy;

it’s a bang bang thud thud
speakers shivering glass.
you can feel the bass
against your heart
right where religion
is supposed to press.

i watch from my balcony
as a joint makes the rounds
this my body, my blood,
they pass cervezas
and speak in weird semaphore
through the waves of thump rattle boom.

they look so young
and every warm night
they’re out there
as faithful as
the grannies
who hobble to mass
three times a week
in their black
and swollen shoes.