Foul Trouble

Brother's and Sisters behaving badly.
Lashing our black stripes to the referee.
While our children play a game.
And learn.
That technical fouls aren't shameful.
Because we parents are foul.
Sitting on our bleacher butts.
Reliving made up glory.
While the whistle blows.
And the referee goes.
Up and down the court calling "Foul!"
We squint blind at his eyesight.
And ask which way his stripes run.
Lose sight that there is a person under the zebra.
Instead, we act like animals.
We whip him hard.
And I.
Ride home in fading light feeling just...sick.
At what we've all become.
When the whistle blows.
How we call foul everywhere but here.
HERE.
Reach and slap and block and charge!
Stench of soul.
As the whistle blows.

And Jesus calls, "Foul!"

Bernadette