A Lenten Dirge

A Lenten Dirge Ash Wednesday I saw Quinn again, first time in years, sailing the streets, weaving through people, his collar up, his head cocked, his arms like telephone poles sunk in the pockets of his overcoat, the brilliant pennants of his long red hair waving over the stadium where years ago he took my handoff, bucked off guard, broke two tackles, found the free field and heaved like a bison into the end zone. Today, when Quinn wove by me muttering, I should have handed him the ball and yelled, “Go, Quinn, go!” With the crowd on its feet, he'd stiff-arm the lamppost, take the free field in stride, leave all in his wake to gawk till he hit the end zone and circled the goal posts, whooping and laughing, flinging the ball like a spear over the cross-bar, into Iraq. Donal Mahoney published in print at The National Catholic Reporter 115 E. Armour Blvd. Kansas City, MO 64111-1203 March 6, 2009