Lana was a self-proclaimed atheist
but always got religious in the chevy.
We’d fly down the main drag of the city,
and scrambled prayers would slip
out of her lips
like some sort of disorder.
We’d give her a hard time
and tell her to cool it with the god shit.
Lana never said why it’d happen,
said she wasn’t afraid of no cars.
Making up reasons and elaborate stories
became a daily sport behind her back.
Once in park she’d spout a few more
then apologize for her damn mouth,
promising it wouldn’t happen again.
But we all knew,
Lana’d never quit.