Trying not to think about sex
when you are fifteen and
sitting in church

is like trying to hide
from a spot light
at centre stage.

I saw naked female body parts
in the oak grain
of the pews,

and across the aisle or ahead
bra straps and other swellings
through very chaste blouses.

It was like a conspiracy to keep
me vibrating and it was
hard to ignore

in spite of the obvious
consequences of such
inappropriate thoughts

and I couldn’t even spell
inappropriate—is that a hint of
nipple on that statue of Mary?

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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
This entry was posted in fun, Poetry, thoughts below ground and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

1 Response to chapel

  1. O says:

    Very funny, good stuff.


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