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?
Very funny, good stuff.
O