An Estampie For Would Be Lovers
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This is a whimsical poem and song reflecting on the exploration of adolescent love and sexuality. The title of the poem underwent a number of changes from “Deserted Places”, “Empty Lots”, before I finally decided on the present title.
As an adolescent, I had my favorite places in which to, in the parlance of Ruthie’s Aunt Evie, “molly buzz”, or “make out” to describe this activity, largely resulting from the response of raging hormones and adolescent infatuation. The poem is a reflection as to whether the celebrated, secluded “lover lanes” of the past are still being utilized by the adolescents of today and how the pandemic has changed or curtailed the patterns of adolescent sexual exploration. While not endorsing immoral behavior, I am not blind to the fact that adolescents really don’t give a hang as to whether their behavior is moral or immoral as they are experiencing the throes of hormonal excess.
I naively conclude that the present day pandemic has lessened the “near occasions of sin” committed by our present day adolescents, while acknowledging that they are probably still throwing caution to the wind and continuing the long time behaviors of their ancestors.
I used the Medieval dance, Estampie, as a way to express this musically.
Ah, those isolated places where once
cars and bodies huddled together,
the “lovers’ lanes”, in which
submarine races were observed
with no winners posted,
“to score”, an abashed innuendo
of conquest and shame.
These secluded spots.
grass trampled down by
blankets and cars,
where sexuality was explored,
car windows fogged over
by the breath of its occupants,
shaky adolescent hands
fumbling with buttons and catches,
a stroke here, a grope there,
an indignant slap leaving its mark
across the cheek of the offending,
and the hickey, the mark of Cain,
adorning the neck of the willing.
Only overgrown grasses now
huddle together with overgrown weeds,
hiding from sight these lots
these lots vacant of humanity
and near occasions of sin.
A pandemic plucks the blossoms
off of young adolescent love.
Social distancing causing
near occasions of sin,
minor and major,
literally out of reach.
The facial mask, the chastity
belt for the lips, thwarting
even the most chaste of kisses.
The buildup of hormones threaten
to burst adolescents asunder.
Confessionals as empty as
hospital maternity wards,
I fear for the propagation
Of the human race.
Copyright © Robert Wagner | Year Posted 2020
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