Burn, Ovid
by Michael R. Burch
“Burn Ovid”—Austin Clarke
Sunday School,
Faith Free Will Baptist, 1973:
I sat imagining watery folds
of pale silk encircling her waist.
Explicit sex was the day’s “hot” topic
(how breathlessly I imagined hers)
as she taught us the perils of lust
fraught with inhibition.
I found her unaccountably beautiful,
rolling implausible nouns off the edge of her tongue:
adultery, fornication, masturbation, sodomy.
Acts made suddenly plausible by the faint blush
of her unrouged cheeks,
by her pale lips
accented only by a slight quiver,
a trepidation.
What did those lustrous folds foretell
of our uncommon desire?
Why did she cross and uncross her legs
lovely and long in their taupe sheaths?
Why did her breasts rise pointedly,
as if indicating a direction?
“Come unto me,
(unto me),”
together, we sang,
cheek to breast,
lips on lips,
devout, afire,
my hands
up her skirt,
her pants at her knees:
all night long,
all night long,
in the heavenly choir.
Keywords/Tags: Ovid, god, religion, church, Sunday school, sex, sexy, sensual, lust, desire, passion, choir, hymn, hymns, devout, devotion, faith, purity, chastity
Categories:
unaccountably, desire, god, lust, religion,
Form: Free verse
You know she missed her period and she missed graduation,
And she missed those wedding bells.
And her daddy’s shot-gun missed the boy next door—
Where he’s gone nobody can tell.
It’s a simple operation—her sister recommends it—
Her daddy’s going to foot the bill,
It’s the All-American Ladies Choice…
It’s a legalized license to kill.
God help me Jesus, forgive what we’ve done,
Did we murder a daughter, or a rambunctious bouncing son?
God help me, Jesus, please hear my voice—
Forgive me…for making the All-American Ladies’ Choice!
The weary old world takes a couple rotations
And she marries someone new,
But every year ‘round Mothers’ Day,
She’s unaccountably blue.
Ten years later in a ‘Frisco apartment
A cowboy tunes his guitar….
He’s been educated in the Land of the Free
That your songs reveal who you are.
He sings, God help me Jesus, forgive what we’ve done,
Did we murder a daughter, or annihilate a rambunctious, bouncing son?
God help me, Jesus, please hear my voice…
Forgive me…for helping her make the All-American Ladies’ Choice.
Categories:
unaccountably, faithme, murder,
Form: Lyric