my fondest memory of church

had to have been the day that girl from my confirmation class

whom i can’t for the life of me remember the name of now

showed up in a skin tight neon pink dress

which was hiked right up

inches upon inches above her knee

leaving very little to be desired

but i desired so very much---

i wanted her

i wanted what any bored, horny, teenage

nonbeliever would,

in such a situation.

and i was lucky enough to have her family sitting right in front of

mine &

every time she got up to sing a hymn

i watched it cling to her hips &

almost as a second skin on her gorgeous body

(that others would say “god” had “given” her),

no matter how distracting those ridiculous songs were

or how bad the singing droned on in the background

my raging erection was pulsating against my thigh

in my brown corduroy pants, so much so

that i had to stick my right hand in my front pocket

to keep it at bay &

then it came to me,

like a “miracle” from the “heaven” of all those imbeciles around me---

why was i keeping it at bay?

so with a hymnal in my left hand &

my right hand in my pants

rubbing at my relentless rigidness,

i pretended to mouth the words

while i fantasized about what she would look like naked &

with all the uniquely naïve filth that’s produced in the teenage mind

(as adult filth is just “experienced filth”)

i massaged myself slow & steady

and as my knees weakened just a bit,

i exploded inside my special church corduroys---

and on that day & that day only,

church had been good for something.