In 1953 the archbishop unleashed them into our parish
with an edict of excommunication for anyone who dared
buy a ticket at the small neighborhood theater to see a movie
stamped obscene by the Council of Decency unhappily titled,
“The Moon Is Blue”
My friends and I snuck through the exit behind the screen to watch
a silly film that showed us nothing like the nude photos we found
in magazines and discarded albums dug out of trash bins behind
the apartments we passed every day on our way home from school
Making out with our girl friends at the local park we joked about
the crazy old man’s spies hiding in the bushes ready to pounce
at each illicit touch, writing down our names and addresses
to add to the lists of the damned
I swear I could hear them panting in the darkness of my sleep,
waking in the morning with memories of red-eyed hounds
drooling at me through the windows of my impure dreams
They rooted into our Friday night dates, marriages and affairs,
granted us in their cruel pursuit no sacred ground
We stumbled anyway into the dark without shame, challenged
the night to find our way into the arms and mouths and necks,
the warm and lovely breasts and thighs of our lovers
Not even the divine could stop us
