Seventh-day Adventist Christianity as It Was Practiced at Forest Lake Academy, Maitland, Florida, in the mid-1960s:
Eight Sonnets (an Imperfect Number) in a Sexquence
I
Degueulasse
At first they pulled Paul’s shirt up to his tits
And slapped him on his belly till it turned
A cayenne pink, but then they did a blitz
Upon his ass. They flopped him over, burned
His hips with hate-filled smacks—and next they shaved
His asshole daintily before they poured
Candy Apple model paint there. He braved
It all until their fingers slimed and scored
The pigment from his sphincter up his buns
And till he learned the guys he liked the most
Had given them the bottle. They’re the ones
He hated. That betrayal spiked the most.
..He pardoned both . . . and all the savage rest.
….Their cruel lesson as to life was best.
II
The Serpent in the Tree
They’d left a-whooping but their joy was stale.
The fun was flat already. Someone had
The decency to shut the door. The male
Parts, shriveled underneath him, felt no bad
Effects there crushed beneath his pubic bone
And hairy thighs against the bedspread. He
Just lay there for a while. He had to hone
His mind back into sane normality.
He got up gingerly, careful not to
Stain anything, and made his way as God
Had made him to shower and try to do
The obvious. He scoured hard but his clawed,
Harsh scrubbing left him neon-glowing.
He saw vengeance, though. He was knowing.
III
Advanced Finger Torture in Seventh-day Adventist Secondary Education ca. 1962
After that, though, he’d pulled his roommate’s white
Shorts, boring Jockey shorts, on so that they’d
Be stained and not his jeans. The pain was slight
While he was walking down the stairs. He made
His way at once to Dean Stone’s door, but when
It opened Mrs. Stone was standing there.
She looked. She noticed instantly and then
Said, “Oh, Paul, what’s wrong?” Why not tell the bare
Truth? thought the boy. By morning everyone
Will know. Why lie pathetically to hide
For several hours disgrace so deeply done?
There wasn’t an occasion now for pride.
..He tipped his forehead back and gave a wink.
….“The guys have finger-painted my ass pink.”
IV
Socrates Preparing Hemlock for Others
She gave him turpentine and back he trudged
To shower again. Much more of shiny shame
Washed down the drain this time but he still grudged
The cherry wound. A scarlet-colored blame
Outshone the brilliance sinking down that hole.
He knew what he would do. He used the towel
To dry and cover up himself. A coal
Of pepper hatred he held close, a foul
Prescription up against his heart. Inside
His room he pulled on all his best—fine shirt,
And Sabbath shoes, his woolen suit—and tied
A double Windsor. Thinking of his pert,
Bright butt, he swaggered down the hallway to
The junction of the wings. His nerve was true.
V
Suspended Annihilation
The monitor ignored him. Lights were out
In all the rooms and everyone was tucked
Up in his bed, supposedly. The clout
That he’d prepared for them and for their fucked
Up Christianity was well beyond
Their minds. He reached the intersection where
2 North and West met. At the desk the blond
Enforcing silence didn’t even dare
To look at him. Paul shouted, “Hey! You guys!
2 North! Hey! Open up and have a look
At this!” The doorknobs turned and many eyes
Peered out. He put his fist up like a hook
To hold them, turned his back, and reached that hand
Up high, undid his fly and button and . . .
VI
Destruction Delivered
. . . yanked down his trousers. Underneath he wore
No underpants but only hatred paint.
He used both hands then like a frantic whore
To pull apart his hips to show the taint—
That taint of pink and brown they’d fingered so
Disgustingly—and bent himself right down
So cock and balls could dangle there below.
The boys could see his ball sack with light down
Of curly hairs and waggled all from side
To side to make it fetching to
Their gaze, and shouted, “RED EYE!!!” in a snide
Explosion like a fart. “This here’s for you!
I heard you as you played with me, your grunts,
Who fingered me, you mother-fuckin’ cunts!”
VII
The Final Touch
When he had finished punishing the four
Repellent halls, he strolled back to his room
But stood alone there thinking how to score
The final slur. It really had to boom
Inside them. When he walked along the hall
The inspiration needed for his neat
Surmounting of the dorm came to him all
Developed like a perfect child, complete
And faultless from the womb. He found the two
Asleep but woke them with his knocking. “Don
And Ricky . . .” Their door cracked open on cue.
He spoke to where their dual darkness shone.
..“You want to finger me? Just don’t be rude.
….Come ask me nicely. No need to be crude.”
VIII
The Rosy Fingered Dawn
He slept the sleep of calm and peace that night,
The slumbers of young David when he’d killed
Goliath with his stones. He timed it right
To make his next appearance. He had drilled
Just like an actress learning must compel
Set words and actions deeply in her brain.
He planned his entrance perfectly. The bell
For English class was ringing with disdain
And all the chatter in the room went still.
The teacher, Mrs. Pike, called out, “So how
Is Paul this morning?” He heard his voice fill
Ears. “From the bottom up, life’s rosy now.”
..The class became a hurricane of mirth.
….He knew that he had conquered all the earth.