We clamored over one another
in hopes of seeing the face of him
more incredible than any other man
through the hallowed halls
of our all girls high school.

The things I saw gave me pause
at the ways of “good Catholic” rearing.
Skirts’ hems climbed the thighs
of nubile, hormone-gorged adolescent girls.
Suggestions at him, in gestures and unheard whispers
elicited blushes and frustrated discombobulation.

Even daily was not so bad
as the true frequency of it all.
I only witnessed moments in a day.
But legend had it that the assailants acted
continually daily almost in relay
and regardless of nuns’ admonitions.

So went the wind, as if in a season.
I looked up one day and the beauty
was no longer among us.
His good-bye to us came in a polite letter
which I dismissed
and knew his girls were grateful for,
as it said nothing of the true pressures or full names
that dispatched this almost-priest so hastily.

©2009 Shari Lynne Smothers

This is my climbing poem for prompt 069 at Poetic Asides. I’m not sure what made me recall this episode. It’s actually the first time I saw that sexual pressure can affect a person. And I’m still amazed at the story, and still feel an odd empathy for the girls and the young brother; so it still matters—even though my high school days happened a century ago.