The Friday Night Dance

On Friday night, we’d get
suited up and head down to
our local Catholic Grammar School
for a teen age dance
(when we got a bit older,
we’d kill a ½ pint of
Old Mr. Boston Lemon
Flavored Vodka first)

I’d be wrapped around a girl
in a slow dance, my hand caressing
he hair as my torso tried to join hers
when Father Devine would wander
over and say
“Leave room for the Holy Ghost”

That statement might gave opened up
space between some other bodies
but I would make the point that
“the Holy Ghost is spiritual, Father;
he can fit anywhere he wants”
(fifty years later, after winning a Silver
Star as a Vietnam chaplain, he still
remembers those remarks)

If a young lady returned after such a dance
to dance again, she had to really like me
for I would have been singing in her ear
with the worst singing voice in the world.

Oh, well; it was prior to the pill and
these girls didn’t put out anyhow.
… so we drank.