Archive for April 23rd, 2011


I use the above title because it’s something my mom sometimes says when she’s really offended at something.  But it’s somewhat of an oxymoron, isn’t it?  Nevertheless, I’ve always been amused at the expression.  And she might definitely use it, if reading this post (provided I publish it)!  Sometimes it’s fun, for any blogger, to be a little daring!

I was thinking earlier about memories, and about sex–volatile combination, huh?  Among many of the creative writing classes I took at the University of South Alabama, one was Advanced Poetry Writing.  My instructor–like those for my other writing classes–was an accomplished, published writer herself.  And she had us write many different kinds of poems.  Fortunately, for me, most could be free verse (I’ve always found fixed verse–you know rhyme, rhythm, meter–very difficult). 

And one assignment was to write a poem about our earliest memory.  I have many very early memories–my longterm memory is better than my shortterm.   Yet at that time (1989) my earliest memory was this: I was about four, and my mom was visiting a neighbor, Mrs. Brown.  Like my mom, Mrs. Brown had a husband and children–and was about the same age.  On this particular afternoon, my mom had taken me with her to the Brown’s house.  And I played with toys (airplanes, as I recall) with her son on the floor, while she and my mom sat on the couch, and talked.  I can’t remember Mrs. Brown’s face, but she was quite attractive.  And sitting there, on the floor, I happened to be at eye level with Mrs. Brown’s…and I kid you not–it aroused me!  I couldn’t get an erection that soon, of course, but it definitely aroused me!

So I wrote the following as my assignment, in 1989:

Staring up Mrs. Brown’s Skirt

Scott ____

The unknown turn-on pops

Into the vision of a four-year-old

Like a ripened peach.

She doesn’t see me seeing up her skirt

As she sits in grown-up chatter with my mom.

What is that place within her skirt

Between her soft, smooth legs

Beneath her pantyhose–

As brown as her hair, and more brown than her name?

Why does my stomach drop to the floor

And why do I like it so much?

(I didn’t know you then, but I wish I knew you now!)

That last line I put in parenthesis, because I recently removed it–feeling it didn’t quite make sense.  But my instructor was impressed enough–and this, along with several other poems, got me an A in the course!