In Class Association Poem

My cousin was a hymn, her brother a pack of stolen cigarettes

hidden in the sock drawer with the condoms and the latest issue of Playboy,

They had a family computer.

She was a christmas carol, he was the spiked eggnog

I smoked one of his cigarettes halfway to Christmas, but they left

a bad taste of disappointment in my gums

that I passed to one of his army friends.

My aunts are the whipcrack of religious dogmas beating down on young minds

squashing out Satan before he has a chance to poison them

with the sins of fun and classic rock.