A FART IN CHURCH – A Short play by Paul Hagen
BEULA exits the doors of the church, fanning herself with the weekly bulletin.
BEULA: I wore my nicest hat, my nicest dress, my nicest gloves,
And on my arm, my second-nicest purse.
I had my hair all did up nice, ‘cause you know Jesus loves
You so much more when you look nice for church.
The temperature was lovely and just right for early May
The flowers blooming on the silver birch.
The sky was blue, the sun was bright, it was a perfect day,
Right up until it came: a fart in church.
My lady friends said nice things ‘bout my outfit as I entered
I was so glad I made the choice to splurge.
It made me feel so stylish and that made me feel so centered
The perfect way to feel when starting church.
But little did they know the stink that was about to happen:
They’d smell it and then to the doors they’d surge.
That familiar butt-trumpeting that comes just before crappin’ –
And it would happen right there in that church.
The moment, mercifully, came somewhere quite late in the service
In slo-mo, I could feel my cheeks diverge.
And even in those seconds I did get a little nervous
About the egg that I would lay in church.
I thought that it might make a toot and that would leave me blushing;
I had nt clue yet what was to emerge.
A vile thing — like several old jalopies all backfiring
Real resonant was that big fart in church.
But still the worse was yet to come, the thing that sent them running:
That left the folks behind me in a lurch.
And when I smelled it — I admit that it was pretty stunning:
The stink that came off from that fart in church.
It smelled like something left to mold in water but then fried:
Like waste from scientific strange research,
Like I’d grabbed animals that crawled up in my wall and died
And stuffed ‘em in my ass and went to church.
The congregation started — ooh — to gag and some just fled
The final hymn felt like a funeral dirge.
And ain’t nobody stick around for coffee hour to spread
The usual gossip that goes around after church.
I let them all go first — it was the least that I could do;
And now I’m glad to finally emerge
And take me one last look around, realizing what I would do:
I’m gonna need to find another church.
BEAULA looks lovingly up at the church — letting out a long and sonically varied burst of flatulence as she does — and LIGHTS FADE TO BLACK.