#1967
*And whatever happened
To Tuesday and so slow*?
Van Morrison’67
~~~
in the young days and nights
of a youthful summer,
Van’s Brown EyedGirl
played endless on the transistor radio
the dry heat was endless just as well,
and the slow was just the way the
time was counted, when it was counted,
which wasn’t too often
was 17 years of age with no cares,
worries did not exist, ‘cept when I dreamed and conspired inside
how I was gonna get that blue eyed blonde devil temptress
to kiss me
before the new school year commenced
at the quarry where we all went swimming,
the music asking questions,
that nobody knew how to answer,
whatever happened to Tuesday,
and so slow,
so slow, we never knew what the name of the day was,
no reason to check the farm implements & hardware store calendar,
or to X off any day special,
for there was no such thing
No, never got to kiss her,
left the so slow,
me and a buddy. took a rebuilt junker and set out for Cali,
where the girls,
where the beautiful girls, just surfed and smiled,
and the nighttime beach parties went on
till the when the last person left so quiet
not sure how,
ended up,
in Seattle & Oregon,
where met I my brown eyed girl
whose car was over heating, steaming on a coastal highway,
on a Tuesday,
and it was no longer slow,
it was treasured fast and a whirlwind blast,
and
that was 2025 - 1968, so 57 eons,
nowadays, know what the name of every day is,
where I’ll be and for how long,
but truth be told,
in my happy moments
if you asked,
could not tell
the day, the time,
when the brown eyed girl and I
smile into each other’s eyes,
and so slow
is the sweetness of our lives,
Dec 13, 2025
Dec 13, 2025 at 1:26 PM UTC
A simple thought
Can explain a complex emotion
But, silence explains everything
Except, the sunflowers
Jun 28, 2019
Jun 28, 2019 at 12:12 PM UTC
The nurse said
you were sitting
outside. so I went
outside and you
were sitting on a
bench on the lawn.
You were wearing
a dressing gown
over a nightgown.
"How did you find me?"
You said patting
the place on the
bench beside you.
"I followed what
you said" I replied
and sat down next
to you. "None of the
others who said
they'd come ever
turned up" you said.
"I wanted to see you
again" I said. "Why?"
You said. "Because
I like you and wanted
to meet you again
and wasn't sure if
you'd turn up at the
club anymore" I said.
"Ah that's sweet" you
said gazing at me.
We talked a while
and other patients
came out on the lawn
with visitors and sat
about on the grass
or on the few seats
about. "Will you do
something for me?"
You said. "Sure what
is it?" I said. You
whispered in my ear.
"What here in the hospital?"
I whispered back. "Yes
but somewhere quiet"
you said and told me
the place. So you led
me inside in the hospital
ward and along a passage.
It was quiet and no
one was about. "In here"
you said and pulled me
into a cleaner's room
with bucket and mop
and broom and boxes
of toilet rolls. "Here?"
I said. "Yes no one
comes in here on
Sundays" you said.
It was dim with only
light from a small light
on the ceiling. And we
did and all the short
while I envisioned a
nurse opening the door
and seeing us in a semi
naked state. But none
did and we dressed
and crept out of the
room like naughty
children from an orchard
scrumping. So unexpected
that day out of the blue
visiting me and resident you.
May 16, 2018
May 16, 2018 at 11:34 AM UTC
Nima was in a mood today at
the hospital when I got there.
I'd brought her cigarettes and
chocolates, which brightened
her up a bit. We sat outside on
one of the seats out there and
we lit up and talked. I'd been
to London and had bought a
Charles Lloyd jazz LP and I
showed her. She gazed at the
sleeve and gave it back. I told
her about the Summer of Love
thing I'd seen in London, lots
of young people, guys with beards
and long hair and flowery shirts
and girls with long hair and beads.
I said it seemed God had got His
message through. She smiled and
said God was a big illusion and
the Summer of Love was just
another fashion thing. She was in
that type of mood. She talked of ***
how she wanted it, but there was
no place about. She told me she
needed *** so much even the night
nurse looked interesting. She opened
the box of chocolates and we ate
a few. I think she was pleased I'd
come, but at the same time seemed
bored shitless. She talked about
needing a fix, but I didn't answer
as I knew nothing of that drug stuff.
I said I had to go, so we walked
back inside and kissed at the door
of the ward, and I walked along
the corridor and out of her sight.
I dreamt of her a lot that night.
Mar 15, 2018
Mar 15, 2018 at 11:01 AM UTC
Jefferson Airplane performed
Let Me In.
It worked as a silent call
For those, who never heard it
From young women
- men watching, listening.
But their soul did
shout it with
tremendous joy,
in denial of all those
sentences of
Let Me Go.
Mar 12, 2018
Mar 12, 2018 at 1:41 PM UTC
He came today. Visited her
at the hospital. She was
in a mood, but he brightened
the day, bringing her cigarettes
and chocolates. He talked of
God and the Summer of Love.
She was part of that love that
summer, but no God for her,
least not where she lay in bed,
lights out, massaging herself
to a sensual joy in the dark.
He showed her a jazz LP he'd
bought. Boring **** she
thought, but didn't say. Her
parents didn't come, but he
came today. She lay there
her passion spent. She ate
a chocolate he'd brought.
She imagined she'd had ***
with him; it was a lonely sport.
Mar 3, 2018
Mar 3, 2018 at 12:15 PM UTC
God, you said, was a myth,
no need in this scientific age
for such as that. I met you
by the Embankment off Charing
Cross station. Straight away
you attacked the faith. I could
see something had upset you
either at the hospital or maybe
your mother's visit. How long
have you got? I said. A day pass,
got to be back by 7pm, you said,
so let's not waste our time. We
walked up to Leicester Square
and ordered and ate lunch with
cokes not alcohol because of
your medication. Your mother
had visited you last night and
had put you in a bad mood with
her talk of God and what the
neighbours would say if they
found out about the drug taking.
After lunch we went and lay in
Green Park. You talked of getting
better and leaving home and
I thought of that weekend we
stayed at that cheap hotel off
Charing Cross Road and that
creaky bed. You talked on, but
I couldn't recall what you said.
Feb 16, 2018
Feb 16, 2018 at 11:37 AM UTC
Benedict listened
to Thelonious
********* out
Round Midnight.
That public house
off Charing Cross Road,
his old man
sipping a light ale
in a corner seat.
Colonel they call me:
the old man said;
Benedict looked at
the clipped moustache
and sad dog eyes.
All talk of
the Desert Rats
and Monty
and sand and winds
and free beer
now and then.
And that Irish woman
in the box office,
and him saying:
this is my son.
The woman
all glittering eyes
and broad smile.
Wonder if he had?
Wouldn't put it past.
Died years later alone
in some home
stroke and dead;
buried alone;
just a few staff members
at his funeral
and ashes scattered
in some numbered plot.
What year did he meet?
67, yes that year.
That girl in the club
above the Regent
eyeing him saying:
my boyfriend's
in the clink
for drugs
and I am in the hospital
drying out
come visit me.
Benedict did;
brought her cigarettes
and took her for a drink
down at the local pub
if the nurse permitted.
Thelonious Monk stopped.
Silence of the grave;
both his old man and Monk
gone now.
Looking back
colours it somehow.
Sep 26, 2017
Sep 26, 2017 at 7:57 AM UTC
I am listening
to Bruckner's 7th
and I think back to 1967
and this guy says
join the band(I played saxophone)
we got gigs in Germany
and Denmark next month
he wanted me to play toot toot
in the pop songs his band played
but I said no
I wanted to play jazz
like Coltrane and Coleman
not go toot toot
behind some pop stuff
sitting back as Bruckner ends
I wonder if I got it wrong
and should have gone
toot toot behind the pop song.
Sep 26, 2017
Sep 26, 2017 at 3:49 AM UTC
Benny never heard
from Nima again.
Weeks past
then months.
He guessed
she either
forgot his address
or was back
on drugs or both.
But he looked back
at their time together
and smiled.
The times
they made love
and met and drank
and ate.
He remembered
his hospital visits
to see her
but that
was it now
the show was over
the actress
had left the stage
and the curtains
had dropped or closed
or whatever curtains
do on stage.
But he recalled
that night
in that cheap hotel
in West London.
That night of ***
and bathing
in that large
bath together
and the landlady
knocking at the door
with extra towels
and he Benny there
in his underwear
and the old girl
giving him the stare.
Aug 26, 2017
Aug 26, 2017 at 3:44 AM UTC
Nima met me
by the fountain
in Trafalgar Square.
I'd not see her
for a few weeks.
She looked
tired looking
and her hair
had been cut short.
She was wearing
a mini skirt
and pink top.
Wondered if you'd come
she said.
Once I got your letter
I decided I would
I said.
(She had my address
but I didn't have hers
not since she moved
back home
after leaving
the hospital.)
Where shall we go?
she said.
I don't mind
I said.
I wanted for us
to have a night out
at some cheap hotel
but my parents
have their eyes on me
and want to know
where I am going
and when I'll be back
she said.
I guess
they are worried
about you
after the drugs
and the hospital stay
I said.
I'm 19
she said
I am old enough
to be my own boss
they just want me
where they
can control me.
We walked along
Charing Cross Road
and entered a restaurant
and sat down.
We ordered drinks
and a meal.
The waiter went off
and she looked at me.
So how are you?
she said.
I'm ok
work's still boring
as hell
I said.
I gazed at her
how drawn she looked.
Are you back
on drugs again?
I said.
No I'm not
she said
you sound like
my parents
I'm not eating
as I should
I don't feel hungry
but I'll try
to eat this meal.
We waited
for the order to arrive
and talked
and drank our drinks.
I watched her
sitting there
her eyes dull
and that shortness
of her hair.
Jul 30, 2017
Jul 30, 2017 at 9:10 AM UTC
Every day
it was the same
the same
pressing machine
my hand pulling down
the lever
the two pieces
of the secateurs
pressed together.
Brain numbing
eye blinding work.
My father
up on the right
riveting pulling down
a lever moment
after moment
no relief.
Radio pushing out
pop pulp.
Other guys behind
each doing their own
brain numbing work
in sequence.
I thinking
of other things
about jazz
about playing
my sax
once I got home
listening to
Trane or Miles.
My father
(unknown to us
becoming tired
due to cancer).
Some jerks behind
taking the **** out of
my hard of hearing father.
I had ago at them
I would have
punched them
but needed
to keep the job
and keep it cool.
My father not hearing
or knowing
or if he had
would have
had them
and lost his job
not a good thing
at his age.
A year later
he died
from the cancer.
I working
some place else
felt the deep loss
and pain.
I'd have punched
those jerks
if I had
my time again.
Jul 4, 2017
Jul 4, 2017 at 2:53 PM UTC
We lay
on the grass
in St James' Park
Nima and I.
Beneath a hot sun
and pale blue sky.
Wish there was
some place
we could go
she said
somewhere
we could go
and have ***
Yes wish
there was
I said.
People passed by
on the path
kids played
on the grass
in their childhood
world and games.
Ducks and drakes
swam on the water
over the way.
Remember that time
we had that room
over by Charing Cross
and the landlady
came up
and you opened
the door
in your underpants?
Nima said.
I can't forget
the look
on her face
I said
with a smile.
You still off
the drugs?
I said.
She moved
her head
and stared at me
so far
she replied.
She was back home
at her parents' place
out of the hospital
with the nurses
and quacks.
Bought
that Beatles' LP
she said
looking back
at the sky.
I studied her
rising and falling
******* beneath her
red tee shirt
her hands
behind her head.
Is it any good?
I said
wishing we
were in some bed
not here on the grass.
It's fabulous
she said
played it over and over
much to my parents'
disapproval.
I recalled
that night
in that cheap
hotel room
and watching her
slow taking off
clothes removal.
Jun 26, 2017
Jun 26, 2017 at 7:33 AM UTC
I sat at the dining table.
I didn’t want
to go down
from my room
but my parents
insisted.
Don't talk
about being
in hospital
or about
your drug addiction
Mother said to me
before she went down
from my room.
I sat in between
the thin lady
who looked
like Virginia Woolf
and the fat man
who had a moustache
like Oliver Hardy.
I sat mute
looking at them
as I ate
Mother eyeing me
in case I sang
like a canary
about my time
in hospital
for drug addiction.
The talk
was above my head
mostly medical stuff
or politics.
My father eyed me
now and then
in case I broke out
and gave
the game away.
Another guest
was an MP
who gazed at me
and smiled.
I didn't catch his name
but he eyed me over
but never spoke to me.
The Virginia Woolf lookalike
asked me what I was doing?
I said
eating dinner.
Mother chided me
for being rude
the lady said
not to worry
she understood
teenage girls.
I thought of Benny
how he'd be treated
amongst this snobbish lot
with their airs and graces.
I felt like spitting
in their food
and slapping
all their faces.
Jun 1, 2017
Jun 1, 2017 at 4:11 AM UTC
I am home
from the hospital
after months
being there
over the drug addiction.
I am in
my parent's care.
My room is
as it was
nothing moved
or changed
(except tidied up).
Downstairs my mother
is attending dinner
(guests are coming).
Be on your best
behaviour Nima
mother said
in the car home
none of your nonsense.
I told Benny
I was leaving hospital
and gave him
my address
I hope he writes.
Maybe we can
meet in London
if my parents allow
me out.
I go to my window
and peer out
it's a wonder
my mother hasn't
put bars at the window.
The sky is overcast
grey clouds
dull sun.
If only Benny
was here
and on my bed.
I don't miss
the quacks or nurses
at the hospital.
I go lie
on my bed
and pretend
Benny's here
but he isn't
so not joy or cheer.
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 4:19 AM UTC
I went with Benny
to South Bank.
We saw the boats and tugs
passing by
on the Thames.
Some people waved
and we waved back.
Benny said
my dad said
I could go
I hope so.
Mum wasn't sure
but let me go.
Benny bought
two ice creams
from a vendor
along by the River
and we sat
and ate them
watching tennis
in the tennis courts
along the way.
Mum and I wait
for Dad to come
home from work.
I hope he's in
a good mood
and did say
I could go
with Benny.
Benny wouldn't lie
at least not to me.
Mum's in the kitchen
getting dinner.
I sit in
the living room
waiting for Dad
to come.
Enid
he'll say
where and what
did you do today?
I can't lie
he knows it
if I try to lie
my eyes
he says
give me away.
The front door opens
he's home
the door closes.
Voices from the kitchen
Dad's voice is raised
Mum's voice replies.
An argument
of some kind.
I look at the floor
pretend it's
someone else's home
another flat
over the way.
Not me here
or if I am
on another day.
Apr 30, 2017
Apr 30, 2017 at 4:03 AM UTC
Nima said
she was ****** off
and wanted out
of the hospital.
I was visiting her
outside on the lawn.
She was in her
nightgown
getting some sun.
What's up?
I said.
Everything
from the quacks
to the food
to the **** ants
creeping along the floor
by my bed
she said.
Aren't you allowed
out into town
or up to London?
I said.
**** them Benny
she said
just because my mother
put a bad word in
they don't trust me out
in case I go get a fix.
A nurse passed by
out on to the lawn
to attend to a guy
who was doing something
with his *****
No no Henry
not out here
she said.
Nima shook her head
see what I mean
I'm a druggie
these people
are mentally ill
why am I with them?
The guy was taken back
into the ward
by the nurse.
I looked at Nima
I wouldn't get you drugs
I could tell
them that
I said.
No use Benny
they won't listen.
She lit up a cigarette
from the pack
I brought her
and I lit it
and lit one for me.
A radio played
from the open window
of the ward
a Beatle song.
We sat
and smoked
and talked more.
Henry stood flashing
by the open ward door.
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 1:07 PM UTC
Regrets
O those are
useless things
Nima said
have no value
to the now
of our being.
Benny listened
but said nothing
as they walked along
the Embankment
by the Thames.
What can you
do with regrets?
nothing they sit on
your conscience
if you have one
and haunt you.
They sat on a bench
and lit up cigarettes.
Do you regret
meeting me?
she said
gazing at Benny.
No never
said I did
he said.
So why regret
anything?
all things happen
so that is it
she went on
puffing out smoke
now and then
her words smoke
engulfed.
Had a bad day
at the hospital?
he asked
looking at
the Houses of Parliament
over the River.
Too true I have
she said
too ****** true
had enough of them
all the nurses
fecking quacks
trick-cyclists.
She sighed
and puffed on
her cigarette.
What happened?
he asked.
Said I couldn't
have a weekend pass
because my mother
**** her
middle-class morals
said I might zap
some drugs or sleep
with some druggy
although she knows
I am with you
I've told
the ***** that.
Benny looked
at her.
She has your
best interests
at heart
he said.
Nima gazed at him
whose side are you on?
No one's side
just saying
she may have
he said.
They were silent
for a few minutes
she musing on
the hospital
and the enforced stay
statemented because
of the drugs
and mental instability.
He wondering
if the Ornette Coleman
Jazz LP he'd bought
earlier on was as good
as he had read.
Their conversation
and dried up
like something dead.
Apr 1, 2017
Apr 1, 2017 at 1:51 PM UTC
Your mother
had brought the car
to the hospital
you were going
home at last.
Benny had rung yesterday
and you arranged
to meet him on Saturday
in Trafalgar Square.
The mind doctor
had been to see you
and you were packed.
You said goodbye
to the nurses who had been
like a family to you
while you had been
in the hospital.
Now it was over
all you had to do now
was stay off the drugs
not get in touch
with anyone who had
got you into it.
Your mother fussed about
then went off to talk
to the quacks.
You wished Benny was there
it seemed strange going
after the time stuck in here
except for weekends out.
You stood by the window
and looked out
on the hospital grounds.
You'd sat out there
with Benny a few times
now you were about to go.
Your mother came back
stiff faced her eyes on you
don't end up here again Nima
stay off the drugs
next time it won't be just hospital
it will be in jail.
It seemed odd
your mother saying that word
like someone
had invented
a barking bird.
Feb 27, 2017
Feb 27, 2017 at 4:15 AM UTC
I had rung
Nima in the week
at the hospital
(the nurse
wasn't happy about it
but she brought Nima
to the phone)
she said
she'd meet me
in London
by the Embankment station
so on the Saturday
I went to the station
and waited for her
people passed me
on their way up West
or back into the tube station
going elsewhere
then I saw her
coming out from
the underground
she smiled
when she saw me
and hugged me
and we kissed
glad to see you
she said
the quacks weren't
going let me out
but they did eventually
why wasn't they going
to let you out?
I said
my mother had said
I was not to go out
but as I am over 18
they said she had
no rights over me
so they reluctantly
let me go
but I have to be back
by dusk
that's ok
I said
where do you
want to go?
I need a drink
she said
so we walked
up the road
and found a bar
on Charing Cross Road
we sat in a corner
with our drinks
and we lit up cigarettes
I should be leaving
the hospital soon
she said
if I stay off drugs
and stay with my parents
so should be able
to see you easier
at weekends
that'd be good
I said
at your parent's place?
no way there
they'd interrogate you
like the Gestapo
Nima said
we'll meet in London
some place
ok
I said
we talked on
but I was just glad
to watch her
bright eyes
and happy face.
Jan 25, 2017
Jan 25, 2017 at 3:52 AM UTC
Nima is sitting
waiting for you
in the corridor
of the hospital.
You see her there
in her dressing gown
and her hair tied
in a ponytail.
She has her arms folded,
and a dull look about her.
Thought you weren't coming,
she says.
Train was delayed,
you reply.
Let's go sit outside
in her grounds,
she says.
So you follow her out
through French windows
onto the grass
and sit on a bench.
How comes you're in
your dressing gown?
You say.
They're worried I might
try to escape,
so I have to wear
my dressing gown
and nightie,
she says.
Why might you escape?
you ask.
Mother told them
she told them
I might get out for a fix.
You nod your head:
and would you?
Possibly,
she says,
looking at you:
got a smoke?
You get out a packet
and light one
for both of you
and you sit there smoking
so what's been happening?
You ask.
Mother came
and we had a row
and she told them
I might escape to London
for a fix and they
believe her,
Nima says moodily;
she inhales deeply
you?
What you been doing?
You look past her
at other patients
walking on the grass:
work
making tools mainly,
listen to jazz,
you know usual,
you say,
too late to come
see you here.
Guess so,
but I miss you Benny;
each time I pass
that small cupboard
I think of us
having that quickie there
remember?
Yes,
you say smiling.
They keep it locked now,
Nima says,
typical bad luck;
what a life,
no you,
no ****
Dec 22, 2016
Dec 22, 2016 at 2:52 AM UTC
Standing on Westminster Bridge with Nima
I sense she is in a bad mood:
her features betray it,
her senses send out signals.
What sort of week
have you had?
I ask.
Awful without you;
I wish you lived nearer
so I could see you everyday
rather than just weekends;
that place is driving me mad,
Nima says,
turning to look at me.
I can't come in the week,
I work and by the time
I finish work and get a train
up here it would be so late,
I say.
I know, but I just
get so frustrated at the hospital;
and then Mother came
and gave me a lecture
and put me
in an even worse mood,
Nima says,
looking back
at the Thames below
where barges and small boats
and the occasional ship pass by.
Do you believe in God?
She asks me suddenly
staring at me again.
Yes of course,
I say.
Why of course,
she says,
I don't
I think its
just mumbo-jumbo.
Buses and cars pass by us
behind on the road;
people walk past
on the pavement
over the Bridge.
Then the whole universe
has no purpose,
I say,
it is all one
big pointless circus
without God,
I say,
looking at the Thames flowing.
How comes it's pointless?
She says,
I wish you'd
tell my mother that
and maybe then
she'd get off my back.
Without God
there is no real purpose
to anything;
it is all chance
and a roll of a dice
in black space,
I say.
Can we not
talk about God;
I feel depressed
enough as it is,
she says,
I want a drink
and something to eat
and a bunk up,
she adds,
taking hold
of my hand in hers.
What here?
I say.
No,
she splutters laughing,
in the Leicester Square
or somewhere.
What *** too?
I say.
That will be postponed
until we can get a room
one weekend,
she says,
becoming serious again.
Big Ben tolls
and I look at my watch:
it is 1pm.
All right
let's go then you and I
and have a bite to eat
and a drink to drink,
I say.
So we walk off the Bridge,
walk up Whitehall
and she talks of her mother
and the doctors and nurses
and wanting a fix.
I tell her about my week
and work
and the whole box of tricks.
Nov 16, 2016
Nov 16, 2016 at 4:27 AM UTC
Nima's mother
has gone,
her nagging tongue
gone with her.
Nima sits
and watches
the passing traffic
from the hospital window.
She wishes
Benny was there,
wishes he
was coming today,
but she knows
he works
in the week,
and so won't
be able to come.
It seems a long week
when he doesn't come.
She wants
to meet him
in London
if she can get
the doctor's permission
for a day release.
She wishes
it could be
for a weekend again,
but her mother
has probably
put her spoke
in the wheel
and the doctor
will only allow
a day release,
her being
a recovering
drug addict
and probable suicide.
That last weekend
with Benny
was a laugh.
The landlady
coming to the door
and Benny just
in his underwear,
and the *** good .
Now nothing,
just the nurses
and the doctors
sniffing around
like hounds.
She is so
*** starved
that at night
even the plump
night nurse
seems ****
and desirable
to a small degree.
She feels
like a small ship
on a wide wild sea.
Oct 14, 2016
Oct 14, 2016 at 3:23 AM UTC
Nima's mother came
to the side ward
where her daughter Nima
was sitting by a window
in her dressing gown
looking at the passing trains.
You look no better,
her mother said.
Better than what?
Nima said,
turning to eye her mother.
Than last time,
her mother said,
walking into the ward,
and sitting in a chair
by the bed.
You look tired.
I am tired,
always tired,
Nima said,
looking away
from her mother,
focusing on a train
going by.
Her mother sighed.
You need to get better,
how is the treatment?
Ask the quacks
they're in charge
not me,
Nima said,
watching a milk float
go by on the road
across the way.
You are a very
spoilt child and rude,
her mother said.
Have you come
to upset me or what?
Nima said.
Have you seen
that boy again?
May have,
Nima said,
turning to gaze
at her mother.
Have you or not?
Her mother said
in a firmer voice.
What is it to you
whom I see?
Nima said.
He could be
a drug pusher
and you'd be back
in dirt hole again,
her mother said.
He's not a pusher,
he has nothing to do
with drugs which
is why I like him,
Nima said,
remembering she
and Benny in
the cheap hotel bed
making out
at the weekend.
Is he our type?
Mother said.
Our type?
I doubt it very much
and am glad,
Nima said.
Her mother sighed
and stood up
and walked to where
her daughter sat
and stood over her.
If it wasn't for me
you'd be in some
cheap ward
with the others,
Mother said coldly.
When did you
see him last?
At the weekend,
Nima said,
seeing in her mind's eye
she and Benny
in the bed stark naked,
curtains drawn back
taking in the view.
What did you do?
Mother said.
Nothing much,
sat and talked,
Nima said,
remembering
the landlady coming
to the door with tea
that Sunday morning
and Benny going
to the door
in just his underwear
and she(Nima) smiling
at the landlady's stare.
Sep 7, 2016
Sep 7, 2016 at 3:53 AM UTC
I got us a room,
I said to Nima,
this weekend.
She looked at me,
then at a passing nurse,
a neat arsed girl
who caught my eyes.
So where is it?
Nima said.
In town here,
not too far,
I said.
Was it difficult?
She said,
they're a bit
staid here.
No problem,
I said.
Nima nodded her head
and crossed one
of her legs
over the other
sitting in a hospital chair,
outside in the grounds,
and I caught sight
of lovely thighs.
Got any smokes?
She asked.
Sure,
I said,
and got out
a packet of cigarettes,
and gave them to her,
after taking one myself,
you keep them,
I can buy some more,
I said.
We lit up
and sat there
in silence
for a few moments.
I prefer London,
she said,
for a cheap hotel
and life,
but we haven't
got time to waste
travelling;
I need ***
and can't wait
for Saturday to come,
but I'll have to.
I studied her:
seen your mother
since last time?
I said.
No,
not since
she found out
about me having ***
with someone
at my aunt's place,
Nima said.
Shame,
I said,
it was a nice place.
Nice bed too,
Nima said,
wonder what
my cousin'll think
if she finds out
I ****** you in it.
A nurse came to the table
and looked at Nima:
the doctor is here
to talk with you,
the nurse said.
Now?
Nima said.
Yes now,
the nurse said.
All right,
look Benny,
you best go,
I don't know how
long I'll be
with the quack.
Ok see you Saturday,
I said.
Nima walked off
with the nurse:
the nurse with a neat ****
and I watched them go
and quickly pass.
Jul 15, 2016
Jul 15, 2016 at 3:17 PM UTC