And I suppose
she just happened
to be looking this way?
Netanya said

just happened
to be catching
your eyes
and she just happened

to be wearing
that **** skimpy bikini
so that you
could see nigh on

her backside
and what she had
for dinner?
I sat outside

the five berth caravan
on the camping site
a book in my hand
(Sartre most probably)

trying to focus
on the words
I was just sitting here
and she came out

of her van
and stood there  
sunning herself
nothing to me

what she does
I said
O so the sight
of a *****

nigh on undressed
does nothing for you?
O now isn't that
a new thing

maybe I just ring
the newspapers
and tell them
the news

Benedict has lost
his eyes for **** *******
semi-undressed
huh? huh?

I looked over
at the sun coming
over the hedge
bright and brave  

tried to let her words
float over me
like a bad smell
but still she went on

bet if truth were known
you've been praying
for her to get her ****
out here so you can gawk

nothing would
surprise me
she said
with a shake

of her brunette head
do you want to go
for a swim?
I asked

putting down
the book
Where's the kids?
Down at the beach

doing what kids do
**** swim
or make sandcastles
or look for dead

fish or *****
she replied
or we could go in
and make love

on the bed
I said
she looked
at the woman

over the way
in her bikini
bright yellow
and quite skimpy

sitting in a deckchair
with her dyed
blonde hair
bit risky

she said
what if the kids return
and we're at it
lock the door

I said
she smiled
never thought
of that before

so we went
into the caravan
and I gave
one last look

at the blonde dame
in the bright
yellow bikini
whatever her name.

The young monks
pick fruit from bushes
their tonsured heads
and bent backs
offered to
the afternoon sun.

I mowed the grass
by the monks cemetery
with the old petrol mower
ploughing through
the molehills
scattering earth
in all directions.

I recall her saying
kiss me here
and I had
and felt glad.

George,
the novice monk,
laughs softly
into the huge napkin
at lunch
in the refectory,
large a bedsheets,
he said.

I liked the shaking
of his tonsured head.

Shamira
said to me
come for lunch

so I told
my mother
I'll be out
for my lunch
this Sunday

Shamira's
parent's place
was empty

just us two
sitting there
eating lunch
drinking wine

I can play
piano
I know
some
Beethoven
if you like?

Ok then
I replied

so she did
and I watched
her fingers
moving on
the keyboard

Beethoven's
Fur Elise
sounded well
after that
and a short
Chopin piece

how about
some dessert?
I asked her

have we time?
she replied
my parents
may return
anytime

always time
for dessert
I told her

so we went
to her room
and undressed
and began

then we heard
her parent's
car pull in
the front drive

o my God
she uttered
and we stopped
and got dressed

she uptight
my pecker
all distressed.

Benny's on the edge
and he can't quite
pull himself back
from it

and o sure
Sonya says
it'll be ok
he knows it's

just words
and words are like
spittle in the wind
at the moment

let's go
to the coast
and see the sea
that'll make you ok

sure a bit of seascape
it'll do the trick
and so they go
and it's a long

bus ride away
the other passengers
other riders
of a storm maybe

by the look
on the faces
anyway they go
jogging along

by the bus
he looking out
the window untalkative
she rabbiting on

like talking
was going out
of fashion  
and he shuts her out

just nods his head
now and then
and turns
and smiles

like some broken
hearted clown  
and his mind dark
as one in a storm

shutting up shutters
bolting up doors
then after an hour
they're there

the seascape
the beach full of stones
not sand
and there stand

gaping
she talking
of the time
they stayed before

and had ***
for hours on end
in that cheap hotel
back in town

but he just gazes
lifelessly
with the fixed grin
of a saddened clown.

You always were
my advance guard,

even as a kid,
way out

in front
searching out

the land ahead.
Now, you've gone

ahead again,
leaving me behind,

bringing up
the rear;

but now,
you've entered

Death's land,
and I can't

come yet,
my dear.

Abela wants to sit
and sun herself
on the beach;
I prefer the cafes

in the old city,
a book, a smoke
and a cool drink.
Others sit or lay

in the hot sun,
she says,
why not you?
You go,

I'll meet you later
in the city,
have a drink and meal
in some restaurant.

I hate being on my own.
You're not be
on your own;
there are hundreds

of other sun worshipper
there, too,
all around you.
She pulls a face,

sulks,
wanders down
to the crowded beach
with her towel

and skimpy
two-piece.
Don't blame me
if I get picked up

by some gorgeous guy,
she says,
back at me.
I watch her go,

the figure advertising
her Venus sisterhood.
I wave
and set off

for the city.
Some poor schmuck
will try his luck;
he'll not succeed;

pity.

Gareth skimmed a stone
from the beach across
the incoming waves.

That's how you do it,
he says, following
the stone's ride.

The Prior sitting
on the beach
in his black habit
and brown sandals,
stares, unperturbed.

That's how
some people see life:
something to slim over,
not delve into.

I sense the wind
touch my hair;
a bell
from the abbey
bell tower rings.

She wanted
more of me;
I sensed her
**** me off.

The Belgium monk,
lights candle
after candle
by the abbey altar.

His tonsured head,
his deep set eyes,
scanning the high hung
Christ hanging there
by two chains;
outside
the downfall
of heavy rains.