Lovely Tours
Miriam
says to me
maybe we
can look round
you and me

sure
I say

and so when
the coach stops
we get out
and wander
keeping close
to others
from our coach

the hippie
couple there
out in front
he bearded
with a band
round his head
and his girl
with long hair
hanging loose
both smoking

Miriam
takes my hand
her own hand
small and warm
pulse going
her red hair
all tight curls
her bright eyes
over me

isn't it
exciting?

I don't do
exciting
I just look
and take in
and enjoy
I tell her

we walk on
through the streets
look in shops
look at stuff

she holds things
in her hands
handles them
values them

like last night
in the coach
in Paris

lying down
in our seats
us kissing
her fingers
exploring
my hot crotch

my fingers
spidering
up her thigh
as music
on the coach
radio
eases out
Beethoven’s
piano piece
concerto
number 5
or such like

and she's there
holding me

my fingers
spidering
to her nest

lights dim low
music flows
down the rows
of coach seats

some sleeping
some talking
some of us
making out
best we can
in dim light
in Paris
over night.

Sophie stands
at the top
of the stairs

her blue thin
uniform
unbuttoned

revealing
a white top
and blue jeans

she waits there
listening
for voices

a duster
in her hand
pretending
to polish
the hand rail

where is he?
she wonders

she pushes
her fingers
through her hair
long and blonde

in the lounge
of the home
for old folk
I'm waiting
while Mr
Mash sits down

OK George?

yes I’m fine
he replies

so I go
up the stairs
to make beds
before baths

Sophie hides
by a wall
as I pass

got you now
she utters
behind me
slipping her
Polish hands
quickly round
my trim waist
nibbling
my right ear

not right here
I tell her
not right now

she nibbles
even more

Sophie go
I’ve got work
to do now
beds to make

I help you
she suggests
make the beds
try them out
we have ***

I remove
her small hands
from my waist

Matron could
come along
and see us
I tell her

she not come
Sophie says
she busy
with others

holding her
narrow wrists
for safety
my safety
I look at
her ice blue
open eyes

go polish
some hand rail
wash a floor
I suggest

we have ***
on a bed
she mumbles
which bed best?

I don't know
none of them
I tell her

I release
her thin wrists

she stands there
watching me
her blue eyes
searching me

she puts her
hands on her
narrow waist
her tight ****
bulging out

go Sophie
do some work
I suggest

she just stares

I go off
to the men's
corridor
to make beds
leaving her
behind me

I go in
to Bob's room
smell of soap
and *****
windows shut
curtains drawn

I draw back
the curtains
and open up
the window
let air in
and town sounds
and traffic

I make up
and tidy
old Bob's bed

I help you?
Sophie asks

I turn round
and she's there
by the door

we make bed
then we ****?

no such luck
I tell her
beds to make
baths to do
take the men
to the loo

you bathe me?
Sophie asks
together
be quicker

I smooth down
old Bob's bed
pump pillows

she watches
from the door

I need ***
she whispers
we do it
on Bob's bed?

got to go
empty this
bedside pan
I tell her
holding a
commode pan

she moves back
from the door
lets me pass

***** smell
filters out

it stinky
she tells me
old men stink
make me sick

best go then
I tell her
waving the
commode pan
towards her

she goes off
in a huff
her fine ****
swaying fast
as she's off
and away

I return
to my work
safe at least
for an hour
or a day.

Nima sits
on the grass
just outside
the mental
hospital

I’m with her
in a chair
watching her
finger roll
a thin smoke

her nightgown
has flowers
bright yellow
with green leaves

what's it like?
I ask her

what's what like?
she replies

this madhouse
hospital
and the staff?

she lights up
the thin smoke
and inhales

could be worse
she mutters
exhaling
drug addicts
come here now
on this wing

I see her
empty eyes
the pale skin
random spots
on her chin

not had ***
for so long
I’m almost
virginal
she tells me

how are you
in yourself?

I don't know
kind of numb
want a fix
want some ***

she looks down
at the grass

how are you?
she asks me

surviving
as one does
playing jazz
drinking *****
missing you
I reply

miss you too

she's silent
keeps smoking
a thin gap
appears in
her nightgown
near her thigh
glimpse of skin

that last ***
in London
was quite good
she mutters

I recall
her laying
on a bed
birth naked
in that small
hotel room
her garden
of Eden
hot waiting

where's it end?
I ask her

I don't know
she utters
in some room
all alone
or in one
of London’s
dark gutters.

We'd been for a bike ride
along country lanes
and lay for a while
in some field
looking at the sky
and clouds
and making out
what cloud formations
we could see

that's a dog begging
Milka said
pointing skyward

I looked at her finger
pointing up
the hand small
the finger fragile

could be I guess
I said

that one looks
like Punch
of the Punch and Judy puppets
she said

I let her go on
with her suggestions
agreeing or not
as the case was

it was being close to her
in the open air
that got to me
her arm near me
her body
a mere few inches away
the short green skirt
the white blouse
the impression
of her bra
indicated there

perfume reaching me
as she moved
(her mother's
most probably)  

birds flew overhead
as we watched the clouds

we lay out bikes
against the fence
of her father's farmhouse
and stood looking
at each other

it was a good ride
she said
I liked how we lay
in the field and cloud watched

yes it was good
I said

thank you Benny
she said

where are your brothers?

gone out I suppose
she said
did you want them?

they said we might
go see a film
I said

what film is that?

an Elvis film

she nodded
you could always take me
she said
her head leaning
to one side
her eyes gazing at me

would your mother
let you go?

Milka looked uncertain
I could ask
she said

another time maybe
I said

the last time
I had taken Milka
her mother had let her go
on the understanding
that she be grounded
for a week afterwards
(she had done something wrong
and her mother
only let her go with me
out of consideration
for me not Milka)

OK she said
she went quiet
looked at the farmhouse

best go in then
I said I wouldn't be long
she said
kissing my cheek

she walked off
towards the farmhouse
her cute **** swaying

I sighed knowing
I’d not see her
for another week.

Yehudit walked away
from the bus stop

she'd seen Benny off
it had been more
than she had thought
and she felt unbalanced
all of a sudden

she walked along
the country lane
the  moon shone
her a path
through the darkness
the hedgerows high

the bus would have gone
by now
and Benny aboard
and gone now
after the years
of being close

and now
there was another
and she paused
looking at the moon
listening to the night
feeling an ending
like a cliff edge
a sense of falling

she looked back
at the road way
the lights of the bus
moved over
the horizon of darkness

she remembered the first kiss
that Christmas years before
the meetings
the kisses
the holding and embraces
the ***

yes the ***
and she clutched
at the darkness
and ran her fingers
through the darkness

the bus had gone
and she was there
and he had gone
and another had come
and taken his place
and new love
and new sense
of touch and hold

she moved on
hugging herself
against the winter cold.

Yochana
waits for me
to get off
the school bus

she stands there
in her school
uniform
black straight hair
thin features

missed me then?
I ask her
getting out
of the bus

not really
she answers
her thin hands
are clutching
each other

can we talk?
she asks me

sure we can

so we walk
towards school
kids passing
beside us

what is it?
I ask her

Angela
my best friend
at the school
says not to
talk with you
but I must
I can't sleep
otherwise

we pause by
the school gates

what is it?
I ask her
noticing
just how thin
her frame is
her features

you kissed me
why did you?

why did I?
I wonder
watching her
on her cheek
it had been
just like that

felt like it
I answer

is that all?
nothing more?
she asks me

I like you
I tell her
think of you
all the time

so you say
she utters
shouldn't kiss
just like that

hurry up
get in school
a prefect
near the gate
says to us

what's the rush?
I ask him

just get in
he utters

we go in
the school grounds

don't kiss me
any more

she mutters
and goes off

I watch her
her thin hips
do not sway

she looks back
towards me

I blow her
a palm kiss

she grabs it
and puts it
to her breast
then walks on
out of sight

Reynard R
my best friend
comes over

who's the ****?
he asks me

just a girl

aren't they all?

some are more

girl's a girl
bit of skirt

then he talks
of football
and would I
be in goal
at lunchtime
on the field

I guess so
I reply

but it's her
Yochana
I think of
and the kiss
on her cheek
at the start
of the week.

It's all there
in her head
the words said

while at school
in the class
whispered so

just near her
and outside
other girls

say things loud
how's the ***
frumpy girl?

she lies back
on her bed
while at home

some Elvis
song next door
her sister

playing loud
on the old
gramophone

if only
John would kiss
her again

but this time
to tell her
and softer

on the lips
she blushes
she senses

the redness
in her face
her body

responding
she hates school
hates lessons

all too hard
to take in
how's the ***?

what is it?
this *** stuff?
would John know?

the window
the sun's soft
warming glow.

Yehudit sat by the pond.

The morning was warm,
sunny, white puffs of clouds
drifted overhead. Benny lay
on his back beside her, eyes
closed, hands behind his head.

She gazed at him. Not sleeping,
eyes motionless behind lids.

Resting he'd say. She took in
his blue jeans and off white
short-sleeved shirt, open necked.

She looked away, back at the pond.

Drakes and ducks swam. A swan
was over the far end. Elegant.

Can be vicious. Suppose they
can be. She put her hands around
her knees, fingers entwined.

Her skirt just over the knees.

Green stockings. Itchy. She
sniffed the air. Flowers, farm
smells over the way, water smell.

She looked at the long grass
behind her. Some months back
they'd been there. She gazing at
the sky, he on top of her. His
hazel eyes, looking into hers.

His quiff of hair on his forehead.

She liked that, the way it moved
as he did. She listening for sounds.

Footsteps in the grass, old broken
branches crunched under foot.

Voices on the wind. Wonder if
we would have? Maybe. Another
time. Too  soon. She looked away,
back to the pond. The swan was
nearing the ducks. Circles of water
spread over the pond. There was
that time further in the woods,
dense wood, tall trees, bushes.

Unexpected. Suddenly they were.

She wondering: was this how it was?
He eyes closed, moving in a motion,
entering, sensed him. Her coat on
the ground, cushioning. The tree
tops swaying, his quiff of hair,
clouds moving slow overhead.

She looked at him beside her,
eyes closed, his breathing slow,
but regular like one who dozed.

Warm midday break
by the maths block
out of sight of others
(teacher gone for lunch)

Yiska sat beside me
against the fence
hair let loose
no ribbon
her mother's borrowed scent
nice as I leaned close to her
touched her hand warm
pulsing slightly

thought about you
all through science
she said

what did you think about?

you and this
she said
being close out
of others' sight

kiss
lips wet
warm
close as close

parted
looked at each other

what do you think
my parents would say
if they could see me now?
she asked

put him down
you don't know
where he's been?

she laughed
no
Mum'd break out
of her dark mood
and most likely spank me
and Dad'd recite
some prayer or worse

I fingered her hair
smooth
soft

best they don't see you then
I said

best my brother
don't know either
because he'd tell
she said

kissed on lips again
my hand felt
along her thigh
her hand touched mine
our eyes searched
each the others'

do you think of me
in class?
she asked

and out of it
I said

she smiled
you would
she said

kissed her cheek
touched both thighs
her hands held mine

watch out
prefect over there
by the English block
she said

we parted
the sense of her lips
still wet on mine

the prefect called out
WHAT YOU DOING?

we walked along
by the wire
where he stood
looking at us
tall
thin
dark eyed

what was you two doing?
he asked

she wanted to know
the history of England
in 1066
I said

he didn't smile
he gazed at Yiska
you get back on the field
he said to her

she went off
he gazed at me
I watched her go away
looking behind
his narrow frame
she looked back
and blew me a kiss

girls aren't allowed
with boys
off the playing field
he said
what were you doing?

nothing but exchanging words
I said

he frowned
you could get into trouble
for this
he said
but seeing
as you were just
talking with her
I’ll let you off this time
now scoot
he said

I walked away
he watched me go
in the distance
on the playing field
I saw Yiska
with her fiends

that's the way
the world goes
I mused
maybe how it ends.

She stopped by our cottage
on the way down the road
to the school bus
Yehudit and her sister

my sister and her sister
walked ahead talking
she walked beside me
at a slower pace

my mother
quizzed me last night
Yehudit said

what about?
I asked

you and why
we're together so much
and what was going on?

what did you say?

said we were just friends
and that we were in the form
at school and were
necessarily together  
but she wasn't convinced
she said there were other reasons

I looked at her beside me
her brown hair tied
by a simple blue bow
her eyes focusing on me

someone ratted on us?
but who?

my sister most probably

why though?

she's mother little pet
we walked on
to the bus stop
in silence

I watched her sister in front
shorter maybe
more beautiful
but mouthy and spirited

we stood waiting
for the school bus
Yehudit staring at her sister

I stood next to her
our hands nearly touching

other kids
were at the bus stop too
so she said nothing
for a while

then the bus came
and we got on
and I sat next to Goldfinch

Yehudit sat next
to her sister at the front

Goldfinch talked about football
and who played what game
and who won

I watched Yehudit
talking to her sister
her sister blushed
and looked back at me
then she looked away again

Yehudit stared out
the window
at the coming down of rain.

She waited for me
by the water tower
her bike by the hedge
her hands on her hips
her dark hair
hanging loose
untied by ribbons
or bow

I’d finished
my schoolboy work
at the farm
weighting milk
and cleaning out
the cow sheds

been waiting
she said

had to finish my work
I said

you said 1pm
and it's 1.20pm now

she looked at me
with an unhappy face

can't be helped
I said

where we going?
she said
are your parents home?

well my mother is
my father's at work
in the woods
a few miles away

where can we go then?
she said moodily

there's an empty cottage
down the lane
back there
I said

can we get inside?

no it's locked
but there's a shed

she sighed
maybe spiders or such
she said

maybe there are
maybe mice too

yuk don't like them

where to go then?
I said  

she got her bike
and we walked towards
the cottage where I lived

must be some place
we can go
she said

I knew what she was after
and I didn't want to
at least not yet

what about the woods?
she asked
must be a quiet spot there

I guess so
I replied

so we walked up the drive
a muddy drive with trees
on either side and bushes  

wasn't there a hollow tree
up here somewhere?
she said
that one we went to
a few months back?

I looked ahead
I remembered the last time
I took her there
she started to undress
and I told her it might be
unwise in case
some one came along
she wasn't happy that time
I knew she wanted
to have ***

but what if some one
came along?
I said

she had been moody
for hours afterwards

it's up on the left
I said

can we go there?

what for?

you know
we could have ***

I sighed
is that all
you think about?

when I'm with you
she said

what about nature
the trees
birds
butterflies?

what about them?
just because that other girl
you see is a dull cow
doesn't mean I have to be

she's not dull
she's full of knowledge
about nature
and wild life

O big deal
Lizbeth said

I stopped on the drive
looked back
from where we had come from

well where now?

where's the hollow tree?

up further
on the left
I said

so she walked on
and I followed
studying her swaying hips
and black dress
black stockings
and shoes muddied
by the muddy drive

the hollow tree came up
on our left
and she ran up to it
and went inside

I followed her
determined not to
no matter how much
she moaned and tried.

She's pointing
at some bird
on a pond
in a wood
half a mile
from the farm

a moorhen
she tells me

it walks odd
I reply

I like it
like its eggs
the colour
she relates

she's happy
her eyes bright

I watch her
her brown hair
the grey dress
the black boots
thin figure

Daddy says
all creatures
are God's gift

she watches
the moorhens
some swimming
some walking

she has fine
bone structure
a fine nose

I guess so
I reply

we walk near
her hand soft
white near mine
close to touch

don't suppose
a London
boy sees them?
she asks me

I haven't
before now
I tell her
just pigeons
and sparrows
in London
except parks
then there's ducks
and such things

she walks near
the pond's edge
be careful
she tells me
a child drowned
here last year

I gaze out
at the pond
imagining
the dead child

my father
said the prayers
at the church
afterwards
very sad
Jane says

she's buried
in the small
church's ground
I’ll show you
when we're there
the next time

I recall
the last time
at the church
in the grounds
watching clouds
overhead
laying down
with the dead.

Fay walks out
of the flat
onto the
red brick and
grey concrete
balcony

her father's
angry words
in her ears
and her head
his hand mark
on her thigh
red throbbing
making cry

it's Sunday

below her
the empty
tarmac Square

pigeons there
no one else
excepting
the milkman
with his horse
and milk cart
and bottles
rattling

flats all round
opposite
and beside
she sees it
watery
as from a
goldfish bowl

she gently
rubs her thigh
all because
she didn't
know the Creed
in Latin
all way through
of the mass

the strict nuns
at her school
had told him
of this fact

some one moves
on the Square
she watches
young Baruch
with brown hair
grey pullover
and blue jeans
walk along
holding his
catapult

she gazes
he looks up
waves to her
come on down
he beckons
mouthing words

she wonders
if she should
her father
doesn't like
the Jew boy
stay away
from the Jew
he tells her

she waves back
at Baruch
should she go?
she likes him
makes her laugh
tells her things

she goes down
the stairway
rushes down
excited

she feels safe
with Baruch
her fears leave
disappear

where are you
going to?
she asks him

any where
I want to
he replies
the whole world's
my oyster

she smiles now
the red thigh
still throbbing
can I come?
she asks him

if you like
what about
your old man
won't he mind?

she stares at
hazel eyes
and brown hair

'spect he will
she replies

she shows him
her red thigh

what's that for?
Baruch asks

not knowing
all of the
Latin Creed
she mutters

is that all?
does God care?
Baruch asks

I don't know
Fay replies
looking up
at the flat

let's go then
adventure
beckons us
he tells her

they walk off
down the *****
cross the road
then walk up
Meadow Row
quietly
to the site
of bombed out
wrecked houses
and remains

he picks up
small round stones
loads up his
catapult

flies at cans
or bottles
left behind
by drunkards

she watching
as the sound
echoes loud
in the air
breaking in
her Sabbath
smashing glass
crashing cans

your go now
he tells her
handing her
his weapon
the wooden
catapult
and a stone

she fires
at a can
BANG it echoes

a voice shouts
IT'S SUNDAY
TIME OF REST
GO AWAY

Baruch smiles
best be off

and they walk
on to the
New Kent Road
he holding
her thin hand

she thinking
about her
father's rage

Baruch thinks
of her hand
warm and soft
and looks out
for cowboys
the bad guys
ambushing
from corners
of this new
Dodge City

she feels safe
holding hands
12 years old
as is he

as they walk
their own new
London Town
Dodge City.

I have you still, my son:
photos, memories,
things you touched,
where you stood,
where you sat,
where you'd been,
where you were at.

I have you still:
tee-shirts, shirts,
wallet, black and leather,
empty now, passport
with your photo inside,
other things of yours
left behind, inherited,
gifts maybe from the dead.

But not the you
I can hug or embrace,
or talk to quietly,
face to face,
not the you
with chuckled laughter,
dry humour and wit,
not any of that,
not one bit.

I have you still:
dreams in black and white
or coloured rather weird
as dreams are, nightmares
walking the dark corridors
of the hospital,
the bed at the end,
you there swollen,
hard of breath,
awaiting death.

O guess what I've heard
Anne said
that fat nun
the one with moustache
well she's leaving

I looked at Anne
her one leg swinging  
as she talked
the stump of the other leg
hidden by her red skirt
where's she going?

God knows
and he's not said
maybe she's going
to be a missionary
or join the Tiller Girls
and dance for a living

I smiled
the other kids
were on the lawn
on the slide or swing
some were on the grass
playing or sitting talking
Sister Bridget was talking
to the tiny Sad girl

Anne gazed at them
get me out of here Kid
the sight of them
makes me
want to throw up

where to?
I asked

the beach
yes along by the beach
let me see the sea
she said

I sat there looking
at her wheelchair
now?

yes now Kid
I want out of here

I looked over
at Sister Bridget the nun
what if she sees me
pushing you out
the back gate?

let her see what
she wants  
I want to see
the fecking sea
she put on her
Don't Argue With Me face

Ok
I said
and got up
from the chair
and began pushing
the wheelchair
on to the path
leading away
from the nursing home
to the back gate

she wasn't heavy
but I was not over big
and thin
as a *** paper

where are you going?
the nun asked
coming over
to where we were

the Kid here
is taking me
for a short jaunt

where to?

just the end of the garden
through the avenue of trees
I said
see the birds and flowers

the nun looked at Anne
is that right?
she asked

would he lie?
Anne said

the nun looked at me
her dark eyes
peering through me
I tried to look innocent

well don't be long
lunch will be at 1pm
then it's afternoon sleep

Anne said nothing
put on her
lost little girl features

ok Sister

the nun walked off
I pushed on

keep an eye
on the penguin
don't think she bought
the tale

I pushed her along the path
between the trees  

is she looking?

no
I said
she's gone in

good let's get a move on
to the sea Kid
to the sea

so I pushed her on
through the gate
hoping we wouldn't be long
and not be late.

Ingrid stands
this evening
of coldness

her small hands
in pockets
of her coat

I inside
Old Neptune's
fried fish shop
getting 2
bags of chips
6d each

is that all?
the man asks

yes that's all
unless you
have any
free crackling

not tonight
he tells me

I go out
with my chips
the bags warm
in my hands

here you are
here's your chips
I tell her

taking hands
out of her
blue rain coat
she takes hold
of her bag

nice and warm
she mutters
embracing
the chip bag

we stand there
*******
the hot chips
into mouths

fanning our
mouths with hands
to cool down
the hot chips

buses pass
on the road
big red things
with people
gazing out

we walk up
the pavement
eating chips
with fingers

to the new
ABC
cinema
and gaze
at the billboards
photographs
of film stars

I could be
a film star
too one day
Ingrid says

her fingers
half way out
of her mouth
mild buck teeth
wild brown hair
and brown eyes

sure you could
I tell her

a film star
an actress
in big films
she dreams on

I eat chips
the warmness
swallowing
down my throat

bright dresses
and red shoes
she goes on

maybe kid
I tell her
you'll be that

but just now
you're a girl
eating chips
9 years old
just like me
full of dreams
full of hopes

yes guess so
she mutters
walking back
pass the shops
the bright lights
from windows
buses pass
big and red

she dreams of
big film parts
nice dresses
those red shoes

I think of
the Wild West
wild saloons
big shoot outs
with bad guys
guns smoking
Dodge City
red eye drinks
and sweet smokes

we walk home
down the dark
Meadow Row

our chips gone
fingers warm
but greasy

mine clutching
a silver
six shooter
at my side

she licking
her fingers
one by one
another night
going home
after chips
having fun.

If I smile or break into laughter,
don't think I’ve forgotten you
or the hereafter;
it's just a way

to get through each day
of deep sorrow,
and getting up
to a dark tomorrow,

knowing you won't be there
with your cool stare,
and huggy bear walk,
and soft-toned talk;

and you know, my son,
the value of laughter
with your own
sense of humour

and quiet wit;
so if you see me smile
or hear my laughter,
it's just my medicine

to get through it,
this sadness of grief
and sense of loss
until the hereafter.

I saw her on the lower steps
of the stairway
of the flats
on my way
to buy bread rolls
for breakfast

my mother's money
warm in my palm

what are you doing here?
I asked

Enid looked at me
she licked her swollen lip
Dad told me to go out
she said

why's that?

she looked out
at the Square
he's in one of his moods
says he doesn't want
to see my face  

I sat down beside her
have you had breakfast?
I asked

she shook her head
he said I wasn’t to go back
until he'd left for work  

want to come with me
to the baker shop
to buy bread rolls?

she hugged herself
against the morning chill
grey sky above
may as well
she said

so we walked
through the Square
and down the *****
to the baker shop

she looked cold
the shop was warm inside
and she looked around
at the bread and cakes
and other items on shelves
and the smell
of warm bread
in the air

I asked for the rolls
and ordered two more
and gave the man the money
and we left
with a big white bag of rolls
warm in my hands

we walked back
up the *****
and through the Square
and walked to the entrance
to the flats
she sat down on the steps

aren't you coming for breakfast?

she looked at me
what if my dad
looks for me?

he'll look for no one then
won't he?

she looked uncertain
won't your mum mind
me being there?

of course not
she likes you
I said

she hesitated
are you sure?

yes of course I am
so she followed me
up the stairs
to my parent’s flat
on the third floor

we entered
Mum looked at Enid and me
extra for breakfast
I said
and I bought extra rolls

Mum nodded and said
come in Enid
get yourself warm
you look frozen

I gave my mother the rolls
and with Enid walked
to the sitting room

the radio was on
playing some music

I sat at the table
by the window
and Enid sat beside me

her swollen lip
getting bigger
a bluey bruise
showing on her cheek
and on a Monday
first day
of the week.

Lydia
unwraps her
Kit Kat bar
and breaks off
a finger
and eats it

I watch her
like some pup
hoping she
will break off
a finger‭
for Benny

it's morning
the sun bright
coming through
the narrow gap
between flats

she bites off
more finger
her small teeth
less white now

want a bit‭?
she asks me
offering
half finger

that'd be nice
I reply

I take it
and mouth it
and eat it
explosion
of biscuit
chocolate
and sweetness

she eats more
as we walk
through the Square

my sister's
Lydia
informs me

you stole it‭?

borrowed it
I’ll buy one
just for her
when I can

does she know‭?
I ask her

not just yet
but I will
I promise

she gives me
a finger
of chocolate
I’m paid off

now she eats
the last piece
******* up
the paper
she puts it
in the small
dress pocket

it's all gone
we the two
partakers
of the crime
lick our lips
and walk on

it was nice
the feeling
the warm taste
chocolate
crisp biscuit

won't she know‭?
I ask her

not just yet
too busy
in our bed
she tells me
with the Spiv
smart boyfriend

we walk down
the wide *****
from the Square
gazing up
Meadow Row
where the Sun
smiles at us

I sat opposite her
on the train
the carriage rocking
side to side
as trains do

the art gallery visit
still in mind
Matisse Cut-Outs
and else beside
to please the eye

I gazed at her slouched there
against the carriage side
sleeping
mouth open
fish out of water mode
clutching her pink handbag
a necklace of sorts
about her neck

her short shirt
raised up her thighs
her legs askew

Asian I thought
black hair straight
cheek level

the guy beside her
unconcerned
looked away

wonder what she's dreaming of
if she dreams at all?
I thought
whom she loved
and if she did
and where she lived
and where she came
from and when
and did she prefer
girls or men?

I drank her in
each aspect
of her being
from black haired top
to slip on shoes
and all between
that could be seen  

the carriage rocked
it's gentle rock
her head moved
in a no not now fashion
her mouth still open
taking in air
of crowded space
that snub nose
upon her face

the guy beside her
glanced at her
and gazed at me
then out the window
went his gaze

I wondered whom
she held in dreams
or waking life
was she some one's lover
some guy's wife?

not at all romantic
in that pose
child-like in innocence
a sleeping babe I suppose
I mused

I studied how her legs
slow swayed
to the train's motion
such stocky thighs
not fat or flabby
but kind of welcoming
to the eye

still she slept
mouth closing briefly
then open again
to capture air

some dream taking place
behind the eyes
and in her mind

I sat opposite her
on the train
the art gallery visit
some distant place
this was my new art
this dame's vacant
sleeping face.

Janice folds
her new dress
quite neatly
and lays it
in the drawer
and shuts it

school next week
she tells me
nice to have
new clothes then

guess it is
I reply
got new shirts
and a pair
of trousers
my mother
got for me
from The Cut

I could hear
Janice's
grandmother
working in
the kitchen
getting us
some dinner

I like that
lemon dress
that you wear
I tell her

why that one?

the colour
lights you up

Gran told me
it's too short
to wear now
Janice says

that's a shame
I liked it

I’ve got lime
with flowers
Gran got me

she shows me
the lime dress
which she holds
against her
what you think?

it's ok

just ok?

just ok
I liked your
lemon one

it's too short
Gran told me
what is wrong
with the lime?

the flowers
too *****

too *****?
I'm a girl
*****’s good
Janice  says

she adjusts
her beret
the red one
she puts down
the lime dress
brushes it
hangs it up

I look out
the window
at a train
passing by
on the bridge

dinner time
her gran calls

the train's gone
janice takes
the beret
off her head
her blonde hair
shoulder length
her blue eyes
watery

I like lime
she tells me

we go off
eat dinner
after grace
we eating
I watching
Janice's
sallow face.

She’s gone to sleep
Again, as she
Often does, but
This time on a
Train. Maybe she

Dreams of distant
Isles, bright sunshine
Beaches, clothed in
A bright green, ***
Gripping, skimpy

Bikini and
Surrounded by
To die for men,
Or maybe she
Dreams of her first

Date, the bought for
Her flowers, the
Big box of chocs,
The quick given
Kisses and the

Mismanaged ****
Or perhaps she
Dreams of the lost
Baby and the
Last long hold, or

Maybe she dreams
Of her husband
Beating her up
As he often
Did and leaving

Her out in the
Midnight’s cold, or
Perhaps she dreams
All these dreams in
Disorderly

Sequence like some
Nightmare show, all
Mixed up, drawn out
And slow. She’s gone
To sleep in a

Train, full of dark
Sorrow as she
Often is, so
Maybe she’ll not
Wake up again.

Helen sat next to me
on the grass
outside Banks House

I was attempting to open
a bottle of lemonade

can I have a drop?
she asked

sure
once I get the thing open
I said

she looked around her
then over at the coal wharf
where coal men
were filling up
their trucks and wagons
with sacks of coal

I unscrewed
the lid of the bottle
and handed her
the bottle

she took it
with both hands
and took a swig
then another

pearls of sweat
sat on her forehead
her brown wet hair stuck
to her face at the sides
it was a hot summer

here
she said
handing me the bottle

I wiped the top
and took a swig

that's better
she said
I was really thirsty
my tongue felt
like the bottom
of my baby sister's pram

I handed her the bottle again
she wiped the top
and swigged some more

I watched her
as she drank
then looked away
and looked at the flat's
behind us
no curtains moved
no curtain twitchers
looked at us

she gave me back the bottle
and I ******* the lid
back on
and placed it
beside me on the grass

I’m getting
a new school dress tomorrow
she said
Mum said I’ve outgrown
my old one

I gazed at her
she was wearing
a tomato stained white blouse
and grey pleated skirt
white ankle socks
and black scuffed shoes

I may get new blouses
if they can afford them
otherwise I’ll have to wear
those second hand ones
my mum got
from a jumble sale
not that I mind of course
but new ones
are always better

I took a white paper bag
from the grass
and said
want a bun?

is it fresh?

this morning's

OK thank you
and she took a bun
from the bag
and ate into it

I took one
and ate it
piece by piece
picking out the currants

I need shoes too
she said
but don't expect
to get them yet awhile
will have to
make them do

a horse drawn
coal wagon
moved out
of the coal wharf

Helen still talked

I watched the horse
trotting along the road
he didn't seem strained
pulling the heavy load.

Netanya
sits crossed legged
in the bar
(Irish bar
off Whitehall)

her red dress
above knees
the black shoes
pointy toes
and flat heels

I sit there
beside her

loud speakers
easing out
the music
of Ireland

what a night
she utters

never had
such a night

I sip beer
she sips wine

did you count?
I ask her

studying
her features
the slightly
broken nose
now mended
the green eyes
holding me

5 or 6
times it was
she tells me

feels like it
I tell her

she takes out
cigarettes
and offers
one to me
then herself
and lights up
and inhales

I’m 40
she tells me
but I feel
years younger

she looks it
her dark hair
set down loose

and you are?
she asks me

28
I reply

she smiles now
not thinking
about her
bald husband
miles away

we had ***
in the small
hotel bed
many times
seemingly
almost one
big session

then she moves
uncrosses
her fine legs

glimpse briefly
Eve's Eden
paradise
sight of thigh
paradise
ease a sigh.

Some nights, my son,
I stare into the dark,
replaying those last scenes
by your hospital bed,
over and over,
inside my head,
like a gum shoe detective
searching through the debris
of memories for clues
to a hideous crime.

Some nights though,
I sleep right through,
looking in my dreams
for images of you.
What else
can a father do?

Some nights are sleepless
to a great degree,
twisting and turning
like a boat at sea,
rising up and sitting
in another place,
putting together,
like a jigsaw,
piece by piece
your smiling face.

Some nights
I want to drift away
and be where you are,
to hold and talk again,
whether near or far,
or just to sit and stare
and just be pleased
to see you and be there.

Some nights, my son,
I lay awake
waiting for the new dawn
and light to break,
recalling to mind
your young days,
the mischievous boy,
the teasing little brother,
the young Sky-walker,
the adventure lover.

Some times on the odd night,
I just get up
and sit and write,
tap in the words,
trying to pin it all down,
trying to get through
the dark waters
and not slip off
into the dark depths
and drown.

We were allowed out
of the minibus
for an hour
to explore the view
and have some refreshments
or explore where we will

don’t get lost
said the driver and guide

does he think
we're complete idiots?
Dalya said

I’ve been to Glasgow
and never got lost
and I had my brother
with me at the time
and he couldn’t find
his way to his backside
without someone
guiding his hands

let's have a look round Neustadt
I said

she walked beside me
leaving the mini bus behind
she was wearing
a red patterned top
and her blue jeans
that clung to her thighs
like a drowning sailor

not much to look at
she said
I’ve seen more to see
inside my brother’s ear

are you always this happy?
I asked

what do you mean
I am happy
just saying
what I thought

we came to a bridge
and a river
and stood there
looking at the boats
and water

O you should have seen
the Yank girl last night
O what a sight it was
she getting ready for bed
in the cramped tent
and I was laying there
already in my night clothes
trying not to look
and she was wearing
these tight *******  
that looked like
some kind
of torture contraption
red they were
with words on

what did the words say?
I asked

I don't know
it was in German
could have said
way in for all I know

anyway why would you
be interested
in what it says
on a girl's *******?

might be instructions
to a treasure trove

Dalya didn't smile
but took out a cigarette
and lit up

I lit up a smoke too
and watched boats
on the water

she's not your type
Dalya said

what's my type?

you're out of her league
she'd not let you
smell her perfume
let alone get inside
her ***** underwear

I like you
I'm not interested in
other girls
I said

just a well
she'd not be for you
she inhaled deeply
and stared ahead
at the water

anyway
when you are with me
in my tent
and she's out
can you not make
so much noise
I’m sure the Polish woman
suspects

what makes you
think that?

her look
the way she studies me
when we're together
that kind of
what a naughty girl
you are gaze

I smiled

no laughing matter
just because
her daughter's nun like
doesn't mean
I have to be

we walked on
across the bridge
some fine buildings
to our left

Dalya certainly wasn’t
nun like
the other night
I thought
remembering her
opened up
like a conquered city
waiting for the pillaging
and ***
her hands gripped tight
around my neck

the warmth
the perfume
the soft skin
she like some
harbour pilot
guiding me in.

It's like the world stopped,
like someone
turned off the lights,

like some kid
in a dark room
full of frights.

Where, my son,
do I go from here?

The horizon is dull
and unclear.

I played
the Led Zeppelin album
you bought me last.

Seem to see your ghost,
can't catch it,
can't move so fast.

It's like the seasons
have all gone wrong,
like emptiness
has become the norm,

and can't recall
the lyrics
of my favourite song.

Like a child left
in a storm,
full of lights
and sounds,

and ancient woes,
trying to see
where the dead ones go.

Sonya was reading
some Kierkegaard book

I was reading Dostoevsky
both laying on the bed
in a cheap hotel in Paris

the window was open
street sounds outside
traffic
people
snatches of conversations

want to go out
for a coffee?
I asked

if you're paying
she said

I paid last time

she turned a page
you're the male
you're supposed to pay
she said

I put down the book
and looked up
at the ceiling
I thought this was equal time
for women
woman's rights and all that?

what's that got to do with it?

equal paying of bills
I said

she sighed
and put down her book
you always
have to make arguments
always have to see things
so **** black and white
she said

do you want coffee or not?
I said

she turned over
and away from me
her backside
just about cover
by her tight skirt

why do women
have to sulk
when things
don't go their way?

who said
they're not going my way?

your **** says so

what's the matter
with my ****?

it isn't so pretty
as your face

she turned back to me
and gazed at me
it's always either or
with you isn't it?
she said

you've been reading
too much Kierkegaard
I said

you want *** again?

I looked at her lips
her *******
her eyes blue
as washed out blue can be
sure if it's on offer

well it won't be
if you keep on
with this equal thing
she said

you like ***?

she frowned
yes of course

well I do too
so that's equal
so what's the problem?

she lay back down
on the bed
I’ll have black coffee
and I’ll pay
she said
but you get the food

I smiled
OK if that's
what you want

can we go see
some art afterwards?

sure
I said

she kissed me
and I kissed her
and coffee was forgotten
as we decided
to rock
the cheap old bed.

Abela
sips her wine
wipes her mouth
looks around

love it here
Dubrovnik
she utters

I sip beer
turn a page
of my book
poetry
D. Thomas
Welsh poet

lovely wine
why don't you
try the wine?

I like beer
I reply

why do you
have to read?
she mutters

why do you
have to talk?

she cold stares
sips more wine

cigarette?
I suggest

get your own
she replies

I sip beer
close the book

nice place this
beer's good too
and that girl
that waitress
she's good too

what's so good
about her?
what's she got
that I’ve not?

I don't know
not seen her
undress yet

I light up
a hand rolled
cigarette

those two guys
she tells me
at the bar
the other night
are gay guys

I inhale
hold the smoke
exhale it

you think so?

it stands out
a wide mile

you liked him
the dark one
his dark eyes
wavy hair

she closes
her eyelids
zips her lips

what makes you
think they're gay?

I saw them
lip kissing
she whispers

we lip kiss
we hand kiss
we thigh kiss
we breast kiss

THAT'S ENOUGH
she bellows

I think they're
nice fellows
I tell her
not my scene
but nice guys

Abela
drains her wine
glares at me

another wine?
I ask her
cigarette?

I want gin

I signal
a waiter
one gin please
I tell him
and whiskey

he goes off

she lights up
a French smoke

about the girl
the waitress
just a joke
I tell her

(but the girl
the waitress
occupies
a small room
in my mind)

how days go
she utters
how time flies.

Yiska slides
a knife blade
across her

soft pink palm
a thin line
of blood comes

seeping out
she watches
the blood seeps

down her arm
I watch her
and the knife

but am too
drugged up to
be alarmed

whose's the knife?
I ask her
thin red lines

move downward
I stole it
from the tray

supper time
while the nurse
was busy

with the pills
she tells me
want the knife?

not just now
too drugged up
I tell her

blood drips down
to the floor
pitter pat

Yiska no
a nurse calls
from the door

of the room
put it down
Yiska stares

at the nurse
then at me
up to you

I mutter
the nurse stares
anxiously

another nurse
comes along
don't Yiska

the nurse says
place down please
Yiska sighs

long and deep
then hands me
the handle

of the knife
I give it
to the nurse

the fat nurse
takes Yiska
by the arm

to a room
at the side
marked in red

MEDICAL
they go in
the door shuts

I stand there
while the nurse
the thin one

cleans the floor
of the blood
I study

the knife blade
Yiska's blood
settled there

best be off
the nurse says
how'd she get

the **** knife?
I am dumb
with the words

pack them off
in my head
as I walk

to gaze out
the window
at the fields

and tall trees
white with snow.

It's Paris
Miriam
says to me

looking out
the window
of the coach

her perfume
tending to
overwhelm

my senses
beside her
her finger

pointing
at the sights
as we pass

the Eiffel
Tower thing
lit up loud

isn't it
wonderful?
she exclaims

just to think
of artists
who once lived

and worked here
Picasso
and Van Gogh

and writers
like Miller
Hemingway

Marcel Proust
she pauses
looks at me

and who else?
what perfume
do you use?

I ask her
just some stuff
of my Mum's

she gave me
she answers
well not quite

gave to me
I kind of
borrowed it

the other day
while Mum was
out shopping

I study
her profile
her snub nose

rosy cheeks
rose bud lips
the slim neck

small tight ****
she has tons
of perfume

she wouldn't
miss any
Miriam

rattles on
is it good?
enticing

I tell her
she smiles wide
looks at me

parts her lips
moves her tongue
over them

Ezra Pound
was here too
I tell her

the poet?
she asks me
that's the guy

wasn't he
a fascist?
I guess so

but he wrote
The Cantos
her lips close

she turns round
Paris’s so
romantic

she utters
I lean close
breath her in

the perfume
inviting me
to drink in.

Where you been?
Nima asks

train was late
I reply

the ward smells
of *****
and bodies
and nurses
disinfect
up the nose

Nima sits
in a chair
by her bed
in a white
dressing gown
her bare feet
on the floor

what'd you bring?

cigarettes
chocolate
usual stuff
I tell her
putting them
on her bed

need a drag
she utters

so we go
out of large
French windows
and sit down
in two chairs
in the grounds

we light up
cigarettes
and exhale

how's it going?
I ask her

miss my fix
and hot ***
she mutters
between drags
miss music
miss Hendrix

she looks out
at the grounds
the tall trees
the bushes
a porter
walking by
two doctors
over the way
talking loud

glad you came
she tells me

glad to come
I reply

she looks thin
her hair lank
no make up
cigarette
held between
*******

she tells me
her parents
didn't show
had to go
off some place
with others
Nima exhales

you know what?
they're doctors
yet don't come
to see me

I don't know
what to say
so I say
not a thing

watch a bird
swooping low
gracefully
black winged bird
with large beak

I need ***
nima says
suddenly
I need you
inside me

her dark eyes
eat me in

no place though
I tell her

she inhales
the white smoke
blows it out
making rings

someday soon
she utters
in London
in some room
some hotel
if they let
me go out
next weekend
with a pass

let's hope so
I reply
studying
the sun's light
in her right
gazing eye.

I ride on my bike to the farmhouse
with Milka's brothers
after Saturday morning work

we dismount
and I wait with my bike
while they go in

there is a dull sun
and a wind coming across
the fields

won't you come in?
Milka's mother asks
gesturing to me
from the doorway

sure I will
I say
and walk to the house
and go into the warm kitchen

cup of tea and toast?
she asks me
the boys have gone upstairs
to change

yes that'd be nice
I say

I look about the kitchen
at the pots and pans
and shelves and cups
and the large oven range
and the table and chairs
in the corner  

sit down Benny
she says

I sit down
and she is busy
with cups and toast

I listen out to hear
if Milka is about
I watch her mother
fuss about with things
to one side

Milka about?
I ask

if she knows you're here
she'll be up
and dressed in seconds
the mother says
not turning around

I hear voices upstairs
laughter
shouts
and then Milka
come down
and into the kitchen

they said you were here
and I didn't believe them
as they are always
teasing me about you
she says

where have you been?
her mother asks

tidying my room
like you have asked me too
Milka says

about time too
never seen such a mess hole
when I was a young girl
we had to keep
our rooms tidy
the mother says

Milka pulls a face
behind her mother's back
it's done now
she moves towards me
and kisses me quickly
on the cheek

I hold her hand
and squeeze

I suppose you
want breakfast now?

yes please
Milka replies

her mother says
what do you want?

I'll get it
Milka says

she goes off to the larder
and I watch her move
her blue skirt
and white top
the buttons open
at the neck too low
(her mother would say)
the legs
the way she sways
her hips
as she walks

here you are Benny
the mother says
and hands me
a plate of buttered toast
and a cup of tea

thank you
I say

and she moves off
to the other room
and I hear her move about

Milka says
didn't know
you were coming here today?

thought you might
like to see the new Elvis film
I say

she smiles
sure if Mum'll let me
she says

she goes off
to see her mother
in the other room

I eat the toast
and sip the tea
and listen

there are hushed voices
and few sighs
then more voices

it'll be my treat
I say
I’ll treat her

Milka and her mother
come into the kitchen

it's not that
the mother says
it's just that
she's been grounded
the weekend
for misbehaviour

I look at Milka
who pouts her lips
and looks at me

I see
I say

and look at the mother
she gazes at me
and her eyes
are soft and brown

and she says
but I don't see why
you should be deprived
of her company
because of her naughtiness
she will not be allowed out
next Saturday though
she says

Milka beams
and her face lights up

and I say
thank you
I’ll have her back
in good time

the mother stares
at her daughter
and I mean about next week
she says

I know
Milka says

her mother goes off
to the other room
we kiss
and she goes off
upstairs to get ready

I finish my toast
and tea
thinking to myself
lucky me.

Bird song
and the sun
high in the sky

and Yehudit seeing
from your bedroom window
the garden
and the orchard

you can see
the bus go by from here
she said
gives us time

no bus yet awhile
I said

she looked back at me
on the bed
my mother thinks
I am working
all day today
but I have a half day off
Yehudit said

I gazed at her figure
the hips
the waist
the hands
on the window sill
her hair brown
and loose

we have time then
I said

she nodded
and came to the bed
and lay down
beside me

how much time?
she asked

hour or so
before the bus comes
I said

she looked
into my eyes

there's a guy at work
I like
she said
well he doesn't work there
he delivers stuff most days

I looked at her blue eyes
does he know
you're here with me?

no of course not
we're not an item
I just said I like him
she said

maybe you
should be with him
and not me
I said

I am only saying
she said
I like you too
but we don't see each other
that often these days
and I see him
every day

I lay on my back
and stared at the ceiling
so what happens now?
I said

we could make love
she said
I chose to see you today
I could have gone home

two years ago
it was just us
and that first kiss
I said

we were kids then
and at school
now we're at work
and see other people

I guess

I smelt her perfume
not her usual
different
more powerful

she kissed me
let's make us
she said
not argue

our lips met
her hand
touched my thigh

O heck
I said
to hell
with this other guy

and there was bird song
and the sun
was high in the sky.

Yochana
sitting next
to the blonde

Angela
is in front
of the class

at the back
of the class
Reynard R

sits with me
while Miss G
is yakking

about Bach
his music
walking slow

between rows
peering deep
through her

thick lens specks
Yochana
looks at me

and mouths words
do not kiss
me again

I smile back
and mouth words
it was good

she stares back
unsmiling
while Miss G

stops yakking
glares at me
then looks at

Yochana
this lesson
is on Bach

and music
Miss G says
not ***-tat

Yochana
blushes red
looks away

I watch her
sitting there
her figure

her shoulders
her black hair
as Miss G

goes to her
gramophone
and puts on

boring Bach
as I think
of holding

Yochana
and kissing
on the cheek

or her lips
tomorrow
or next week.

Laying down
on her bed
Elaine thinks

of her day
while at school
other kids

the things spoke
not in jest
or in joke

boys and girls
hey Frumpy
been kissed yet?

who'd kiss you?
their laughter
or silence

just staring
the ceiling
is off white

in her room
curtains drawn
a spider

big and black
lingers there
by the rail

she wants John
to kiss her
once again

but then not
she's confused
feelings mixed

part wanting
the kissing
but part not

other girls
talk of boys
how ****

and how hot
she's silent
feeling not.

Who's the ****?
Reynard asks
as Yiska
walks away
her bottom
cool swaying
her grey skirt

a girl friend
I tell him

another one?

who's counting?

what's she like?

innocent
as flowers
(she wasn't
but said so
to no one)

time wasters
Reynard says
watching her
join her friends
on the grass
of the field
by the school

I watch her
different
year younger
than I was

football then?
he asks me
turning round
while there's time?

I smell her
still near me
OK then
I reply
walking on
to the game
just started

blow a kiss
back to her
she catches
with both hands
to her heart

here Benny
someone calls
throws a ball
I take part.

You sit next to Randal
By the river. He brings
Out the postcards he’d

Bought. Best send one
To your mother, he says,
Don’t want her worrying

About you and how you’re
Doing. You take the offered
Postcard and put in on your

Knees. Amsterdam. Randal’s
Been here before, he knows
The place well. Came last

Year with the French girl.
You wonder why he dropped
Her soon after their return.

Maybe she wouldn’t let him
Or maybe she did too often
And that put him off. You

Look at the picture on the
Front of Amsterdam at dawn.
Ann Frank’s Haus yesterday.

You remember that. Haunted
You; you felt some aspects
Of her were still there. What

To write to Mother? Why bother?
Part of you thinks, she’ll look
Between the lines, see things

That aren’t there, imagine things,
Suggest you did this and that.
She never trusts. Randal writes

His scribble fast, usual crap:
Weather, food, whatever. He’ll
Not write to say he shafted you

Twice the other night between
Hot sheets. His parents don’t
Know him; think him so sweet

And clever. Shaft girls, smoke
****? Never. You take a biro
From your bag and neatly write.

Dear Mother, we are well and
Enjoying the sights (guess what
We do at nights? Leave that out)

And the weather’s fine and food
Is plentiful and yes, I do change
My underclothes each day and yes,

We have separate beds in the hotel.
(Lies are cheap) you pause. Randal
Has done, he licks a stamp, presses

It onto the back. Finished? He asks,
Placing his hand on your knee, giving
A squeeze, sending a buzz between

Your knees. You smile, nod, and
Hand him the card. He reads and
Shakes his head and grins. All lies,
He says, and all those hidden sins.

It’s hot and you don’t feel
Like sitting down to write
The postcard to the parents,

But it has to be done or they’ll
Worry and Father will have
One of his turns and Mother

Will be flapping round like
A **** hen with no head, so
You take a chair by the window

Of the Hotel Cuba and think
What to write, what to put
Down in the limited space

Allowed, and not to write
Anything that’ll stir Father’s
Christian sensibilities or

Mother’s little world of tea
And visits and afternoon naps
And speaking to the canary

Who doesn’t speak back.
You wait for Humphrey to
Come back from the bar

Hoping he’ll come up with
Things to say, but he doesn’t
Show and its getting late

And it’s been a busy day and
The night looms large and
You want Humphrey at his

Best, not too boozed, not
Distracted, and on the whole
He’s quite a fair catch, knows

How to please a girl, keep her
On her toes and back and that
Thing he does with the…Dear

Father and Mother, Cuba’s quite
A place…there was this man
Who kissed my hand and Dear

Humphrey said…the sun’s warm
And the food is out of this world
…I can dance the latest dances

Here, nothing that is suspect or
Need worry you…I will send this
Postcard in the morning, God I’m

Tired, keep on yawning, must be
The heat… You sit back and put
Down the pen and look up as

Humphrey returns doing some
Movements with his feet to some
Music playing and he smiles and

Winks and does a twirl…Sleep tight
Parents…it’s going to be one of
Those night for she's a naughty girl.

Gale shows me
a medal
in the palm
of his hand

circular
discoloured
old ribbon

my granddad’s
he tells me
he left it
in his will
it's mine now

can I hold?
I ask him

sure you can

I hold it
in my palm
it's warm now
where his skin
has warmed it

King George V
image there
an old guy
grey bearded

your granddad?
I ask him
my finger pointing
at the guy

that's the King
at the time
he tells me
though Granddad
was like that
to look at

I hand him
the medal

he holds it
in his palm

the school bell
rings loudly
the playground
then erupts
then settles
into lines

Gale pockets
the medal
in the dark
sweaty warmth
of his thigh

out of sight
of my eye.

We sit by the small pond
after school

Mother's still out shopping
Yehudit says
so we can sit
and talk awhile

the water's murky
no ducks or fish
in this small place

maybe tadpoles
or old boots
or ******* thrown in

trees surrounding
are still in leaf

no one must know
what we did
and where today
she says

I look at the tin can
lying on the side
of the muddy pond

as if I would
I say

if it got out
my mum'd **** me
she says

what about your dad?
I ask

he would **** me too
if Mum told him
he could

a blackbird settles
on a branch
on my left
black
yellow beak
noisy

but worse than that
what would the other girls say?

lucky you?

no they wouldn't
she says
they'd say what a slapper
what a ****
and there of all places

she's quiet
and stares at the pond

but you're not
we didn't plan it
I say

but we did it
and what if someone saw us
what if a teacher
or prefect came in the gym
lunchtime and saw us?

somewhere to our left
a dog barks
smell of the farm
just over a cow moos

no one did
I say
live what is
not what might have been
or may have happened

she sighs
and looks at me
with her blue eyes

guess so

she looks at the wrist watch
on my wrist

better go
Mum'll be back
on the next bus
she says

we get up
and brush ourselves down
and walk through the woods

it was good though
even if it was
an odd place
I say

odd being
the operative word
she smiles

the fear of someone
coming in
made it seem
more daring
I suggest

daring?
absolutely mad
she says
but yes
it was good

we came to the back
of the cottage
where I lived

shall I walk you home?

no best not
she says
Mum's not struck on you
thinks you might
get me into trouble

I frown
me?
but butter wouldn't melt
in my mouth
I say  

she smiles and walks on
I THINK IT WOULD
she shouts back at me
and walks out of sight

I turn into the garden
and along the path
thinking to myself
she's right.

West rides home for lunch
then back again to school

he is a short tubby kid
with black well-oiled hair
slick as silk
and eyes dark
as oil wells

I see him enter
the playground
in his bright coat
and tie and neat
white shirt and well pressed pants

how was dinner?
he asks

I bring sandwiches
I say
can't stick school meals
lessons are punishment enough

he smiles
offers me
a white paper bag
of peppermints
mint?

I take one
sense its coolness
on my tongue

how's the maths?
he asks
any better
with the time tables?

I look beyond him
towards the girl's playground
but she's not in sight
other girls play skip rope
or tag games

got stuck on 7s and 8s
I tell him

he frowns
and  talks of patterns
and number flows
and how it goes

I watch his lips move
but the words are like gone
like dandelion seeds
in the air

a girl waves
is it she?
I wonder

but no she wouldn't
not her style
too shy
some other boy
has that joy

another mint?
West asks

I take another
to keep the freshness coming

he doesn't talk of girls
or their ways or clothes
or figures or hair

he talks of how well
his new bike runs
and how he likes
the shiny blue
and the loud bell
he rings
to clear his path

over the heads of boys
I hear a girl's laugh.

Greenfield lights up a cigarette
behind the metal work room
during recess

want a drag?
he asks

no I don't
I say

I can hear the other kids
in the play area
over the building
voices loud
laughter
girl's screaming
and shouting
from the their area
a fair bit away

where did you get
the ciggie?
I ask

I liberated it
from my mother's bag
he says with a smile
she won't miss it

he's shorter than I
plump with brown eyes
like conkers
he puffs away frantically

hate school
he says
all the ****** lessons
and teachers

Miss D isn't bad
I suggest
young with nice legs

not that young
he says
holding his cigarette
between *******
old enough
to be your mother
he says

only if she had me
very young
I say

what's it matter?
he says
she's still a brain teaser
he puffs away again

P.E. next
I remind him
football
or maybe hockey

sweat buckets either way
he says
puffing at me
who's the bit of skirt
who hangs about for you
by the school van?
he asks

just a girl
I say

that's it isn't it
just a girl
he says

the cigarette stuck
between lips

they're all the same
all thinking about
who to pick to marry
and have ****** kids by
and O god
I feel sick thinking
about it
best avoid them
he says

the cigarette hangs limp
from his lips

now ****** P.E.
he says
I'll tell Friggit
I’ve got gut ache

he presses the cigarette
against the wall
of the metal work room

best go then
I say

and as we go
I think of Jane
across the roof of building
in the girls' area
her dark eyes and hair
driving me to distraction
but not despair.

Back at school
Jupp says no
he doesn't

want to know
which one girl
in the class

of 2C
looks at him
and likes him

it's playtime
the sun's out
boy's playground

with ballgames
and card games
she seems to

I tell him
all the same
those **** girls

he tells me
just a game
or a trick

I show him
a coin trick
handkerchief

and penny
anyone
can do that

young Jupp says
moodily
watch this then

I tell him
he watches
the coin trick

once again
but it's gone
in thin air

and he stands
mouth open
while the girl

from her playground
studies him
tufty hair

dull blue eyes
somewhere there
her love lies.

Lizbeth sits
in a pew
church empty

damp smelling
old hymn books
on the shelves

hymn number
on a board
on the wall

come and sit
she tells me
I sit down

beside her
hear nothing
except us

breathing there
far off sound
of tractor

in a field
why not here?
she asks me

on this pew
do what here?
I ask her

but I know
*** she says
me and you

don't want to
least not here
I tell her

not in church
on this pew
why not here?

it's quiet
no one here
not for miles

her eyes stare
at my eyes
could be fun

having it
on this spot
her palm pats

the wood pew
don't think so
anyway

it's God's house
holy place
not for ***

she looks down
at her knees
lifts her skirt

with fingers
it's our place
or could be

she mutters
you're 13
I tell her

so are you
she replies
someone calls

from outside
there's voices
her fingers

move her skirt
we kneel down
in prayer mode

as someone
enter in
behind us

thank you God
Lizbeth says
and we rise

from the pew
and pass by
two old girls

sitting there
in their bright
summer clothes

that was close
Lizbeth says
wonder what

they would say
seeing us
doing it?

I cannot
imagine
I tell her

but I can
in my mind
and we walk

down the path
sound of cows
mooing near

and tractor
over fields
and her laugh.

There she is
in the field
Jane waving

to the birds
in the sky
above us

wave she says
so I wave
to the rooks

overhead
then they've gone
out of sight

I watch her
her hair free
her eyes bright

this is it
she says loud
arms outstretched

palms open
this is art
God's own art

she utters
she is art
to my eyes

the beauty
of her form
her soft voice

uttering
we are here
we're alive

this moment
I love her
her being

her hands clap
birds fly out
from hedgerows

winging up
we need wings
she tells me

***** her arms
I kiss her
in my mind

embrace her
in my dreams
let us fly

she calls out
I follow
arms flapping

don't know why.

Hard to put into words
the extent of grief.

No cavalry of relief in sight
coming over the hill.

You, my son, those
last days, so ill.

Unlike you,
you soldier like
in life's fight.

Death took you unaware
that night
and again
the day after.

No present mirth,
no laughter,
no Shakespearean drama
set in tow,
no Chekhov way
with words,
no Ibsen dark talk,

just this, these words,
and a blown from palm kiss.

Silent words:
we love and miss.

Some dame
in a pink top
and blue jeans
sits near Johnny
in the coffee bar

she taps into her PC
with pink nailed fingers
sips a coffee

Johnny looks
at the guy she's with
a young bespectacled guy
also tapping his PC
yakking about
some course he's doing

Johnny looks lazily
at her
sips his China tea
wonders what colour
her bra
beneath the pink top
and if she needs one
with her scant *******
as far as he can see
from sideways on

she scans her screen
of words and images
the young guy talks
about straight A's
gives the young dame
a ****** gaze and smiles

I wonder if he's had her
Johnny thinks
letting his eyes
wander her frame
the profile of face
the nose slim lined
the jaw
the lips too thin

she sips her coffee
her slim fingers holding
the cup's thin handle
a small finger
sticking out

the youth taps again
at his PC
his eyes on
a downward stare

Johnny gazes
at the dame's
blue jeans
and wonders
what colour
her underwear?

Fay's crying
by the pub

I see her
on my way
to Baldy's
for shopping
for Mother

she's pretty
standing there
in the blue
cotton dress

so what's up?
I ask her

she looks down
towards home
the tall flats

my dad's mad
and angry
and punished
me just now

why was that?

because I
got the names
of our Lord's
apostles
incorrect

O big deal
I don't know
the guys' names
I tell her

she sniffles
wipes her eyes
looks at me

but I should
she tells me
I’m Catholic
and the nuns
teach us things

nuns and buns
I tell her
forget that
Saturday
is for fun

Dad told me
to learn them
she mutters
she sniffles
her eyes red
I’m done for
if I don't

we'll learn them
together
I tell her

so we go
to my place

my mother
gets us drinks
and biscuits
and brings us
a Bible
an old one
black covered
red edges

Fay sits there
next to me
on the brown
wide sofa
cold leather
with cushions

her fingers
turn pages
here's the page
she utters

I watch her
her finger
very slim
run through names

I nibble
a Rich Tea

she recites
a few names
in order
we repeat
and repeat
till they stick
in our brains

she nibbles
Custard Creams

I drink tea
then more names
repeated
repeated
like a game
name on name
Peter john
James Andrew
and others
and others

I nibble
Ginger Nuts

she nibbles
a Rich Tea

got them now?
I ask her

I think so
I hope so
she utters

she shows me
her red thigh
her old man's
hand mark there

I know them
she tells me

we both do
I tell her

we sip tea
in silence

nearly time
for the kid's
cinema
I tell her
can you come?

don't think so
Daddy says
it's sinful
to watch films
of violence
and kissing
and killing

she looks sad
nibbling
a Rich Tea
her red eyes
searching me.

I slide the silver painted six shooter
into the holster on my right hand side.
I stand there arm arched, hand ready
to go for the gun. I push my cowboy

hat back away from my cool forehead.
The bad guys are circling me. Today
I’m Wyatt Earp, the day before I was
Bill Hickok, shot in the back while

playing cards with some blonde ******.  
One of the bad guys goes for his gun,
I go for my gun before his is out of
his holster, I’ve got him between the

eyes, then the other before he can say:
What the heck, then the other before
his gun reaches to his eye. I blow along
the barrel as they do in films, put it

back in my holster. My mother irons
clothes in the other room. My sister
plays with dolls, in the long hallway.
None heard the gunshots inside my head;

all bad guys are dead.   I light up a
thin sweet cigarette and light it on an
imaginary match struck on the wall.  
Half hour later I see Ingrid on the

balcony. She talks of going to the
park to go on the swings and slide.
She has her brown hair held in place
with hair clips, mild buckteeth, brown

gravy eyes gaze at me. What you been
doing? she asks. Cleaning up the West.
West what? She says. Wild West, I reply.
She nods, uncertain, uninterested. Shot

three baddies. Bang, bang, bang. I push
back my thumb and point *******.
I am Wyatt Earp today. You were Bill
Hickok yesterday, she says, looking at

my ******* aiming at her narrow chest.
What happened to Hickok? She asks.
He 's dead. Oh, she mouths.  I put my
fingers away in my trouser pocket. Swings?

She says. I guess. So we walk off together
down the stairs, she wearing a red flowery
dress, white ankle socks, black plimsolls.
I look down the stairs well for any bad guys

lurking, gun ready in my trouser pocket,
Bowie knife in the belt around my waist.
She talks of a new skipping rope her mother
has bought her, I see no one lurking, no baddies

waiting with guns out. We walk through the
Square, out in the open, my ******* posed
for action, my Bowie knife ready to throw,
off we walk towards the park we slowly go.