Early morning sun
and we sat outside
having breakfast
around the tables

on the lawn
the nuns serving
and chiding
pointing out manners

and prayers not said
Anne wheeled
her wheelchair
to the table

and drew up
next to me
you're late Anne
Sister Agnes said

punctuality is a blessings
being late is laziness
Anne poured some cereal
into a bowl

I caught sight
of Sister Agnes’s glare
we are to say grace
before meals

she said
grace
said Anne
pouring milk onto the cereal

the Lord is listening
the nun said
pour me a glass
of orange juice Kid

she said to me
I poured her
a glass of juice
the nun stood there

gawking at Anne
for a short while
then went to another table
where she helped

other kids with breakfast
still chiding others
how did you sleep
last night Kid?

all right
I said
I slept poorly
my leg ached

and no ****** came
when I rang the bell
well she did eventually
what is it Anne?

she said
I told her my leg ached
your leg has gone
there is no leg there

any more
she said
I know that
I said

but it still ****** hurts
anyway she gave me
some pills eventually
after me moaning

at the ***** long enough  
she sipped her juice
how does your leg ache
when it's not there any more?

I asked
nerves
freaking nerves
that's why

she said
I ate my breakfast
and looked at her
sitting there

her dark hair
her eyes settled
on the nun's back
look at her backside

Anne said
even her black habit
can't hide that ****
I sipped my juice

looked at the nun
then at the sky  
seeing the morning sun
feeling shy.

I saw Enid’s old man
go off into the Square
cigarette in his mouth
swagging on his way

I watched him
go down the *****
and out of sight
into the evening's
dimming light

Enid was on the balcony
just over the way
she waved to me

we met
on the concrete stairway
with the electric
light bulb above us

he's gone out then I see
I said

yes to the pub for a drink
she said

why did you watch him go?
miss him being there?

she looked up the stairs
then down the stairs
no just making sure
he went
she said softly

the light bulb showed
a bruise on her chin

been at you again?

she rubbed her chin
hit my chin on a door
she said

the door he pushed at you
or the door he pushed you into?

she said nothing
but walked up the stairs
to the balcony
outside my parents' flat

I followed her
she leaned over the edge
and gazed into the Square
it was quiet
the kids gone indoors
the moon bright in the sky
stars shining

it was an accident
she said
he didn't mean it

I studied her
the dark hair straggly
her dull dress
her eyes rabbit-like
in fear

mustn't tell no one
she said
looking at me

I won't
(I told my mother later)

she rubbed chin
with her fingers
it must be me
he doesn't hit
my big sister or brother
he glares at me
she added
in a whisper

I moved closer to her
she smelt of damp clothes

if I were bigger
I’d punch him
down the stairs
I said

you're 9
she said
he's 35 and twice your size  

I looked at her
and smiled
I had him in the sights
of my six-shooter gun
the other day
and when the cap went
BANG
he nigh on messed his pants

she laughed
then looked worried
did he see you?

he looked up
but couldn't see me
through the metal grill

she relaxed
and leaned her head
on my arm

next time
I’ll use my Wyatt Earp rifle
and get him in the back
she nodded
and I gazed
at the sky
turning black.

We were sitting
on the pram sheds
by the *****
that went down
from the Square
looking towards
Meadow Row

had to sleep
in the small bed
last night
Lydia said
all because my big sister
wanted her Spiv boyfriend
to stay over night
and Dad was at work
on one of his
far away journeys
and Mum couldn't be bothered
with her and so
he was in the bed
I shared with her

what would your dad say
if he knew?
I asked

he'd be livid he would
but he isn't here
so my big sister
gets away with things

what's wrong
with the little bed?

it's uncomfortable
and the springs are broken
and I hate it

Lydia looked
at the passers-by
going along the *****

my brother gets to have
his own bed
but not me
she added bitterly

I share with my little brother
I said
he's ok
so how long is the Spiv
going to stay?

until my dad gets back
I suppose
she'd daren’t once he's back

I nodded
watching an old woman
going up Meadow Row
carrying two bags
her backside swaying
side to side
her black hat lopsided

let's give that old girl
a hand with her bags
I said

what old girl?
Lydia said

her up Meadow Row

I jumped down
and ran across the grass
over the low metal fence
and across Rockingham Street

Lydia followed me
and when we caught up
to the woman
I said
can we help you
with those bags Mrs?

she stood upright
and gawked at us both

where do you live?
Lydia asked
out of breath already

just up the top there
she said
but I would appreciate it
if you could help

so we did
took a bag each
and walked up
the top of the Row with her
she talking
about her health
(or lack of it)
and how her son
was killed in the War
and her daughter
was in Kent

Lydia said nothing
but carried the bag
with both hands
and I answered
the old dear
when I thought I ought to
carrying the bag
in one hand
giving the impression
it wasn't heavy
when it was

we stopped outside
her house
on the left hand side

thank you both
it was very kind of you
she said
here have 3d each
for your help

no no need
of your money Mrs
you keep it
just glad to help

I insist
she said
you deserve it

so she gave us both
a 3d piece
and smiled at us
and went inside
with her bags
and closed the door

we looked at the coins
in our palms
not quite enough
for a Mars Bar
but it will get us a drink
and gob-stopper
I said

Lydia put her coin
in her dress pocket
and we walked back
to the pram sheds

she said
I’ll be glad when Dad's back
then I can sleep
in my own bed

I thought of the 3d
and what to buy
going around
in my head.

Looking back
at that time
everything

falls in place,
but drawn out,
slow motion,

nightmare like
in its depth,
in your death.

You, my son,
so passive,
so Stoic

when we spoke
that last time,
no panic

in your face
or your eyes.
I panicked,

seeing you
so bloated
that I rowed

with the nurse.
You, my son,
sitting there

sipping juice
out of breath,
said little,

felt tired,
eyes closing,
I thought you

were dozing,
but unknown
to us there,

death was near,
close at hand
in the air.

I walked with Janice
through the Square
passed the milkman
and his horse drawn cart

she touching the horse
as we passed
and on to the top
and out onto Rockingham Street

and onto Harper Road
where are we going?
Janice asked
I want to show you

this bomb site
bomb site?
what's so special
about this bomb site?

it's got a big freezer
in the back
she looked at me
with her blue eyes

how big?
big enough for us
to get in and more
I said

we crossed the road
and turned left
and along round the back
she followed me

around the back
and through a gap
in the wooden panelling
and into the backyard

of the bombed out
butcher's shop
I walked over the bricks
and wood to the back

of the butcher's shop
and showed her
the big white freezer
gosh

she said
never seen anything
that big
I opened the door

and saw it was busted
it won't shut
it's busted
the locks busted

we went inside
it smelt stale and sickly
must have kept meat here
I said

smells like it
she said
we went out
and I pushed open

the door at the back
that led into the shop
we walked in
and around

the smell still there
dust and fallen
masonry and wood
an old till

with a drawer half open
it's creepy in here
she said
ghostly

like someone
is watching us
rats probably
I said

rats!
she said
and jumped backwards
she looked around her

and I saw her eyes
wide open
aren't you scared?
she asked

seen plenty of rats and mice
even saw a ***** in some place
******* in a corner
of a room

and he chased me off
I said
can we go now?
she said

I’ve seen enough
I gazed at her
saw her wide eyes
and said

ok
I’ve been here before
and seen most of it
so we climbed

out the back
and passed the freezer
and out the gap
and onto Harper Road

and along to the Penny Shop
to get a couple
of 1d drinks
then walked back

to the Square
and my parent's flat
and that basically
was that.

We met by Dunn& Co
the hat people
on the corner
of the New Kent Road

Helen had a faded green dress on
and was carrying her doll
Battered Betty in one arm
her thick lens glasses
were smeary
her brown hair plaited

what are you going to show me?
she asked

have you seen
the pie and eel shop
up the road there?

no don't think so

well this guy stands inside
the shop by the window
and he takes an eel
and cuts its head off
then slits it open
then scraps out its guts
then cuts it up
into pieces ready
to be cooked for pies
I said

she pulled a face
is that
what you wanted
to show me?

yes it's very interesting
and helps you see
how it goes
and is kind
of a biology lesson
without the crabby
old teacher moaning on
I said

Helen was not impressed
I’ll be sick if I see that
he really cuts its head off?

sure he does
and quick and clean
no messing around
and scraps it
into a bin by his feet

Helen held her doll
closer to her chest
and slits it open?

yes he's a quick worker
one slit and all the guts
are scrapped out

enough already
she said

she put a small hand
to her mouth
I hate eels
I hate eel pie
she said
between her fingers
her doll leaned over her arm
its arms hanging loose

so do I
but it's interesting
to see these things

not to me it isn't
she said

ok let's go elsewhere
I said

where?

we could go to The Cut
and look at the market stalls
and maybe get a drink of pop
and an ice cream

she looked down
at her scuffed shoes
I’ve only got 3d
she said

I’ve got 2/-
that'll be enough
I said

she looked at me
through her glasses
her eyes like marbles
ok but we must make sure
Betty gets a drink too
she said

sure
I said
she can share mine

so we set off
from Dunn& Co
at a steady pace

Betty looked unimpressed
bouncing along
in Helen’s arms
one eye hanging loose
her blonde mattered hair

and I listened
while Helen
talked and talked
all the way there.

A few hours after I left,‭
my son,‭ ‬you‭
died for the first time.‭

I sift my brain‭
to recall what you wore‭
that last time.‭

Black jeans,‭
black tee-shirt,‭
your favourite colour‭
or lack of‭
as some might say.‭

The night gear‭
they gave you‭
the night before‭
out of sight.‭

Neither of us aware,‭
as we spoke,‭
that it would be‭
the last talk.‭

Had I known,‭
I would not have left,‭
would have held you back‭
from jaws‭ ‬of death‭
with every fibre‭
of my being.‭

I wish I had stayed,‭
wish I had said more‭
and more deeper.‭

If wishes were pebbles‭
I could fill a beach.‭

You now gone‭
to another place,‭
near us some say,‭
just out of reach.‭  

I was there‭
at your second death‭;
you in a coma,‭
unaware,‭
or so it seemed.‭

Then your heart flat-lined‭;
all was still‭;
that world we knew ended.‭

That aspect without you‭
seems to lack,‭
like a modern painting‭
oil painted canvas‭
completely black.‭

All you think about is ***
said Chana

she lay there
on her white sofa
wine glass half full
in her plump hand

not so
I said
I think about
other things as well

such as?

Philosophical subjects
the way society works
how deep is the ocean
and ***
I said

in that order?
she asked

not always
in that order

but I bet ***
is near the top end
isn't it?
she sipped her wine
and gazed at me

more the bottom end
I said

the Mahler was playing
in the background
on her Hi-Fi

do you write poems
about ***?

sometimes
I said
I sipped whiskey

she turned onto her back
and sipped more wine
what's the best ***
you've ever had? she said

the Mahler symphony ended
and silence came

the record's done
I said

what do you want now?
she said

how about the Delius
I brought you?

she sighed
and went to the Hi-Fi
and took off the Mahler
and put on the Delius LP
and then went back
to the sofa
and lay down again

is that all right?

her white
plump thighs spread

I liked how
the Delius began
soft and open
the flutes taking
the melody

sure
I said

there was a dimple
on her chin
and her blue eyes
were wide as oceans

all you think about is ***
she said

I gazed out
of the window
at the darkening night

I guess so
I said
I guess you're right.

I met Netanya
at the rail station

it was January and cold
and she was dressed up
in the blue overcoat
and headscarf

and I was
in my combat style
overcoat and hat

you made it ok?
I said

yes he asked
where I was going
and I said
for a walk to get him
out of my head
she said

we got tickets
and boarded a train
and off we went
to Brighton
the carriage was crowded
but we seemed alone
or so it felt to me

will he imagine you
going to Brighton?

no he won't think anything
too busy watching TV
and drinking his beer
she said

she held my hand
and talked of her kids
and her father
who wasn't well
and looking forward
to meeting you
she added

I looked at her
as she spoke
her hair dark and curled
her eyes bright as stars

we made it to Brighton
and got off the train
and walked down
to the seafront
hand in hand

the sky dark
stars
moon
and lights from shops
and pier

and somewhere
out there
I thought
another life
another world
buzzes on

while here we walked on
along the seafront
taking in the scene
the smell of salt
and sound of sea
crashing on the shore

and her hand small
warm in mine
and the sense
of life going on around
and I feeling
(oh)so fine.

I don't like Flensburg
Dalya said
as we rode
in the passenger carrier

she next to me
at the back
the Polish girl
and her mother
having changed seats
for a different view

the Southend teacher prat
still in the front
with the driver and guide

I want to be out of Germany
my dad was in Germany
in the War
she said
she stared at the passing view
not sure where he was
he didn't say much about it

I looked at her sitting there
the green top
and tight blue jeans
her dark hair
pulled in a bunch
at the back

my old man was in Egypt
in the War
I said

what did he do there?
she said

fought the Desert Fox

were there foxes in Egypt?

he was a German general
in the north African fight
called Rommel

the fight was called Rommel?

I looked at the nape
of her neck
the love bite
still there
remembering her
in her tent
unclothed and bare

no the general
was called Rommel
I said

was your old man
as you term him
the general?

I remember her *******
like two small jelly moulds
shaking there

no he wasn't a general
he was an engineer
he mended tanks
somewhat lower
in the ranks

she pointed out a church
as we passed it by
my father said he prayed
in a church in Germany
I rememberer that
she said

I remembered her
laying there
unclothed completely bare
a soft aroma
of onions
hanging in the air.

Madison Square was
Different back then,
Your grandmother said.

She spoke of long dark
Dresses and the heat
And hats and always

Having to be so
Aware of men’s stare.
She and her friend walked

Along by the horse
Drawn cabs, wondering
Where and how far you

Could go for the price
Of a big smile. You
Remember her

Sitting in her old
Rocking chair, her long
Grey hair, pinned up, a

Cigarette between
Lips gazing at you
Through the smoke, her eyes

Fading to a light
Blue, gazing at you,
Wondering if you

Was the kind of girl
She once was. Never
Told my parents where

We went, Grandmother
Confided; it’d
Give them grey hairs and

Haemorrhoids if they
Knew. She chuckled; coughed
And spat phlegm. That’s the

Difference, she said,
Between your mother
And me and me and

Them. Being just that
Little bit over
The edge, daring the

Reach beyond others.
You recall her last
Days, laid up in bed,

Staring out the large
Window, at the blue
Of sky, waiting for

Death to come for her,
The slow wait to die.

And the young schmuck said,
How’s about a nice
Pretty photograph,



Girls, something to show
The folks back home, you
In your beautiful



Bathing costumes, so
Young and so well wrapped
Up there? Sure, Betsy



Said, why not, though don’t
Think my daddy’d be
Too pleased about me



In this here costume.
You looked at the schmuck
And tried hard not to



Imagine the dark
Working of his brain,
What images lay



There, what ******
Thoughts swirled around there
Like black oil in a



Sump. Sally looked just
Away from him, looked
Further up the beach



Or maybe the sea
Or sky, anywhere
But the young guy with



The camera, her
Being the quiet
Type and shy. But you



Knew his type, they were
Like haemorrhoids: a
Huge pain in the ****,



Always there with the
Words, the wise cracks, with
Their slimy sayings;



But you knew all they
Ever wanted from girls,
Beyond the mouthy



Outpourings, was you
In the bed or some
Secret place and to



Be undressed and to
Copulate with, to
Have their way; but not



With you; you knew the
Goings on, you knew
Which way those kind of



Things ended and you
Knew that even though
Betsy gave him the



Smile and ease, she’d not
Settle for such a
Creep with his false smile,



Wheedling words or
Bright eyed stare. So he
Took his photograph



And you were captured
There on the beach in
New Orleans amongst



The other young folk,
Beneath a sky of
Blue, in your bathing



Costumes, beautiful
And youthful in the
Year of our sweet Lord,
1922.

Just us,
those last moments,
(not that we
expected them to be).

Those final words,
mundane,
with Ok
and See you
tomorrow then
or some such like.

Then the departure;
no last embrace,
no hint of final going
into the far off sunset.

Just us, my son,
those last words.

I cannot recall
your first words spoken
nor now your last
with any precision.

Your death was not
my idea or decision,
nor yours to decide
or to know it seems.

Surreal maybe
as in half sleeps
or waking dreams.

I talk to you still
even though you've gone
to other realms
beyond my sense so far.

Sometimes I sense you
passing out of my eye's
corner view
like some shooting
(did I see that?)
star.

We had been
to the Impressionist gallery
in Paris
been to the Tower
seen the views
had coffees
and seen street artists
and Sonya was wanting
to see an American film
at a cinema with sub-titles

I’m not keen
I said

why not?

I can see it
once back in the UK
without having to read script
on the screen
at the same time
watch the action
anyway seeing Clint Eastwood
speaking French
is off putting

she pulled a face
and went sat down
on a seat of some café
and I sat next to her

you always have to spoil things
she said
reading the menu
it's in French
she said

we're in France

so how am I to know
what to order?

point at it
and ask what it is

she looked at me
with her icy-blue eyes
she tossed back hair
from her face

I went with you
to the art gallery
she said
to see all those boring Impressionists
but you can't go with me
to see Clint

a waiter came up to us
and she asked him
if we could
have two coffees with cream
he nodded and smiled at her
and went off

he's ****

I didn't notice

had lovely eyes
dark and deep

he's a waiter and French
I said

I can imagine him
beside me in bed
breathing on me
with his breath

oniony and garlicky

she tapped my hand
jealous is what you are
she said

I don't want him
you do
I said

I didn't say I wanted him
I said I could
imagine him in my bed
she muttered

she looked around her
at the other tables

I looked at her profile
the curve of neck
the run of her jawline
her ear visible
through her blonde hair
momentarily
I felt like a vampire
wanting to sink
my teeth
into the soft flesh
of her neck
and **** her sexily

she looked back at me
you owe me
she said
having to go
to that boring art place

ok
I said
what do you want?

I want to see the film
with Clint Eastwood

ok
I said
thinking of the bed
and her
and do what I could
if she would.

Abela sits on the balcony
she likes the sun
the way the sun
glows her skin

I am inside
reading my book
sipping my wine

why don't you come outside
on the balcony
and feel the sun?
she says

I turn a page
sip more wine
I prefer the shade
the coolness

still reading that book?

I like books

but that book?
What's it about?

It's a philosophy book

I’m out here
on this balcony
on holiday
getting some sun
and you are inside
reading a ****
philosophy book?

It's relaxing

you can read
on a rainy day
come get some sun

I look at her
out on the balcony
in her bikini
her legs crossed
her dark glasses
like  insect eyes

I hate sitting
in the sun
it gives me a headache
and I feel it
a waste of time
I say

she looks towards me
we spent yesterday
walking around old ruins
that was a waste of time
she says

that was good
I say

old bricks
old windows
old relics?
she says
almost
in a sing song voice

I look at the hotel room wall
some water colour painting
hangs there
dull as dirt

I sip my wine
and close the book
and go lay
on the double bed
shoes off
shirt open at the neck
thinking of *** of course
thinking of her
laying there
as had
the night just gone

and she outside
singing some
**** love song.

Yiska wants to slit wrists

to shove handfuls of pills
down her throat

leap from the ledge
of the ward window

bang her head
against the door frame
until her head bleeds

I am not shocked
I have an underlining
admiration
of her dedication
to death of some sort

don't suppose
you have a razor blade?
she asks

no they don't allow
those in here  
I say
we have to use
the well used
electric one

she walks across
from window to the door
of the locked ward
I walk beside her

I'd mouth pills
if I could get any
she says

locked up
I add

she pauses
I could try hang myself
from the pipe in the bog
like you did
she says

but all cords or belts
are now confiscated
once in here
and the nurses watch you
like hawks

some look like hawks
she says

I notice her anxiety
it sits in her
like a possession
like a demon
has taken over her

don't the pills
they give work?

no
she says walking again
twice you tried that
she says
hanging in bogs
what is the thing
about bog hanging?

I don't know
the solitude of the place
no one there with you

I was just lucky
that old boy noticed
and called the nurse

lucky?
Yiska says

well that time
else I wouldn't be here
talking to you

or the second time attempt
she says

we stop by the window
and stare out
at the snow on the fields
and trees

kind of pure isn't it
I say

unlike me
she mutters
it's cold out there
fancy getting out
and lying in a ditch
and wait to die of cold

she shivers
her pale blue nightgown
moves
her unslippered feet
look innocent
as children

there's always ECT
I say

she looks at me
didn't work
just a fecking headache
afterwards
she says

me too
I say

she peers at the snow
I read somewhere
of German soldiers
freezing to death
in Russia during WW2
some standing up solid
she says
almost admiringly
but I’m locked in here
not out there

she puts her forehead
on the window pane

I can smell her perfume
musky but out of place
and a haunted look
on her young pale face.

Miriam
*******
in the tent

out of wet
underclothes
where the dim

hippy guy
spilt his drink
on purpose

by design
or by sheer
clumsiness

was unclear
the short skirt
a bright red

was now stained
Benedict
had not seen

he was off
in Tangier
sight-seeing

she tosses
the wet stuff
in a bag

and pulls out
dry clean clothes
from the white

new suitcase
her parents
had bought her

for the trip
she dresses
and goes out

of the tent
avoiding
the hippy

in the bar
with red beard
and guitar

and goes sit
on the beach
wondering

what it was
Benedict
was doing

she wishes
he was there
making love

hot with her
his fingers
in her hair.

I was in a red phone booth
in Rockingham Street
looking for coins left behind
in the little cups
in the phone machine

my old man knocked
on the glass window
of the booth

I looked at him standing there
his deep set eyes
his Errol Flynn moustache
I came out of the booth
and let the door shut
behind me

what are you
doing in there?
he asked

looking for coins
left behind
I said

were there any?

no none at all

he nodded
and looked in the booth
shame
sometimes punters do
he said

I looked at him
he had a hollow look
about him
sunken cheeks

just as well
it was me
and not your mother
who saw you in there
he said

yes guess so
I said

well got to go to work
he said
how about
going to see a film
this weekend?

sure be good
I said

John Wayne film

cowboy film?

no war movie
Pork Chop Hill
I think it's called
he said

ok be good
I said

he nodded and left
I watched him go
and out of sight

I opened my hand
and looked at the coins
I found in the cup
of the phone machine

I pocketed them
and walked to Baldy's shop
and bought
some bubblegum
and a drink of pop
and walked back to the flat

I ought to have shown
my old man the coins
but I didn't
and that was that.

Nima holds
the **** in
her bladder

another
occupies
the toilet

she can hear
the woman
*******
seemingly
hear talking
explosions
of farting
muttering

Nima stands
with hands
held in place
between thighs

hey in there
what the ****
you doing
laying eggs?
Nima says

go away
a voice says
go elsewhere
I’m busy

Nima sighs
where to go?

her bladder
is ready
to explode

she rushes
through the ward
passed nurses
out through doors
to the next
lavatory
and pushes
it open
and shuts it
and locks it
undresses
and sits down
and lets go

she thinks of
Benedict
and that time
that they ******
in some cheap
boarding house
in London

another
deep release
not of ****
but of ***
held in place
by a kiss.

Milka braves
her brothers'
teasing taunts

and gets dressed
in her room
what to wear?

she takes out
the short skirt
the red one

tries it on
does a twirl
bit too short

Mum will say
she mutters
shows too much

too much what?
she had asked
your *******

Mum had said
she takes off
the red skirt

and puts on
the knee length
orange dress

bit boring
with flowers
it will do

Mum likes it
will Benny?
he will be

coming soon
she mutters
she puts on

her stockings
and black shoes
ready now

she goes out
to show Mum
her mother

studies her
length of dress
stocking seams

straight and neat
shoes on feet
and behave

Mother says
behave what?
Milka asks

don't be smart
Mother says
I know best

what it's like
what what's like?
Milka grins

Mother stares
looks away
Benny comes

through the door
Mother smiles
dabs her hair

pulls her dress
stands *****
Benny smiles

like Elvis
Mother moans
inwardly

if only
she were young
Milka sighs

will this do?
shows Benny
the old dress

yes he says
that looks fine
Mother swoons

secretly
if only
she utters

inwardly
he was mine.

The Rozzer stopped me
on the bomb site
off Meadow Road
you been smoking?
he asked

I put on my surprised
what me Governor? face
no Officer

he stared at me
his large eyes
searching me
let me see your hands

I showed him
my 9 year old hands
ink stained
and unwashed
since breakfast

do you know
what happens to fingers
of people who smoke?

I shook my head

they go brown
he said
brown as *****

do they?
I said
I knew they did
because my old man's
were slightly
*******
of one hand

he pursed his lips
to say more
but he didn't
he peered at me
looking for clues
of smoking

if I catch you smoking
I’ll take you home
to your parents
and that'll be it
my boy
get it?

I nodded
yes Officer
I stood looking
by him
at the bombed out houses
behind
the pub
on the corner

where do you live?

I tell him the address
of a neighbour's house
the old boy's deaf
as a post
so won't grass

well mind yourself
and the Rozzer went
hands behind his back
walking across
the bomb site

I look behind me
for the self rolled cigarette
I tossed behind me
when I saw him approaching
minutes before

I looked to see
how far the Rozzer
had gone
he went off Meadow Row
and out of sight

I found the cigarette
smouldering weakly
behind a broken brick

I picked it up
and dusted off
grit and dust
and puffed it
back to health

I held the cigarette
between arched fingers
as I’d seen gangsters do
in black and white films
then looked over
the bomb site again
sensing the start of rain.

John felt hot
Elaine had
seemed at ease

being there
on the field
at high school

he tried not
to bore her
with his talk

of bird's eggs
or local
butterflies

that last kiss
suddenly
had shook her

upset her
just a kiss
no hidden

agenda
not wanting
anything

more than that
just the kiss
to express

deeper things
like bird song
and bright springs.

Remember
Yehudit
the first kiss

that Christmas
beneath moon
and far stars

lips to lips
bodies close
the others

singing songs
or carols
while we held

out of it
as lovers
on the edge

of the world
now you're dead
claimed back then

by cancer
Yehudit
remember

you amongst
the far stars
the bright one

brighter than
moon or sun.

Yochana
when Miss G
put on Bach

in the class
on the old
gramophone

young Reynard
next to me
muttered rude

soft comments
what Bach piece
she played us

I don't know
but you there
thin as wire

your black hair
tied in bows
by ribbons

I saw you
watched you move
your head swayed

your fingers played
imagined
piano keys

I watched them
in a dance
Reynard called

you titless
both hands moved
on the desk

I wanted
to hold them
bring each one

finger near
to my lips
so I could

**** music
from each one
gorge on Bach

from your hands
like some new
explorer

searching out
far away
unknown lands.

The sun was still warm
through her bedroom window
her sister played
the Ricky Nelson record

over and over
which came through
the wall
Elaine leaned her back

against the door
and looked at the bed
with the Teddy Bear
her parents had bought her

years before
her mother down stairs
said about bringing
down the soiled washing

she walked towards the window
and looked out
the garden was tidy
her father

had worked ******* it
the green house sparkled
in the afternoon sun
she walked to the dressing table

and stared at herself
was she a frump?
the girls in class
said she was

even some of the boys
who bothered
to talk to her at all
said she was

she pushed back
her dark hair
from her eyes
and stared hard

the boy John liked her
and after the kiss
the other day
she felt unsure

when she was with him
he seemed friendly
he seemed a little odd
when he talked

of birds and butterflies
she sighed and took off
her school blouse
and dropped it

on the bed
then unzipped
her school skirt
and let it fall

to the floor
she was frumpy
she thought
looking at herself

standing there
her reflection
in the mirror
wearing the small bra

and green underwear
she closed her eyes
the Ricky Nelson voice
echoing still

the memory of John's kiss
on the edge of her mind
she pressed
her lips together

pouted
pretended he
had kissed her again
his lips pressing

she ran her tongue
over her lower lip
back and forth
side to side

she turned away
from the mirror
her back to it
she opened her eyes

and embraced herself
her fingers visible
over one shoulder
and at the side

of her ribs
she pretended
they were his
fingers visible

his arms
holding her
she kissed
her shoulder

it was just pretence
she didn't think
she could face
the real thing

not his lips there
not his hands
embracing her
she walked to her bed

and lay down
staring at the ceiling
unsure what she felt
or what it was

her 14 year old body
was hotly feeling.

Yiska sat
on my lap
on the wall

by the lab
in lunch break
at high school

sunshine warmed
so did she
I held her

slender waist
smelt perfume
her mother's

whispered voice
in my ear
my brother

will tell if
he sees us
Yiska said

will tell whom​?
my mother
and she'll rant

at me then
for ages
she kissed me

soft wet lips
on my lips
sound of kids

on the field
and playground
out of sight

we kissed more
hopefully
your brother

won't see us
I told her
my hand touched

her soft thigh
above us
a swallow

in the blue
of the sky.

Yehudit
sitting down
by the pond
watching ducks
on the dark
water's skin

sun above
coming through
tree branches

I am there
next to her
hot sensing
her nearness
her perfume
her warm hands
embracing
her two knees

I love it
us two here
the silence
no one else
no chatter
just nature

I head nod
agreeing

the last time
we had kissed
had embraced
only birds
witnessing
love making
in tall grass

my mother
is moody

Yehudit says
seems to know

about us?

seems likely

who had seen?

no idea
she replies

does she know
you are here?
I ask her

I sneaked out
while she bathed
Yehudit says

will she come
looking for you?

I doubt it

if she does?

We can hide
in the grass

I look back
behind us
only birds
and warm sun

Yehudit
kisses my cheek
forget her
let us love

we kiss lips
my young hands
embracing
her young hips.

Lizbeth let me out
the front door
while her parents rowed
in the kitchen
at the back

she was still only wearing
her ******* and bra

she wanted me to stay
but I couldn't stomach
her parents finding me there
especially as they
were in a foul mood
rowing

she closed the door
and was gone

I waited for the next bus
back to my house
miles away
and wondered what
she would be doing
back at her place

would she get dressed?
would her mother notice
her own long red dress
had been taken out and worn?

I imagined her back
in her room sulking
because I hadn't
had *** with her
despite her planning
despite her standing
by her bed
in ******* and bra

even when her parents
came home early
she was still up for it

I tried to imagine her
in her untidy room
putting on
the Fats Domino LP
and playing it loud
and prancing around
dancing

my bus came along
and I got on
and paid the fare

but unknown to me
she'd put on
the Buddy Holly LP
and sat
in her ******* and bra
staring
and not caring.

Jane's kisses
were not then
******,

but they were
sensual,
in that they

woke up those
senses that
had before

been dormant.
Outside school
after that

school bus ride
to our homes,
and others

had gone their
separate
ways apart,

she remained
hesitant,
her being

on the edge
of some vast
awakening

within her.
Can we walk?
She asked me.

If you like.
The school bus
had gone off,

the others
not in sight.
We walked down

the side lane,
grassy banks
on both sides.

There is talk
at our school
of a girl

in my class
who's pregnant.
What girl's that?

I asked her,
having a
vague idea

what it meant.
Jane drank in
each aspect

of nature
about us:
butterflies,

wild flowers,
the song birds,
the bird's nests.

Can't say names,
Jane replied,
mustn't judge,

Daddy said.
Her father
was parson

of our small
dull village.
She's our age?

Yes, Jane said:
just 13.
Her black hair

had two grips
either side:
neat, precise.

Her school skirt
was dull grey,
with white blouse.

What happened?
I then asked
not knowing

the process
of those things.
I don't know,

Jane replied.
She didn't,
because she

never lied.
She stopped still
and looked down

at the stream.
I stopped, too.
Those flowers

give the scene
completeness,
Jane then said.

God given,
not man made.
She knelt down,

I knelt, too.
She fingered
the flower,

brushed along
fine petals,
dipped fingers

in the stream.
Whose baby?
I asked her.

She pulled at
the skirt's hem
to her knees,

brushed fingers
which were damp,
on skirt’s cloth.

We don’t know.
Some local
boy I guess.

She stood up;
so did I.
She looked up

at the sky:
birds in flight,
puffy clouds,

spread of blue.
What, I asked,
did they do?

Jane followed
with her eyes
across sky,

a swallow.
Love those birds,
their wing spread,

how they fly.
I studied
how she stood,

her dark eyes,
her back hair,
her pink lips.

We had kissed
and now there
I needed

to kiss her
lips again.
Not quite sure

what they did
Jane’s lips said.
Our eyes met.

Hazel and black.
More than kiss?
I asked her.

Yes, Jane said,
I expect.
She came close.

Her small *******
touched my chest.
We kissed shy,

then less so,
our lips moist,
our tongues touched,

senses stirred.
Our eyes closed.
Our lips met,

hands entwined.
Not pregnant?
I enquired.

No, she said,
more than this
required.

Fay meets me
in the park
by the swings

Saturday
afternoon
after lunch
(the morning
was the time
of the film
matinee)

she looks sad
wearing her
lemon dress
her blonde hair
in bunches

how are you?
I ask her

Daddy said
not to come
unless I
could name all
Jesus's
twelve disciples

and did you?
I ask her

yes I did

how did you
remember
all the names?

I have to
remember
at school too

I recall
about four
I tell her

what now then?
she asks me
that I’m here?

we can ride
on the swings
or the slide
or the fast
roundabout
or hang on
to the ropes
I suggest

she just shrugs

there's a bruise
on her arm
just above
her elbow

not the swings
or the fast
roundabout
or long slide
or see-saw
she utters

why is that?  

hurts to sit
she tells me

we walk on
through the park
to the road
to the shops

I buy us
2 ice creams
1p drinks
and we stand
watching life
us licking
our ice creams
sipping drinks

I thinking
of baked beans
on warm toast
for my tea

she thinking
of Jesus
of the twelve
disciples

and her dad's
holy rage
if she can't
get them all
in order
not reading
from the page.

Anne was sitting along
the avenue of trees
in her wheelchair

the other kids
were on the lawn
playing on the slide
or swings or sitting
on chairs around
white tables

I approached her
keeping to the gravel path
studying her one leg
emerging from her blue dress
her dark hair
tied back tight

where have you been Kid?
she asked

been helping Sister Bridget
with the breakfast things
I said

come here Kid
she said

I stood next
to her wheelchair
do you want me to push
you along the beach?
I asked

later maybe
she said

I looked back
at the nursing home

hey Kid
have you ever seen
a *****?

I looked back at her
no don't think so
I said
is it a fruit?
sounds like a fruit

she smiled
no not a fruit

is it some kind
of animal?
I asked
looking to where
her stump's outline
showed on her dress

she looked at me
her eyes searching me
no not an animal
she said

I looked at her
brown sandal
her toes showing
on the one foot

I can show you one
if you like
Anne said

have you one to show?

she looked at me
sure I have
maybe later
she said
I 'll show you

I nodded wondering
what this thing could be

how about the beach now Kid?
she asked

ok
I said
and began to push
her wheelchair
out the back gate
looking at her black hair
tied in a bun
at the back

is it an ornament
of some kind?
I asked

wait and see Kid
she said
don't worry
your 11 year old head

I pushed her
along the path
by the beach
the sea was far out
the sky a soft blue

don't worry Kid
she said
let me
a 12 year old girl
show you.

There is You,
my son, and You.

The You that died;
the You which we see
on rising
in photographs on walls
or framed or there
by the window;
the You staring back at us
from our mobile phones.

There's the You I saw
brought into the world
pink and small
and wanting to feed
and latch on
for the liquid food.

The You growing up
from baby to toddler,
mischievous, but loving.

The You growing
into manhood,
stoic and quiet
and brave, going about
in your own way
to climb many a mountain
of adversity
and reaching the top
and over it
and quietly smile
and unseen
in a corner, sit.

There is the You
of quiet talk,
of gentle words;
You of soft
under the breath swearing,
if the referee
had got it wrong.

There was the You who
became ill so suddenly;
the You who was let down
by medical professionals;
the You we loved,
the You whose heart
flat-lined and died.

There is You,
my son, and You.

The You who was taken
and the You whom we feel
around us still,
touching;
walking by
out of the corner
of our red rimmed eye.

Enid and I
stood on the balcony
of the flats
outside my parent's place
looking down at the Square

she rested her chin
on her hands

I held on to
the top bricks

kids were playing below
skip rope
or war games
or chasing each other
in some tag game

that boy over there
called me a skunk
she said
pointing to a boy
playing football
with others
he said he could
smell me for miles

o him
I heard
he still wets the bed
a night
I’ll remind him
about smells
I said

and that one over there
with the ginger hair
said he'd give me a 1d
to look at the colour
of my underwear
she said

what a cheap ****
it ought to be
at least 2/6d
I said

she laughed
he ought not
to ask at all
she said

no he ought not
but that
is a mystery to him
and one should pay dearly
to satisfy one's mysteries

she looked at the early
evening sky
orange sun
weak clouds
birds in flight
heading towards night

I looked at the moon
becoming stronger

I like it out here
standing with you
I said

do you?
she said
most try and avoid me
even my parents
except my father
seeks me out
only to punish

your old man's
an after birth
I said quietly

what's that?

ask your mother

best not
she said looking down
at the Square again
I wish your parents
were my parents
she said softly

I gazed at her sideways on
the uncombed hair
the dark eyes
the left one
still slight bruised
her pale complexion

then you wouldn't be you
you'd be another
and I’d be your brother
and wouldn’t know
you as you
as I do now
and I’d miss that aspect
somehow

she looked at me
then she looked away
at the darkening sky
and closing of day.

I sat on the front doorstep
with Lydia
of her parents' flat
on the ground floor
looking onto the Square

she had her thin chin
in the palms
of her small hands

her mother's words
still hanging in the air
from moments before

Paddington Railway Station?
you want to go all that way
to see a ****** train station?

yes
Lydia said
we want to see the trains
that go to Scotland

her mother stared at us
as if we started speaking
in a foreign tongue

it isn't Paddington
it's King Cross train station
she said

is it?
I said

yes it is
she said
I should know
her dad goes there
now and then
but not often enough

can we go there?
Lydia asked

what for?
her mother said
all that way
just to see trains to Scotland?

yes
we said jointly

and how are you going
to get there
walk?
she said

go by bus or train
I said

have you the money?
because I sure haven't
she said

or underground train
I said
be quicker

have you the money then?
her mother asked

I stared at her hair
pinned in curlers
red lips
arms folded
cigarette in between
her fingers

I can get some
from my old man
he'll give me some
I said

if you can get the money
Lydia's mother said
you can go
but don't be late home
or I’ll slap your backside
my girl

and she went in
and slammed the door

I looked at Lydia beside me
well are we going?

will your dad give you
the money?

I've got some
in the blue
metal money box
he made me
I said

enough to go
to Kings Cross station?

should have

wish we had enough
to go to Scotland
she said

maybe one day
I said smiling

she looked at me
let's go then
she said

so we got off
the front doorstep
and made out way
across the Square
leaving her mother's
words behind
smelling adventure
in the air.

We were on the bomb site
off Meadow Row
Helen was re clothing
her doll Battered Betty

I was looking for small stones
for my catapult

over the way
by the coal wharf
coal men were loading up
the trucks
and horse drawn wagons

these clothes
have just about had it
she said
buttoning up
Betty's dress
at the back

Mum said she'd look for more
at the jumble sale
but Dad's not earning
as much at present
as he was off sick
she added  
sitting Betty
in an upright position

Helen was wearing
a dull grey dress
and white ankle socks
her thick lens glasses
made her eyes appear
larger than a were

I’ll ask my mother
if she can knit some
she's good at knitting
I said

maybe if I show her
she will know the size
Helen said

I picked up a handful
of small stones
and put them
in my trouser pocket

hope you're not
going to fire them at birds?
she said

no tin cans or bottles
I said
sometimes I stand tins
on top of each other
then shoot them off
one by one if I can

a boy near where I live
shoots birds
with his catapult
she said

I shot at a rat
on our balcony
the other week
I said
missed it
but it took off afterwards

she picked up Betty
and said
where we going?

let's go to the herbalist
and get some sarsaparilla
I said

and a liquorice stick too?
she asked

sure we will
I said
showing her the 1/-
my mother gave me
for doing chores

so we walked off
the bomb site
and across the New Kent Road
and down by
the railway station
towards the herbalist shop

she with her doll

and me with my catapult
sticking out
of my back pocket
and a pocketful
of small stones

she with her brown hair
in plaits

and me with my hair
plastered with Brylcreem

me thinking of seeing
a new cowboy film

she with her own
dolls house dream.

Can't you swim?
Netanya asked

no I sink like a stone
I said

my son could teach you how  

I’m ok not swimming

she sighed
what if you drown?

I get wet

I'm serious
my son could help

I looked out at the sea
looks rough
I said

it's ok  
Adam will show you
she said

ok but if I drown
I’m coming back
to haunt
the *******

he's my son
she said frowning

like I said
I’ll haunt him

so half hour later
her son took me
to the beach
and he said
see that sea breaker?

yes I see it

well climb on top
and dive in
he said

dive in?

yes the best way
to learn
swimming is 90% instinct
you go in
you'll swim to survive

ok
I said
and climbed on top
and dived in

SPLASH
I raised a hand
through the water's skin
and waved
and took in
a mouthful
of salt water

and my life flashed
before my watery eyes

the son pulled me up
and along
through the water
and sat me
on the beach

you ok?

he said

no instinct
I said
except to drown

he smiled
seems so
but I saved you
he said

thanks
I said

his mother was in the sea
a little way off
her green bikini
clutching her body
like a fond lover
the waves licking
her lovely thighs

I smiled
and wiped water
from my hazel eyes.

Bring some wine around
Chana said
and I’ll put on
the music

and take off
some clothes
so I took some wine
(red she liked best)

and she put on the Mahler
and we sipped our wine
and she brought out
some small cakes

those fancy things
with small cherries on
and we ate and talked
and I listened to the Mahler

and looked at her
sitting there
with her big blue eyes
and that beehive

hair style
and her plumpish frame
and she said
how's the writing going?

not bad
still typing away
still learning my craft
she put her hand

on my thigh
and said
how about I
show you my craft?

I finished off my fancy cake
and drained my wine
(two glasses after)
and she took me

to her bedroom
with the big double bed
with purple sheets
and cover with large flowers

a picture or two
on the walls
and from the other room
the Mahler still played

and she lay on the bed
after *******
and I looked out
onto the evening sky

and stars and moon
and street lamps
showing a young couple
going by

and I was there with Chana
and she waited there ready
like some big mountain
waiting to be to climbed

and she said
aren't you coming on over?
sure
I said

and began *******
to the distant Mahler
the final movement
of the 2nd symphony

and went on over
and she said
how do you want me?
I told her how

and that was it
we made love
as the Mahler ended
the other room quiet

the far off sound
of a barking dog
from the window
the pale moon

quite bright
and we made love
( sans Mahler)
for most of the night.

We camped outside Kiel
and Dalya was not
at all happy
sharing her tent
with the leather wearing
Yank girl
who joined us in Hamburg

I was in the base canteen
drinking coffee and smoking
Dalya sat opposite me
having bought
a bowl of cereals and coffee

that's all I need
on this holiday
a Yank who never stops talking
she said

what's she talk about?
I asked

men and men
and who she's seen
and who she's
had in bed and how
and most of the time
chewing gun

I inhaled
and thought of how
she looked quite pretty
when angry
it seemed
to brighten her up
maybe she'll grow on you

I don't want her
to grow on me
I want her to go
elsewhere
why can't she share
with the girl from Yorkshire
she has a big mouth too
they’d be good together
Dalya moaned

I looked at her
tight curled dark hair
her dark blue eyes
the way her  mouth moved
as she spoke
I sipped coffee

plus she makes
the mini-bus
more crowded
10 of us
squashed together

I didn't mind
too much
as I was next to Dalya
and she was closer
her perfume almost
oozing on to me
as we drove along
through Germany

chill out
I said
enjoy the holiday

she pouted her lips
and took a cigarette
I offered and lit it
with my red cigarette lighter

all right for you
sharing with the Aussie
bet he doesn't
talk about ***
all the time
or who with

no mostly
about beer and rugby
I said
(he did talk about girls
but I never told her
about that)

typical
she said
wished I never came

what about me?
don't you like me either?

she exhaled
you're all right
she said
but I don't share at tent
with you

no shame
I said

she said nothing
but sipped her coffee
and inhaled her cigarette

I looked at her
sitting there
with her dark
blue eyes
and tight dark
curly hair.

The pale petals rest
in Yiska's palm.

She blows on them,
brings them
a shadow of life.

I smell her perfume.

My heart dances
in my chest
at her approach.

Now the petals
fold and die
in her ageing palm.

She tips them away.

My heart beats slow
at her departure.

Her eyes are closed,
her hair is grey.

Put it all behind you,
Brody said, but she
Couldn’t, it remained

Like a stain seeping into
The cloth of her being.
Brody’d not been *****

Or left to die or left with
The big question: why?
She needed to be outside

Breathing fresh air, on her
Balcony, not out in the street
Or park awaiting another

Attacker, some one about
To creep up on her and place
A smelly hand over mouth

And nose. Move on, Brody
Said, things happen, that’s
How it goes. She moves only

From room to room, from inside
To outside the balcony, to take
In the sun, moon, or stars, feel

The air, the breeze, smell flowers,
See trees. **** was more than
*** without permission, more

Than hurt or contusions like
Bruised fruit, more than deep
Humiliation, it was loss of her

Freedom, of choice, of dignity,
The breaking in and up and out
And leaving the fragility behind,

To bring her nightmares haunting
To nerves and mind. Brody had
His doubts; wondered if she’d

Fought hard enough, screamed
Loud or whimpered. Or was she
Just up for it, he thought maybe,

But never said, just the look he
Gave, the sign in eyes, the tone
Of voice, the whole language of

Body, she thought on judging
Brody. For all his words and
Suggestions, Brody never slept

With her after that, he slept with
Some other and she with the cat.

Where he said he’d meet
You, on the beach, Lake
Michigan. But he

Never showed; you just
Waited until the
Tide went out and the

Sun lowered itself
In the sky like a
Fat lady on her

Chamber ***. There were
Few people on the
Beach, even less when

You realized that he
Wasn’t going to
Come and turned for home.

You’d worn your new coat
And hat, had your hair
Done, your face made up,

All for that. Him not
Showing. The wind blew
At your clothes, lifting

The hem of your long
Dress, revealing your
Ankles and shoes. You

Watched the sea and wide
Horizon, waiting
Patiently, smelling

The sea salt, hearing
The roar of waves on
The sandy shore. Still

He never showed up.
Never came, despite
His kind promises,

Despite all the hot
******* the day
Before. All lies it

Seemed, him, his soft words,
And his deep blue eyes,
Deceiving beneath

The shell. There was a
Chill, a biting of
The flesh, a nipping

Of the thin fingers;
But hope was still there
Inside, despite all

That, like smoke hangs in
The still dry air, like
An echo lingers.

If could raise you
like Lazarus
from the grave,
I would my son.

If I could hold you
once again
in warm embrace,
and feel your beating heart,

the pulse of life
in veins and nerves,
I would hold you close
and hear

your whispered words
whatever
they may be,  
my son, our Ole.

But I cannot,
all that I can do,
is keep alive
your memory

in mind of deeds done
or words spoken
or wit and humour expressed,
or be brought memories

by photograph
or music's tune
or place, until still
such time,

beyond the dull
world's philosophy,
we meet face to face,
my son, our Ole.

Sonya was in a mood
because it was raining
and we were in Paris

the hotel room
looked out
on the Parisian streets
wet and shiny
people passing by

she at the window moody
I on the bed
reading Dostoevsky

we should be out there
she said

well go out there
I said

it's wet
my hair will look terrible
why does it rain
while we're here
on holiday?

maybe the rain didn't know
we were on holiday

funny
she said sulkily

I glanced over at her
standing there
by the open window
arms folded
her red shorts
and pink top
long legs

we can go out
once it stops

I want to go out now
she turned
and stared at me
how can you read a book
at a time like this?
and a Russian book too

it's about a guy
who murders
a couple of women
I said

and I’m supposed to care?
she looked at the streets again
hissing at the rain

the book takes you
right there
makes you feel
like you witnessed
the murders
like some snoop

**** the rain
she said

when I read
Solzhenitsyn's book
about a day
in a labour camp
in Russian's cold
and snow and such
I felt I was actually there
I said

she leaned out the window
and put one
of her hands out
think it's stopping

I felt I knew
the main character
in the novel
like an old friend

I want to go out now
she said

I closed the book
and sat
on the side of the bed

she came away
from the window
arms still folded
eyes blue and stern
and hair fixed
into a blonde
pony tail

we had good ***
the night before
but that's
another tale.

Atara loved the sun
and laying on the beach
in a deckchair
in her bikini
and sunglasses

I preferred the shade
a cool beer
and reading a book

she came in
the hotel room
tanned and cooked

I sat on the chair
by the open window
white and cool

you're like a snow man
she said
sitting all white
open necked shirt
white trousers
why don't you come out
to the beach
and get some sun
get those arms
and features brown?

prefer my whiteness
and being cool
and a good cold beer
I said

she stood by the shower door
and pouted her lip
why come
all the way out here
to sit in the shade
and read a **** book?

I like sight seeing
not sun worshipping
I like museums
and art galleries
not seeing other people’s
sweating bodies

you are such a bore
she said

you didn't say that night

she looked at me
wrinkled up her nose
that was different
she said

you didn't mind
my white body then
I said

I couldn't see it
in the dark

and I couldn't see
your tan either

what's wrong
with the beach though?
she said

too hot and smells
of sun oil and stinking flesh
I said

they have men on the beach
with big brown bodies
and muscles
she said

they also have dames
who look over cooked
and big busted
I said

I’m going for a shower
she said

don't wash off the tan
I said

why don't you
shower with me?
she said

I prefer to shower alone

don't you want
my body any more?
she said sexily

not in the shower

you are so square
she said
walking off
for a shower
so fecking SQUARE
she yelled
and slammed the door

a cool breeze
came through the window
I sipped my beer
and turned another page
of the book
I could hear
the shower going
but didn't go and look.

Bring out the pottery boy
Mr A said
bring it out front
so the other boys can see

your work
I took out my clay pottery
attempt to the front of class
and stood there

holding the pottery
on a wooden tray
Mr A gazed at me
through his black framed

Beatnik glasses
his eyes like huge marbles
what you call this
huh boy?

I looked at the hand rolled
clay ***
haven't called it
anything yet

I said
thinking of a name
he went stern eyed at me
are we attempting wit

as well as pottery?
He said
a mild titter
from some boys

in the class
here
he said
in a raised voice

like a failed actor
here we have
an example how not
and I repeat NOT

to make a ***
the classroom went quiet
I stared at my ***
lopsided and brown

like a rushed ****
what were you attempting?
Mr A asked
whatever it was

it most certainly was not
a ***
I said nothing
I gazed at him

in his snot green jumper
and Beatnik beard
and brown
corduroy trousers

and sandals
I don't know
why I bother
with pupils like you boy

he said
waste of my time
I stood looking
passed him at Danny

who was boss eyed
and pulling a face
I suppressed a smile
and looked dull

go back to your place
and spare me
the sad boy look
so I returned to my desk

with my ***
leaning further east
and placed it down gently
as if it were some work

of modern art
Mr A then poked
Eddie in the back
and held up his ***

which went in and out
like armless model
of Greek design
worse

Mr A said
than mine.

What was that
all about, my son?

What happened there
while I was elsewhere,
Ole, my dear one?

Where did that sneaking up
on tiptoe death come from?
From what dark passageway
or behind from which
dowdy curtain did it spring?

Had I known,
I would have not
gone home,
I would have fought
to hold you back,
would have held you close,
not let you loose.  

I still see that short ward,
the hospital smell,
that shadowy corner,
the off-white bed,

you bent over,
head down,
puffed up,
breathing hard,
whispering words,
unable to take flight
as wounded birds.

After the first death,
Yiska said, there is
no other. From a Dylan
Thomas poem, I said.  

I know some one who
died twice. Unluck of
the draw, she said.

She crossed her legs;
the pale blue dressing
gown  rose up her thighs.

The locked ward
was silent. Early
morning. Pale light
outside the window.

I looked at the light
peaking through
the tall trees. Rooks
settled in the high
branches. All going
to die, she said.

She inhaled on
the cigarette. Grey
smoke rose when
she exhaled hard.

Dostoevsky said
something about
being in front of
a firing squad made
him realize how
much he wanted
to live or something
like that, I said.

Being left at the
altar made me realize
how much I wanted
to die, she said. She
watched the cigarette
smoke rise, flicked
ash into a tin ashtray.

You aren't much better
with your attempts to
go through to the other
side, she added. Why
did that guy of yours not
turn up on the wedding day?
I asked. She inhaled.

Looked at her fingers.
Said he didn't want to go
through with it. His father
told me. Undecided to
the last, she said. She
uncrossed her legs, sat
back, her head resting
on the back of the sofa.

He was a useless lover
anyway, she said. I looked
at her sitting there: hair
in a mess, no lipstick,
the dressing gown tied
loosely about her waist,
bare feet, unpainted nails.

Will you marry another?
I asked. It's snowing,
she said, pointing to
the window behind me.

I turned around. It was
falling snow, light, but
thick. She got off the sofa
and stood beside me,
peering out. What about
you, she said, breathing
smoke against the window
pane, will you try slit
your wrists again? Who
knows, I said, depends on
the darkness and unfelt pain.

We paused
for a few hours
at Rouen
and got off the coach

and the guide said
have a look round for a while
but don't get back late
we got a long way to go yet

so I wandered off with Miriam
to see a few sights
she said she was feeling
tired and hungry

and so we took in a café
and had a coffee and cake
and then went
to Rouen Cathedral

and had look round
can't see the point
of these places
she said

no one believes any more
you know that's not true
by saying no one believes
any more

many people believe
but they don't make
a big deal of it
I said

these places
have a beauty
apart from whatever
religious attraction

they may have
she wasn't impressed
and we didn't stay long
and walking back to the coach

she said
the whole religious thing
is a hangover
from the last century

I let her have her say
I liked her blue eyes
and red tight curled hair
and her way of walking

the hips moving
the tight ****
bobbing up and down
in her yellow top

do you believe then?
she asked
believe what?
all this God

and Heaven thing?
guess so
I said
but it's more like

a comfortable tee shirt
I like the feel of it
and it keeps me sane
in a mad world

we reached the coach
and got on
and sat together
on the right hand side

half way down
I can make you
feel comfortable and sane
she said

do you believe in me?
sure I do
she took my hand
and kissed it

and the driver
put on the radio
and a Beatles song
came on

and she leaned close to me
as the coach took off
out of Rouen
and I smelt her perfume

and her closeness
warmed me
and the  world seemed
a little less mad

and her hand moved
between my thighs
and I was comfortable
and sanely glad.

Alice waited in bed.

She couldn't believe Mary
was to be her new lady's maid.

The nanny had told her
the night before.

Stern looking
she had told her
that Mary was to be
her maid from now on.

There seemed a kind
of relief in the nanny's voice.

Through the night,
Alice thought of it.

The limping thin girl
was to be her own maid.

The thin red hands
to undo and do up
her dresses
and bathe her
and wash her
and take her places.

Mary was in
her own room
in the attic.

Nervous, she was
all fingers and thumbs.

The child was now
her responsibility.

No more washing up
and working in the kitchen
of the big house.

Mrs Broadbeam
was not happy about it.

She would have
to have another now
to train as kitchen maid.

Mary was happy about that.

Maybe her red hands
would have a chance to heal.

She was dressed
in the maid's dress
the nanny had given her
the night before.

It was a bit too big,
but it fitted and was better
than the dresses she wore
in the kitchen which smelt
of cooking and sweat.

She looked at herself
in the old mirror.

She licked her hair damp
to get it to lay down.

The white hat
she had pinned
to her hair.

She smiled
at her reflection.

Alice sat up in bed
as Mary entered.

She looked different,
but she still limped
to the bed.

Have you heard?
Mary asked.

Yes,
Alice said,
you're to be
my own maid.

Mary pulled back
the bed covers
with her red thin fingers
and took Alice's hand gently.

Best get you up
and washed and dressed,
Mary said.

Will your hands
get less red?
Alice asked
looking at the maid's hand
holding hers.

Hope so,
Mary said.

Alice walked with Mary
to the wash bowl  
and Mary poured water in.

Mary undressed Alice
and so began
the washing process.

The warmed water
was better than the cold water
the nanny used
when she did the task.

The washing was gentle
and calm, not forceful
and hurtful as it was
when the nanny did it.

Alice missed her mother
being there. No news
of her since
she had gone away.

Mary was kind
and thoughtful.

She had washed Alice
and dressed her.

That's you all ***** and span,
Mary said.

***** and span?
Alice said.

Neat and clean,
Mary said.

She looked
into Mary's eyes.

There was not
the anger or darkness
as was in
the nanny's eyes.

And when Mary
took her hand
there was not
the pinching or squeezing
like the nanny did.

As Mary limped
to the window
to open it up,

Alice watched her
from behind,
the loose fitting dress,
black and white,
the hair and white hat pinned,

the red hand reaching
for the window latch
to let in air
and Alice smiled
to herself
at the maid
like an angel
standing there.

I liked
the way you sat,
Yiska,

liked the way
your hands rested
on your knees.  

The sun was warm,
the sunlight
on your hair,

your eyes
wide open
as if wanting to drink

in the whole world.
I would lay there
head in your lap,

eyes gazing
at your neck,
there where the blouse collar

was open,
where the shadow
of a kiss remained.

And that time
you left the class room,
after double science,

the mouthed words:
love you,
moving through silence.