You want to go to where?
Victoria rail station
Lydia said
her mother

as she dried the plate
a cigarette hanging
from her lower lip
asked

who with?
Benny the boy upstairs
in the flats
over there

Lydia said
her mother wiped
another plate
why there?

and why with him?
Lydia played
with her fingers
nervously

trains
steam trains
she said
we like to see them

and I like Benny
he's funny
her mother
stared at her

don't seem funny to me
but his mother's
a good sort
so he can't be

too bad I suppose
Lydia looked
at her mother's
red wet hands

how are you
getting there?
bus I guess
Lydia said

and I suppose
you want money
for the fare?
Lydia stared

Benny said
he'd pay
did he now
her mother said

think I can't
afford the fare?
she put the plates
in a cupboard

and stared
at her daughter
thin
weedy looking

she got her black purse
and took out
some coins
don't make a habit

of going out to
faraway places
her mother said
she put the coins

into her daughter's
thin white hands
and walked off
to tidy

the sitting room
Lydia looked
at the coins
in the palm

of her hand
she pocketed them
in her fading red dress
and opened

the front door
to see
if Benny was coming
the baker

was going by
on his horse drawn cart
the horse looked tired
and trotted slow

then she saw Benny
coming across
the Square towards her
riding his

imaginary horse
with his 6 shooter gun
and holster
of course.

Abir walked across the playground
with hands in his pockets
chewing gum
head slightly

to one side
where the heck
is Simcha?
Abir said

he said
he'd be in today?
maybe he's ill
I said

giving his cousin one
more like
Abir said
he doesn't like her

that much
I said
like her much or not
he'd poke her one

if he could
I frowned
what's the frown for?
Abir asked

didn't he bring in
that magazine into school
with those naked women?
didn't he have a pair

of his cousin's *******
in his pocket last month?
I watched Abir
spit the gum into a bin

in one shot
his tongue
running over his lips
loads of boys

get hold
of those magazines
with naked dames
just a learning curve

I said
and those *******
of his cousin
were put there by mistake

he thought
it was his handkerchief
I said
O come on Benny

the kid's a *** fiend
I wouldn't trust him
with my sister
Abir said

you haven't got a sister
I said
well if I had
I wouldn't trust him

with her
Abir said
we stood by a wall
hands in pockets

ABIR
Simcha called
from across
the playground

ABIR
well look you’s turned up?
Abir said
Simcha raced over to us

his blonde hair
in a mess
his school tie loose
about his neck

how are you doing?
Abir asked
greeting Simcha
with a smile

O the trouble
I've had this morning
that cousin of mine
hours in the bathroom

never known anyone
spend so much time
in a bathroom
he said

that's girls for you
Abir said
they spend more time
in a day in there

than we do
in a year
I looked at Simcha
there was a love bite

on his neck
beneath his left ear.

Ole-
I want to run
my finger

along the outline
of your jaw.
I was there

when they broke it
years before.
I was there as it mended-

jaw framed, wired,
Stoic, you did not complain,
wrapped up and put away

deep within, the pain.
Now-
Ole, I grieve,

am grieving;
then, as the jaw mended,
I crept down the stairs

to your bed to see
if you were well
and still breathing.

Janice sat on the grass
of Banks House with me
it was Saturday afternoon
we'd been to

the morning matinee  
seen some films
and cartoons
and had ice cream

in one of those
small tubs
with a wooden spoon
that kid

actually put a knife
to your throat
last Saturday morning?
she said

yes some blonde loon
while I was going
for a ****
got me from behind

and grabbed my hair
and held the knife there
and wanted money
what did you do and say?

she asked
wide eyed
and mouth ajar
I bellowed

HELP
SOME *******'S
TRYING TO
CUT MY THROAT

she moved back
at my sudden bellowing
pigeons took flight
from nearby

some coal man
over by the coal wharf
looked over
what did he do?

she said
he pushed me
into one of the stalls
and ran off

I caught sight
of his blonde hair
and tall frame
as he went out

the door
gosh that must
have been frightening
she said  

it was
all I had
was 6d left
not worth

getting
your throat cut for
I said
would you

have given him the 6d?
I guess so
but my instinct
was to bellow

so I did
he might have stabbed you
she said
yes he may

have kissed my **** too
I didn't think
I just bellowed
did you report it?

yes
my mother
and my old man
went to the cinema with me

in the afternoon
and I gave a description
as best I could
of the kid  

I said
what happened then?
she said
don't know

my parents had a talk
with the manager
and I looked
at the small photographs

showing what was on
the following week
she looked at me deeply
but they let you go

to the cinema again
this week?
she said
of course

can't hide from life
can't let one incident
spoil fun for you
I said

she had that puzzled
look on her face
I noticed she was wearing
the lemon dress

I liked
the one with flowers
and her hair shone
in the afternoon sun

can't let
no idiot
I said
spoil your fun.

Four monks,
black robed,
stood on the beach

in the grounds
of the abbey.
I sat and listened

to the old words
of Father John:
it isn’t easy

living amongst
so many men
from different backgrounds,

with different personalities,
he said
An old clergyman

cross over,
Father Joe
later said.

The young monk,
bespeckled,
crossed over

from the cloister door,
genuflected,
looked at me,

then went
on tip toe
seeming
to the bell tower

to ring
for the office
of Compline.

Guriel said I should join
the Scout Movement
we have lots of fun
we set up our tent

go collect firewood
from the woods
light fires
with two sticks of wood

rubbed together
eat beans and sausages
cooked over
a camp-fire

drink tea or coffee
cooked in a big ***
stuck in the fire
sitting around

the camp fire
singing songs
and also how
to tie and untie knots

we crossed
St George’s Road
on the way home
from school  

what do you think?
he added
after a moment's silence
from me

do you know
the plague of London
in 1665
was probably started

by rats carrying the fleas
that brought the Plague
getting off ships
I said

Old man Fin
told us
in history today
I know

said Guriel
I was there
where in London in 1665?
I said jokingly

no in class
when Mr Fin
was telling us
we went down

the subway
our voices echoing
along the walls
so what about

joining the Scouts?
he asked
no not my scene
I said

I’d rather pick lice
from Zimra's head
but it's good
Guriel said

all boys together
no pesky girls about
spoiling our fun
O well that spoils it for me

I said
no girls no deal
Guriel frowned
they have their own group

it's called Girl Guides
or Brownies
if they're young girls
he said

maybe I’ll join the Guides
I said
you can't
it's for girls only

we came out
on the New Kent Road
O well
that's me stuffed then

I said
but it'll make a man of you
Guriel said
you can join

one of the armed services
when you leave school
no thanks
I said

my old man said
it was the worse days
of his life in the army
I’d rather work in a garage

or theatre sell ice creams
in the cinema
we stopped
at the corner

of Meadow Row
well if you change your mind
he said
it's over

by the church hall
over there
he said
and he walked off

and I walked down
Meadow Row
thinking about
my mother's meat pie

watching
a swooping
black bird
in the afternoon sky.

You lay there
on the bed
with tubes and wires
coming from body and head.  

Tubes from mouth and nose,
eyes, those large eyes,
bright, laughing, kind,
now closed seemingly
in deep sleep.

You unaware
we were there,
we who loved you
and would have tipped
the scales of the world
to have you safe
and back with us,
who would have given you
limbs or body parts or eyes,
would have searched
the dark corridors of death
to have brought you back,
back with us, us whom
you loved and who loved you.

You lay there still and silent,
the day unfolding,
the artificial light betraying
the hours passing,
the minutes ticking away,
the hushed conversations
between us who watched
and waited, talks to you,
the telling of how things
had been and would be again;
clutching at hope like some rope,
wishing you on, watching
the dials of the machine,
the flashing lights, the hums,
the sounds, and you so still,
Stoic until the end, your
puffed up body, tinged with blue;
your hands, warm, soft,
which we took turns to hold,
arms which would have once
embraced, now still, unmoving,
touched, as if we might wake you,
see your large eyes open,
that hint of a smile, your smile,
that infamous smile and spread of lips.

You lay on the bed, tubed and wired,
unaware we were there watching
from the shore towards a deep sea
of approaching dark unbelievable death,
or maybe you were aware of us
standing or sitting there, taking
your last walk amongst us, unseen,
touching us, brushing a hand
against us as you passed,
and we unaware of you going by,
right until the last second of time
as we watched you die.

Nadav had rough skin
when he touched
it was like sandpaper
rubbing flesh

girls have a habit
of boring me
to tears
he said

I looked
at Miss Ashdown's
broad behind
as she walked down

the aisle between desks
in class
her skirt swayed
like old ship's sails

all they talk of
is dolls and prams
and doll's clothes
and about whom

they'll marry
one day
I wondered
if Miss Ashdown's hips

wore away the wood
at the side
of the desks
as she walked

between them
I prefer boy's talk
of guns and battles
and wars and such

he said
I watched
as Miss Ashdown
turned and faced

the front of the class
her big bust
like battleship guns
do you like girl's talk?

Nadav asked
I like their gentleness
and softness
and smell of flowers

I said
but talk?
he said
what of that?

the knack
I said
is to listen
only to the last

few words of speech
to get the drift
of talk
Miss Ashdown

glared at Nadav
and threw
skill fully
chunks of chalk.

The young monk
stood in the cloister,
half in shade,
half in light;

his thin hands
hidden
in the wide
black sleeves

of his habit.
Three black robed monks
met me
on the narrow road

to the abbey.
A bell tolled
from the bell tower,
loud and clear

over the fields,
disturbing birds
from trees.
An old monk,

bony,
sickened,
knelt in a prayer
on his frail knees.

Even on
the brightest morning,
when the best birds sing,
and the sun is out
bright and strong,
and my mind
is planning what to do,
I miss you.

Even at the mid of day
when I am sorting lunch
and getting some writing
on the way,
trying to move on
from the blue,
I miss you.

Even when I laugh
at some TV show,
or cry at some hospital
tales old or new,
I miss you.

And at evening time
When sun has set
and moon is out
and glowing
and the sky
is neither black
nor blue,
I miss you.

I miss you
for being you,
not some abstract self,
not just someone
I used to know,
but you, my son,
you, and with palm
blown kiss,
I say:
It is you I miss.

Gefen said
that girl you like
that one
who stinks somewhat

and looks as if
she slept in a barn
is in the girl's bog-house
crying

I looked at him
and flicked
my cigarette card
against the wall

of the playground
it wasn't near enough
to win I didn't think
why's she crying?

I asked
how the ****
would I know
he said

just saw her go in
and heard the sobbing
I watched
as another kid

flicked his card
near touch the wall
and fall
ok you win

I said
and walked up the steps
from the playground
and walked

to the bogs
and listened
with ear to the door
that you Enid?

I asked
no it's Coleman
what do you want?
I said nothing

and wandered off away
and there was Enid
by a window
what's up?

I said
she looked at me
through smeary glasses
not here

she said
not what here
I said
I can't say here

ok where then?
I said
so she beckoned me
to follow her

along a dank passageway
(there were many)
until we came
to where the cleaners

kept their brooms
and buckets
and such stuff
and she sneak inside

and pulled me in
beside her
well?
I said

sniffing the air
of disinfect
and soap
and yesterday's clothes

can't sit properly
she said
and she lifted
her dull grey dress

to reveal a red weal
along her thigh
and beyond
it hurts when I sit

and I can't say why
and it hurts to sit
she lowered her dress
and looked at me

red eyed
and dripping nose
your old man?
I asked

she nodded
and looked around
the small room
her eyes vacant

say you've got a boil
on your backside
and ask for a cushion
I did last term

when I had boils
on mine
she looked unsure
really?

yes really
I said
I'll ask
old ma Murphy

if you like
she's got loads
of cushions
Enid looked at me

her eyes dull
as dishwater
ok
she said

she kissed my cheek
and followed me out
and along
to Murphy's room

uncertain
and unhappy
as if facing
death and doom.

Do you want to see
my collection of knives?
Jim asked
sure

I said
so he went
into his
ground floor flat

and I sat
on the grass
outside
his bedroom window

cleaning my
6 shooter gun
with my handkerchief
here

Jim said
have look
at this beauty
and he handed me

a narrow bladed knife
with an eagle
on the handle
and German script

on the blade
Meine Ehre Heisst Treue
what does that mean?
I asked

Dad said it means
my honour is loyalty
Jim said
I ran a finger

along the blade
it was still sharp
it's an SS knife
he said

I handed him
back the knife
and off he went
to get another

this one
had a curved blade
be careful
of the blade

Jim said
it's very sharp
I bet that's taken off
many a head

he said
sliding his thumb
under his throat
what kind

of knife is it?
I asked
it's a Gurkha
combat knife

he said
he took
that knife away
and brought back

a knife with
a knuckleduster handle
what the hell is this?
I said

taking the knife
into my hands
and turning it over
it's an Aussie

fighting knife
Jim said
could have
slit open a ***

he said
I tried not
to think of that
but looked

at the knuckleduster handle
and imagined
a man's hand
and fingers there

at one time
I handed Jim
back the knife
and he went

back inside
there were voices
coming
from Jim's room

and Jim's old man
came to the window
and said
don't tell no one

what you've seen Benny
Jim should
have known better
and backed off

into the room
I looked
at my 6 shooter
in my lap

Jim came
along the grass
back from the flat
sorry about that

he said
Dad has this thing
about knives
and such

he helped
open up
Belsen camp
and saw too much.

Chana had a bike
and I had a scooter
she moaned a lot

and I did not
she wore clothes
her mother said

she had to wear
I wore
what was left to wear

from the day before
she loved sweets
and ice lollies

I loved licorice sticks
and sarsaparilla
she  hated vegetables

and meat pies
I hated liver
and fish with eyes

she said
why don't you
go play elsewhere

and leave
my brother to me?
go ask your brother

I said
and then we'll see
he said not her but me

so Chana went off
in a huff
riding her bike

like a bat
from Hell
Chana

was my best friend's
sister not
(thank God) my girl.

I was there
when Yizreel died.
He'd had
his third stroke.
He looked at me
with his dull eyes,
but he never spoke.

I nursed him after his first,
aided him through his second;
the voice surviving,
a lame left wing,
walking with a slide
of leg and stick.

You take good care of me,
he said, like a good son,
better in fact, not out of duty,
nor the the wages, I expect,
I'd hear him say,
in what they pay.

I loved him like a father,
a grandfather I didn't have;
washed him, dressed,
shaved and brush his hair;
he pretending all was well
as if he didn't care.

I attended his funeral;
sat amongst his family
unnoticed by most,
except by his son,
a tall thin man, here,
he said,he's a fiver,
for work you've done.

I was there when Yizreel
died his death;
a closing of his dull eyes
and ease of breath.

Why do you wear
your guns back to front
in the holsters?
Helen asked me

as we walked
the bomb site
by Meadow Row
I saw this cowboy

in a film
at the cinema
have his like this
and you cross

your hands over
and get your guns
isn't it slower
that way?

she asked
no it's speed that matters
not how
you wear your guns

I said
I showed her
how quick I was
and she stood bemused

clutching her doll
Battered Betty
tightly to her chest
haven't you got

caps in your guns
to make them
sound real?
she asked

no I ran out
and anyway
I can make
the sound myself

by going
BANG BANG
she jumped away
holding Battered Betty

to her chest
you could have told me
you were going
to make that loud

banging noise
Betty got frightened
I looked at her
tightly woven plaits

of hair
and thick lens glasses
and her small hands
holding the doll

sorry Betty
I said
patting the doll's head
I put the guns away

and we walked
to the New Kent Road
and along
under the railway bridge

and by the Trocadero cinema
gazing at the billboards
and small pictures
of films

being shown
you can come
with me here
on Saturday

I said
they've got
a good cowboy film
showing

haven't any money
for the cinema
Mum said
she can't afford it

Helen said
my old man'll
cough up some money
if I ask

I said
she looked at me
Mum'll let me go
if you ask her

Helen said
ok let's go
ask her now
I said

so we walked
to Helen's house
and I told her
about how I practised

drawing my guns
everyday
she looked at Betty
but whether

she was listening
to me
or not
I couldn't say.

Natanya threw a cup
and *** and saucepan
and I stood there
wondering what the heck

what this outburst
was all about
but a knife
whizzed by my ear

and I shouted at her
but she wasn't listening
she fled upstairs
cursing

babbling about
some girl
whose name
she had found

in a notebook of mine
and address too
she said
who is she?

Who?
This girl here?
What girl?
This one here

she shoved
the notebook at me
O her
I said

she was a girl
I stopped for shop-lifting
the other day
and I had to note

her name and address
for the police
Natanya stared at me
her dark eyes

bright and sharp
likely story
she said
you've been

seeing her
behind my back
and probably
bedded her

in that ****
workplace of yours
there was spittle
on her lower lip

ask Ron
he was there
he saw her too
he has her name

in his book too
O sure
he probably
had her too

she said
that is scraping
the bottom of barrel
I said

ask the manager
he saw
the notebook too
or do you think he

had the girl too?
Natnaya shut up
and looked
at the bed

behind her
I suppose
I made a mistake
she said quietly

yes
I said
I don't suppose
you have time?

she said
looking towards
the made up bed
not now

not after this
maybe later
I said
giving her a parting kiss.

Baruch laid stone
upon stone
on the grave.

Still warm;
dry weather for weeks.

Deganya put down
a stone gently,
placed it just so,
next to his.

They stood looking
at the stones
on the grave.

Flowers stood *****
in a vase, pink,
white and red.

Hard to believe
she's dead,
Baruch said.

Deganya stood
with her thin hands
at her sides.

Always
she survived things,
always the joke
of immortality,
Deganya said.

Mortality reminds us
who and what we are,
Baruch said,
kneeling down
arranging the stones.

That last time she knew,
Deganya said,
no joke that time.

She put her hands
together prayer-like.

Baruch gazed sideways
at the girl.

We had
our good times
together;
bad times, too.

She never
spoke of it,
Deganya said,
looking
at the flowers.

You made her happy
for years.

Baruch said nothing.

The stones were
as they should be now.

The girl's mother
had been a love of his.

Time had separated them;
the rows too frequent
at the end to repair.

Deganya looked at him
then at the sky,
sniffed the fragrant air.

Netanya met me
at the rail station
and we got the train

to the coast
for the evening air
and sight of sea

and just be
he asked
where are you going?

and I said
that's for me to know
and you to guess

I told him
Netanya said
the sight of the sea

and moonlight
and the sound of waves
and smell of salt

made the trip out
with her special
does he guess

who you are with?
I asked
she looked out

at the horizon
a ship passed by
shadowy

in the evening light
he can guess
all he likes

won't make
any difference
she said

we walked along
by the beach
she held my hand

her wedding ring
had been removed
the green raincoat

tied tight
against
the evening wind

must seem odd to him
that you choose
to go out

rather than stay in
and watch TV
I said

are you sorry
I asked you out?
she said

no
just curious
as to why?

I said
she looked at me
with her dark eyes

think I love you
she said
then looked away

at the sea
dangerous three words
I said

but meant
she said
not easy to admit that

about someone
guess not
I said

how do you feel
about me?
she asked

I like being with you
I said
I think of you a lot

and?
she said
what does that mean?

I smelt the salt
strong
hitting the lungs

clearing the head
love you a lot
I said.

Your brother
has laid flowers
on your stone
today Ole.

Tulips, pink,
purple and white,
I think.  

The black
memorial stone,
sculptured book,
what beauty
here stands;
chiselled words,
name and dates,
else all said,
to mark and say
you’re dead.

Aba wishes,
as do others,
it was not so,
that stone
was not in place,
that you were
here still,
face to face.  

But fact is
that you are
and that it is
in place,
book sculptured
and designed as such,
skilfully done
and made to last;
outlive us
who come see
and make our visit,
steady and firm,  
granite made,
and there
beside you,
Ole, we also
will be boxed
and gently laid.

Yaakova said the caravan
we slept in
was too crowded.

It was Belgium
on the outskirts
of Zeebrugge,
some base camp,
no tents
arrived for us.

Couldn't move legs
without touching others,
she said.

I'd seen her in the night;
I had slept on the floor,
near the door, draft,
chill, legs stiff.

Frightened I kick
some one in my sleep,
she said.

We were in
the base camp café
eating breakfast
and drinking cokes.

No tents, why is that?
She asked.

**** up, somewhere,
I said.

What is the **** up,
as you say?
She said.

Poor planning
and execution of plans,
I said.

Execution?
She said,
my father he talked
about executions
in old days.

He said his uncle executed
in Stalin's time.

I lit a cigarette
and inhaled.

I didn't mean
that kind of execution,
I said,
I meant the carrying out
of plans made.

I like to sleep
with more room,
she said,
at home I sleep
in big bed.

I can imagine,
I said.

I could.
Even what type of bed
it was and what
colour sheets
she'd have and covers.

She ate her bacon and eggs;
I sipped my coke.

How you imagine
my big bed?
She asked,
you not see
my big bed.

Imagination,
I said,
I can picture it.

She looked at me
with her big brown eyes.

You think of me?

No, your bed,
I said.

Although I could imagine her
in her bed
all laid out there
arms spread wide,
legs too,
but I didn't
tell her that,
I just sipped
the coke
and inhaled
my cigarette.

She talked of her home,
her family,
but she lying there
in her bed,
that image,
I couldn't forget.

Sonya liked the Eiffel Tower,
the art galleries,
the Arc de Triomphe.

We met in a café
in a back street of Paris,
coffee, small cream cakes,
she smoking
her French cigarettes.

You have regrets?
She asked.

Most of us do,
I said.

When my father died
I regret things
I didn't say to him,
she said,
always the regrets,
and when Mother go
and leave,
I thought it was
because of me,
I regret not trying
to find her
when I was older,
she added.

I sipped the coffee,
taking in her blonde
pulled-back-in-a-tight-pony-tail hair,
her red lips,
opening and closing with words.

Regrets are useless things,
I said,
you can do nothing with them,
they change nothing,
don't make one
feel better, only worse.

She looked at me,
her steely blue eyes
sharp as blades.

One cannot choose
to regret or not,
it is there, like scar,
one cannot push out,
she said.

I regret having regrets,
I said,
if I counted up all my regrets
and could turn them
into coins I’d be a rich guy.

She inhaled on her cigarette;
her fingers were browning
where she held
the cigarette so often.

I regret my first boyfriend,
she said,
he wanted *** all the time,
like animal, always
the wanting *** *** ***.

I looked at the waitress
passing by the table,
tight black dress,
white apron
tight about her waist,
nice legs.

Yes, that can be a problem
I guess,
I said,
awkward on dates;
when or do you
get down to ***
on the second date
or third or not at all?

She sipped her coffee,
looked at me,
blue eyes to sink in.

Not have ***,
she said,
until both are ready,
until both agree
time is right.

I noted the waitress
pass by again.

Nice behind,
I thought.

Regrets,
Sonya said,
always there,
like sin,
once it bite into soul
hard to get out.

Yes, I guess so,
I said,
I've been in
the confessional more times
than a *****
drops her draws.

She flushed, looked away.
I put a hand
to my lips;
the things(regretted),
I thought,
I say.

Aba would
have been there
Ole
had he known

would not
have left you so
facing death alone
that first time

bedded in that
hospital ward
that late evening

had they drawn
the curtains by then
Ole?

Was it still dull
that end
despite the light?

Who found you
and were they
there in time
that first time around?

Did you murmur
make moan
make sound?

Aba would
have given his life
for yours any day
given his limbs
his eyes
his speech
but too late
he didn't know
until they phoned
when they managed
to reach

remember Ole
you are loved
not forgotten

Aba and family
made it
the second time
around
but you
were comatosed
and made no sign
or sound.

Atara loved Dubrovnik
loved the old city walls
the shops and cafés
the churches and narrow streets

she liked sitting
drinking coffee
outside the restaurant

reading her
Schopenhauer book
a cigarette held
between fingers
watching now and then
people passing

Naaman had gone
to see a few sites
he said
rid himself
of his hangover
more like
she mused
by the sea edge
thinking
of the previous night
and too much wine
or Slivovitz

she sipped her coffee
even ***
had to be aborted
room swaying
he pronounced
although it was doing
no such thing
least not
in her head
lying in bed
wanting to sleep
not ***

she heard him snoring
some time after
from the bathroom
sprawled on the floor

the Schopenhauer book
was good even if
somewhat pessimistic
with that Eastern perspective
regarding the Will
and negation

she sipped the coffee
once more
but held the mouthful
sampling the flavour
the sense on tongue
the sensation
on the inner skin
of cheeks
warm and wet
and strong
but not bitter

she swallowed
and smiled
good
better than
the attempted ***
or that achieved
in recent months
and days

she loved Dubrovnik
and Naaman too
but he must
she mused
inhaling smoke
change his ways.

Yiska sat by the window
of the locked ward
looking out
at the dawn light
coming through
the trees of the wood

behind her snores
from the sleepers
coughs
words spoken out
in dreams

she looked back
into the ward
and semi dark
lights from the night nurse's office
smeared into
the locked ward's
space

she looked back
into the wood
and the light of dawn
breaking through
the trees
like an army of ghosts

out there he was
he who ditched her
at the altar
she and her
upside down day
wedding that wasn't
bride who near died
can't live
without him
she'd said
wish I was dead

the light spread
through the trees
******* branches

you're not going to
until after the wedding
she'd said
they never did

maybe that was it?
she asked
the coming light
pushing aside night
because I’d not do it
before the day?
wouldn't let him
have his way?
she said

a voice muttered
behind her
words muffled
by snores

out there
somewhere
he's there
he who betrayed
(he hasn't turned up
I’m afraid)
the best man's words
let lose
like angry birds
flapping
about her head

I want to be dead
she had cried
and almost died
(handful of pills
all sorts
colours
types
strengths)

the light was spreading
through wood
burn it all
nothing now
(she said
recalling Auden)
can come
to any good.

I stood in line
to be weighed
in the bathroom
of the nursing home

Anne crutched herself
behind me
you haven't
got a chance in hell

of winning
that chocolate bar Kid
she said
I've seen more meat

on a butcher's pencil
stuck behind his ear
might win
I said

might fly
she said  
the kid in front of me
got on

the green metal scales
and the nun
moved the weight
along the top

not you Malcolm
she said
the kid got off sulkily
I got on the scales

and the nun
moved the weight
I looked at her
black and white

headdress
her pinched features
not you Benny
she said

I got off
and walked away
Anne awkwardly
got on the scales

holding herself
on her one leg
the stump
of the other

hanging there
best so far Anne
the nun said
told you Kid

you didn't
have a chance
guess not
I said

as she crutched herself
along side of me
not to worry
if I get the choco bar

I’ll give you
a quarter for being
a good friend
no other

in this *******
gets a look in
we went along
to our rooms

come in Kid
she said
I hesitated
come in

I want to
ask you something
I stood swaying
uncertain

what if
one of the nuns
comes along?  
what if I don't give you

quarter of the choc bar?
she said
I followed her in
to the girls dorm

no one else
was there
just she and me
she closed the door

with her backside
right Kid
I want you
to do me

a favour
favour?
I said
sensing uncertainty

hit my gut
yes I want you
to sneak along
to the kitchen tonight

and liberate
some biscuits
liberate?
I said

biscuits?
yes you know
what biscuits are
don't you

those hard things
with cream in the middle
or chocolate
on one side

I know what biscuits are
I said
but what do you mean
liberate?

take some
from the big tin
they have
on the shelf

in larder
take?
I said
you mean steal?

steal
take
liberate
whatever word

you want
to use Kid
what if I get caught?
don't get caught

but what if I do?
Anne sighed
sat on the edge
of her bed

I thought you
were someone
I could rely on Kid
not some cowardly custard

yellow belly
I looked
at her leg stump
sticking out

the other leg
reached to the floor
if you're really good
I’ll let you touch

my stump
she said
no need
I said

I'll try tonight
sneak down
after lights out
good Kid

she said
she took my right hand
and lay it
on the stump

and held it there
it felt warm
and soft
she let my hand go

good huh?
wish the rest
was there
she said

off you go
and don't get caught
I nodded
and backed out

of the room
seeing her cover
the stump
with her dress

and smile
see you
I said
you bet

she said
I walked away
thinking
of the big steal

of biscuits
unthought through
by my 10 year old brain
as yet.

Dawn breaks. Sliver of light
through shutters, wakes Sister
Blaise, stirs her from sleep.
Bell rings. Chimes loud.

She sits up, legs over the
side of the bed. Bare feet,
wooden floor. Coldness bites.
Rubs arms, legs. Crosses

herself with middle digit,
in nomine Patris. Bright light
through shutters slices into
floor. Prayer said she rises

from her bed. Thoughts race
through her head. Drab night
gown, grey, long. She walks
to the enamel bowl, pours

cold water, washes face and
neck and hands. Et Filii, et
Spiritus Sancti. Lets water
run through fingers. Wash

me whiter. The Christ on
the wall hangs there in His
silence. Picture of Christ on
her desk, hands out stretched.

She runs water through her
fingers, wet, cold. Wash me,
cleanse me. She dries her
hands on the old white towel,

rubbing dry fingers, hands,
face and neck. Uncle used to.
Pushes thoughts of him away,
they slip back in place, eel like.

Uncle used to touch. Bless me
Father. She folds the towel,
places it neatly at the foot
of her bed. She removes the

nightgown. Dresses in her habit.
White and black. Mother said
nothing. Silence and the turning
of the head. Finger pressed

against lips. Dressed, she sets
about her cell. Tidying, sorting,
bed making. Uncle used to touch
her. For I have sinned. She opens

the shutters, lets light in, opens
the windows, fresh air, birdsong,
slight breeze. Father used to beat.
The Christ hanging from the cross

on the wall is silent. Nailed hands,
hands curled. She has kissed the
nailed feet. Now she stares at the
turned head, turned slightly to one

side, crown of thorns, wood carved.
Sister Clare is in the cloister. She
watches her walk. She stops. Looks
into the cloister Garth. Flowers

growing, neat rows, large bushes.
Mother said nothing. Beatings.
Lies told about Uncle he said.
Sent to bed, no supper. The sun

is warm, light on head. She walks
from the window and stands in
front of the crucifix. His hands
curled, nailed, old nails, pins.  

Feet one on top of the other, nailed
in place. She kisses His feet.
Presses soft lips. Uncle used
to touch, said our secret, sin

to tell, little girl. She presses
lips to His feet. Mother weak,
said nothing, dying now, cancer,
pain, hurts. Father dead. Never

make old bones he said. Proved
right. She closes her eyes. Touches
His legs, runs finger along. Stiff,
cold, smooth. Uncle did; she never

told again. Father displeased, the
beating pleased. The bell rings again.
Echoes along cloister. She crosses
herself with middle digit. A bird sings.

Wind moves branches by window,
He calls, must leave, must go.

The sun was strong
and Miriam and I
lay in the sun
at the base camp

side by side
she in her red bikini
and I in tee-shirt
and jeans

(not wanting
to get too sunburnt)
who is that hag
who complains

all the time?
she asked
no idea
I said

not much on names
only faces
even the ex army guy
who sleeps

in my tent
(one has to share
a tent
with the same ***

unfortunately)
I keep forgetting
his name
she looked skyward

in her sunglasses
(large things
like insect eyes)
I like Madrid

she said
I could live here
if I didn't have
a job back home

yes
we could set up here  
I said
get jobs

get a place together
bed together
visit the museums
and art galleries

together
sit in bars together
she added
do you speak

any Spanish?
I said
no
she said

apart from my
schoolgirl attempts
which get me
no where

have to make
our way here
without it
I said

as long
as we can
get a beer
and bread

and bed
she laughed
and put out
a hand to touch

mine
thin fingers
small hand
I gazed at the trees

above my head
touching the sky
birds in flight
thinking of her

and the love
made last night.

A book lay open
on the table
by her bed
I looked

at the cover
blue
well worn
named Byron

a friend gave me it
Julie said
can't make head
or tails yet

the ward was quiet
blinds
were pulled up
sunlight came in

blue and white
over duller white
she in a flowery gown
pink flowers

small
on white cloth
tied at the waist
leg crossed over

the other
slippered feet
thin ankles
not read him

I said
died in Greece
she said
who?

I asked
Byron
she said
she pulled a cigarette

from an open packet
and lit up
I’ve read Shelley
I said

he drowned in Italy
I think
she inhaled
smoke rose

grey
white
lifting ceiling ward
thin fingers

held
fingers parted
slightly curved
as if sculptured

I sat
on her hospital bed
firm
blue blanket

white pillows
solid
Guy's in the slammer
she said

drug taking
and selling
I said nothing
looked at her lips

holding the cigarette
opened and closed
hair untidy
won't see him

in a while
the parents
will be glad
didn’t like him

have class of course
his parents that is
she said
I studied the cleavage

where the gown
lay open
small valley
darkness sinking

when I get out of here
she said
we must meet
in London again

I looked away
from her cleavage
outside
the sound

of hard
falling rain.

You often wonder
Where it all went wrong
And why the expanse

Of sky darkened with
The coming of the
Words: no longer love

You, in fact, never
Did, just needed to
Have you about me

To keep company
When no one else would
Do, now they've gone, found

Someone else to hurt
And spoil and bring their
Heart to heat and boil

Then leave to cool like
They left you, just you
Now and the dog all

Alone and Buddy
Holly singing on
The old gramophone.

See her? She has it all.
He sleeps at night
and dreams of her.

Even the Moon
grows jealous
of his dreams.

He see her every day
on the train;
they do not speak;
she sits in one place,
he in another.

She looks
good enough to eat
he thinks.

He can't wait
until they speak,
until they meet,
make love,
sit and smoke;
have a joke.

See her? She has it,
he doesn't, he sits
looking at her
he has the hots;
inside he wastes,
inside he rots.

Milka was by the duck pond
we'd been to the cinema
to see an Elvis film
I’d bought us ice creams

and we were sitting there
getting some air
I thought my brothers
would be there

she said
they said they would
just to show me up
being with you

I watched her
as she spoke
her tongue licking
in between conversation

they just said that
to wind you up
I said
they've gone fishing

with your big brother
they always
do that to me
she said

get me wound up
that's brother for you
I said
the ducks swam

around the pond
there were geese
as well and other birds
pecking up bread

spread around
my mother almost
caught us
the other day

Milka said
that was close
I looked
at the ducks

you said your mother
would be out for ages
I said
I thought she would

Milka said
I remembered hearing
her mother
talking out

in the farmyard
to a farm hand
your mother's here
I recalled saying

to Milka as she lay
on her narrow
single bed
what O god

and she had thrown
on clothes
and cursing
under her breath

I put my jeans
back on
watching as her mother
chatted to the guy

get out
Milka said
go downstairs
make out

I’m in the loo
I just made it
as her mother
came in

the ducks swam around
I finished
my ice cream
as Milka licked away

her small tongue licking
her eyes gazing
at the swan
that had come down

large and white
swimming smooth
I kissed her neck
lips to flesh

warm and soft
and she giggled
and I loved the way
her bottom wiggled.

You used to ride that bike
through these woods
Yehudit said
no tyres

no brakes
a ****** saddle
that almost
castrated you

Baruch laughed
yeah and I could get up
quite a speed
on that thing

and almost break
your neck
she said
they had just

made love
in the old shed
where he used
to store the old bike

he lay on his back
gazing at cobwebs
and leaves caught
in old spider webs

she lay on her side
staring at his profile
I loved that old bike
it was a death trap

she said
he smiled
yeah guess it was
she kissed

his naked thigh
what would your mother say
if she saw you
here now?

he asked
don't ask
she said
before kissing his hip

you know there's
probably mice in here
he said
she sat up

and looked around
where?
how the heck
do I know

he said
he turned and gazed
at her figure
in the half light

the semi light
caught one ***
caressed it
as if

an art piece
spiders too
he added
just to see

her reaction
she looked
on the floor
covered in dead leaves

and twigs
and his old coat
laid out there
I miss that old bike

he said
studying the touch
of light
on her head

seemingly
slicing her face
into two
one in shadow

one in light
what happened to it?
she asked
moving leaves

to satisfy herself
no mice or spiders
were there
Breathwaite kid took it

and it got broke up
Baruch said
she lay on her back
her head

on her folded coat
do people
still come here?
she asked

don’t know
he said
not seen anyone here
in a while

he kissed her cheek
in shadow
she moved towards him
moving her hand

along his thigh
she moved
into shadow
out of light of his eye.

I sense the touch
of boy's eyes upon
me, said Jeanette,
the touch inches

beneath my skin,
moves along my
veins, ****** at my
heart. I sit and see

the other girls remote,
untouched as I, their
voices gathered like
hens at feed, pecking

their order of who
and must; I hear the
words giggled: kiss
and tell, and touch

and feel, and who did
what to whom, echoing
around the room in
whispers spoken, hid

by hands, eyes betraying
what their voices are saying.
A girl talks of ******
climes, of ***** deeds,

with him, but who is he
for no one tells, just a
lover of girls. I wash
each night to cleanse me

from their touch of words,
their deeds half buried
in my mind's hold; I bathe
and sit and scrub, sensing

the day's grime wash clear
away, hair,arms, hands,
neck and *******, where
they say(and laugh) their

*** boys play. I hear their
words as I sit in class,
whispering, whispering,
who did what to whom

and where and were you
there?  I wonder at their
lives, their way of walk
and do and deeds, the want

of love or need of keeping
something back, virginity
not saved not cared for such
as seems when they speak

and sprout it all comes out.
I bathe in water warm and
soapy, scrub my skin to
cleanse them off, the night

spread before me like a dark
gown, the stars blinking eyes,
the moon a ghostly ship on a
dreary sea. I don't think boys

will want of me. I dress as
neat and tight and show no
part that should not be be
seen, I am as yet untouched,

unfingered, unkissed, a
flower in a gloomy meadow,
a blossom in a city site, a
gem(says mother) in a heap

of *****. I sense the touch of
boy's eyes upon my skin, it
bites at me, ****** at nerves
and heart, I want to be undone,
not left alone and torn apart.

Frumpy
the other girls
called her
at school

and the boys
when they bothered
with her at all
which wasn't often

as they had
other girls
to chat up
or not at all

but play ball
or games
on field
Elaine sat in class

waiting for the bell
to ring for lunch recess
for the end
of the long morning

waiting to see John
(well 3 hours and over)
and she put her pens
and pencils away

and not hearing
what the teacher
might say
seeing only

his broad back
and raised hand
with chalk
and endless talk

over his shoulder
if only
she were bolder
she'd tell him

to ****** off
(such language
her mother
would say)

but she only
managed a cough
waiting
for the bell to ring

tense
sitting on the edge
of her chair
not wanting

to be there
the words India
and Bombay
came over

the shoulder
slinking her way
she sat and stared
at the broad back

suited in black
at least John had talked
to her before school
getting off the bus

something about a Jay
some bird he'd seen
she couldn't relate
or think where

a bird came into
the conversation
she had been so tense
her nerves on edge

her stomach churning
come on Frumpy
a girl said
at her left

bell's gone
had it?
she hadn't heard
the whole class rose

in a mass
and made
for the exit
books packing

noise making
laughter
and confidence expressing
unlike she

who sat momentarily
unsure if John
would be there
or not

she feeling cold
then hot
on life's edge
half wanting to cry

and then laugh
then cry again
she got up
with satchel

and books packed
and pencils
and pens
she made her way

out of the room
like one awaiting
execution
and dark gloom.

The touch of her hand,
skin on skin, warm, soft,
and then she was off,
bell tolled, she walking

away, returning to school,
as was I, yet how to shake
off the feel and warmth
and softness? I walked

the corridor to the next
lesson, mind in confusion,
half back there on the field
with her, half with me, one  

foot one in front of the other
kind of thing, dreading lesson’s
bore, wanting to be back on
the field with her, wanting more.

Even though I was there in
the room sitting, listening or
seemingly so, it was she I
thought of, her lips that held

me in awe, not his, this teacher,
sprouting some yarn of a far
off war, some kingdom lost,
some one’s head chopped off,

while the half of brain and thought
on she of heart and mind’s hold,
taunted me from far away field,
in imagery, seemed all love and

kiss and such, but meanwhile,
I here with dulled brain half,
could only sit and stare at where
I had been kissing her there.

Christina was with friends
schoolgirls like her
and she saw me

coming across
the sports field
she left them

and met me
and I heard them
cackle like hens

I’d turned down
Reynard's game
of football

to be there
what's tickling
their fancy?

I asked
nodding
towards the girls

on the field
O you know
what girls are like

any juicy bit
of gossip
to bite on

what gossip is that?
about the gym
and us the other day

she said
and that prefect
turfing us out

O that
I said
looking at her eyes

seeing worlds there
I wish I was in your year
she said

then I
would be leaving school
this year

instead of next
shouldn't wish
your life away

or before you know it
you'll be an old lady
with grey hair

and wrinkles
God forbid
she said smiling

we walked up
the field together
she talked

of her parent's rowing
and her mother's moods
and how her big brother

had  done things
but then she broke off
and talked

of the girl in her class
who thought
she was dying

because she had
started to bleed
during P.E

we got to fence
which separated
the field from the road

where cars and lorries
were going by
she looked back

at the field
we don't get
enough time together

she said
you being
in a village

miles away
and I living
in this boring town

at least we do
see each other
I said

not enough
of each other though
she said

her lips stopped
and parted slightly
I gazed at her

for a few moments
taking in her eyes
and lips

that kiss
in the gym
she said

that could have
led somewhere
could it?

I said
yes it may
she said

BENNY
someone called my name
across the field

who the heck is that?
she said
my mate Reynard

I said
what's he want?
football game I expect

you're not going
to play football
are you?

she said
I waved away Rolland
indicating I wasn't playing

and he ran off
with other boys
towards the goals

on the other end
of the field
she looked at the boys

kicking a ball around
never understand boys
she said

what do they see
in kicking a ball about?
never mind them

I said
we have limited
time together

she nodded
and she looked back
at the field seeing

who was nearby
and who was who
then she came

close to me
and kissed me
her lips warm

and wet
skin on skin
tongues touched

a fire like sense
raced along
my nerves

I closed my eyes
and so did she
and we were

in places
and positions
in our minds

where
we wanted
to be.

I rise at the break of dawn,
said Sister Clare, I rise
like the lark into morning sky,
my arms out stretched like
the wings of a bird in flight;
I leave my bed, I leave my
dreams for the owls of night.

The bell rings, the voice of
my Groom calls, His voice
softer than a falling leaf, His
words enter my mind and heart,
His love fills me, touches each
part of my deepest self, echoes
along the strings of my nerves.

I dress like one for a wedding,
clothe myself with simple array,
black and white and grey; my
feet are simply clad, sandals
sans stockings or tights, my
hair hidden from sight, my
face alone is seen by the world.

I walk along the cloister like
one in love, my Groom awaits
me in the chapel, His arms
spread wide, His hands nailed
to the large wooden cross; His
eyes are closed, His heart is open,
His love flows from His wounds.

I go to my place in the choir, I
open my book of prayer, I sing
His praises, sensing Him there,
my Love, My Groom, my dear
Wounded Lamb, my King of Kings.
My  lips sing to Him, my voice
steady as one in flight, my hands
would feel His pain, His wounds
I would bathe, I would cleanse.

My heart is His, my life, my ticking
time of deed and thought, my body
is His, my waking hour is His to
tell or take, to let me sleep or wake.

I go about my day, I do my deeds,
I work and pray, I think of Him as
I do my chores, think on His coming
hour, His raising the dead, His sadly
separating sheep from goats, as the
Good Book said, I think of His healing
touch, His firm words upon the air,
I sense Him near, I feel His hand upon
my brow, I wish He would come to me now.

The small hut
on the Downs
unused now

near the hedge
is not what
Lizbeth thought

it would be
is this it?
she mutters

Benedict
nods his head
this is it

there's no light
inside there
probably

got spiders
Lizbeth says
likely to

he replies
and woodlice
and beetles

and field mice
she stands back
mouth open

wide open eyes
she had thought
before this

she could get
Benedict
to have ***

with her here
a nice hut
she had thought

the blanket
an old one
she had brought

from her home
on the ground
cosy warmth

making love
Benedict
entering

into her
with birdsong
going on

the outside
having him
at long last

after months
of planning
and now this

this old hut
damp and dark
with spiders

and field mice
and beetles
and woodlice

making love
in that place
she muses

looking in
wouldn't be
one bit nice

Benedict
unaware
of her ploy

to have ***
in the hut
says mildly

with a smile
bet this place
hasn't seen

no action
in a while.

Jane showed me
the tombstone
of the farmhand

who had fallen
under his tractor
the year before

a few wild flowers
were placed
in a jam jar

in front
his wife and daughter
are still in

the tied cottage
Jane said
but they'll need

to move out soon
once the local council
finds them

somewhere to live
I looked
at the words

on the small stone
I didn't know him well
she added

he was a quiet man
cows mooed
from a nearby field

I looked at Jane
next to me
he was only 35

I said
quite a few men
die in the way he did

on the land
she said
she knelt down

and placed
a few cowslips
in the jam jar

and tapped them
into shape  
she stood up

and we walked
around the church
and along the path

onto the narrow road
between
the high hedgerows

birds sang
the sun shone
down on us

how's your father doing?
she asked
he's ok

he likes his work
in the woods
keeps him fit

he says
I said
we stood in

by the hedge
as a tractor
went by

she smelt of apples
as I got close
to her

her dark hair
was tied
in a ponytail

her dark eyes
gazed at me
the tractor sped

along the narrow road
towards the farm
I wanted

to kiss her
but I didn't
I looked at the sky

where rooks flew
overhead
but dreamed

that night
that I kissed her
inside my head.

Fay was on the bus
I was on
we both got off
at the cinema

in New Kent Road
how was school today?
I asked
as we walked along

to the Zebra crossing
passing the fish shop
the hairdressers
O you know

how school is
she said
some days
you don't mind it

some days
you hate it
today I hated it
why was that?

I asked
we stood
on the edge
of the pavement

at the crossing
Sister Agnes poked me
in the back
with her

steel hard finger
because I had forgotten
the capital of Peru
Fay said

as if it mattered
as if the Peruvian people
would lose
any sleep over that

we crossed the road
to Meadow Row
it's all part
of the brain-washing process

I said
I try to empty
my brain of it
as soon as I can

after school
she laughed
and put her fingers
to her mouth

I shouldn't laugh
my daddy says
laughter is how
the Devil gets in

and those
who make people laugh
are the Devil's helpers
we walked down

Meadow Row
pass
the bombed out houses
on the left

the empty windows
the boarded up
doorways
I guess your old man

is a bit of a sourpuss
I said
sourpuss?
she said frowning

I liked it
when she frowned
her blonde eyebrows
seemed to meet

in the middle
and the lines appeared
on her forehead
a grouch

I said
she laughed again
stop it
I shouldn't laugh

at least not
at my daddy's expense
it won’t cost him
nothing

I said
I joke for free
we passed
the public house

there was a piano playing
and some woman
was singing
Fay looked at me seriously

I mustn't be seen
beyond here
with you
Daddy says

you are a bad influence
Fay said
am I?
Daddy says you are

she said
do you think I am?
I asked
no I don't

she said
that's ok then
I said
we paused

by the fresh fish shop
and looked
at each other
don't forget

to find out
the capital of Peru
I said
I know now

she said
Sister Agnes poked
Lima into my back
that's one way

to impress knowledge
on a kid
I said
she rubbed

her shoulder
yes
I shall call this
my Lima shoulder

she said smiling
see you around
I said
(although

she only lived
in the flat upstairs)
and she leaned in
and kissed my cheek

and went off ahead
over Rockingham Street
up towards the flat
I touched

my 12 year old cheek
maybe
I said
I’ll not wash

that bit
for a whole week.

I could have counted
the buttons

on her green
school cardigan;

could laid my head
on her soft lap,

on the green skirt;
gazed up

at the blue skies;
seen her

looking down
at me,

her eyes
dark pearls

in white cases;
but the school bell

had tolled
for the end

of recess,
and we had

to go back in.
The afternoon

was numbed
by her absence,

the teacher
rattling on

about some
scientific wonder,

left me out
in the cold,

seeing
in my mind's eye,

she,
her beauty,

her eyes,
her smile,

against the backdrop
of a bright blue sky.

Mrs Cleves
her husband
long ago

elbowed out
allowed me in
the young guy

the green
at the gills guy
come around

she said
bring a bottle
I'll put on

the Mahler
1st or 2nd
and we can drink

and talk and whatsoever
so when evening came
and work was done

and dinner eaten
I took off
to Mrs Cleves's place

and she welcomed me in
with her usual
soft spoken voice

and Scottish tones
and she poured
the drinks

and put on
the Mahler
on the Hi-Fi

and she talked
about her day
and I talked

about mine
and so Benny
she said

how's it going?
how's the writing?
heard any music

you think
I should hear?
I sipped my drink

(usually Scotch)
and said
well the writings

coming along slow
but I heard
this Delius guy's music

and it kind of
turned me on  
I said

Delius?
she said
think I've heard of him

she drained
her glass
and poured

another gin
the Mahler played
in the background

she'd put on
her a tight fitting dress
short above

her knees
she sat
crossed legged

then uncrossed them
then crossed them again
I’ve heard tell

that one
of the young girls
has her eyes

on you
she said
news to me

I said
the student girl
long hair

middle class
Mrs Cleves said
nice ***

I understand
I sipped the drink
the Mahler movement

was slow
emotional
O her

yes she's been
talking to me
I said

given me a book
by Pound
Pound?

Mrs Cleves said
yes
some American poet

I said
why
did she give you

the book?
she asked
don't know

guess she thought
I might like it
no female

gives a man
a book of poems
unless she's

after something
Mrs Cleves said
like the Robert Burns

book you gave me
you mean?
I said smiling

that's different
she said
I drained my glass

and she poured another
leaning over me
her eyes gazing

into mine  
how about bed Benny?
she said

the Mahler moved on
to a louder movement
lively

crashing
I drank in
her perfume

her breath breathed
on me
and so we went

to her room
and bed
and undressed

and the Mahler
became far away
like under water

sounding
the curtains drawn
against the night

the moon shining
through the pink
flowered cloth

I didn't tell her
about
the student girl's

fine *** or ***
in case
of her wrath.

Ingrid's words
were muffled
when she spoke to me
by Dunn's hat shop

where we said
we'd meet
the day before
her thick lip

(where he father
had backhanded her)
moved slowly
does you dad

wear hats?
she asked
looking in
the shop window

no
I said
never seen him
ever wear a hat

not even to cover
his balding head
she looked
at the passing traffic

what happened to you?
I asked
pointing to her lip
my dad didn't like

the way I brushed
my hair
he said it was
too tartish

whatever that means
she said
tapping her
recently brushed hair

I tried to get out
of his way
but he caught me
with a backhand

I’m going
to the cinema
this afternoon
I said

there's a cowboy film on
and I want to see
how the good guy
draws out his gun

he does it
by crossing over
his hands
could I come?

she asked
Mum might give me
9d for a ticket
as long as Dad

doesn't know
she added
sure
I said

come to my flat
after lunch
we walked down
the subway

to get
to St George's Road
to walk along
to Bedlam Park

to try out
the swings there
and buy an ice cream
outside the swimming pool

(money I'd been given
by my old man
for polishing
his brown brogues)

I studied her
as we walked along
she talking
of her old man's temper

and how he punched
her mother
for letting
his dinner get cold

I noticed her
faded grey dress
the flowers red
against watery green stems

grey-white
ankle socks
black scuffed shoes
her thin hands

gesturing as she talked
and the slight smell
of dampness
as I neared her

the bruise
under her left eye
fading
like the morning sun

where her old man
had thumped her
for something
she hadn't done.

I hugged you
the other night
in my drugged up sleep;
I’d forgotten

until the day wore on
and the drug hangover
settled down
to a dreary hum.

You were not
the young kid you,
but older, mature,
sitting in an armchair,

in one of your
work shirts
open necked
without tie;

and we hugged
as if I knew
in the dream
you were dead,

but it didn't
enter the head;
no words were said.
I wish I could dream

that hug every night,
hold you tighter
as each night
came around,

silent like old movies,
father and son,
living and dead,
in the dream

inside my head.
I don't usually
remember dreams
in my drugged up sleep;

they're just a blur
of nothingness
until the dawn
pushes through

my lids to wake
to a dull day;
but that night
I dreamt I hugged you,

my son,
just us,
alone,
one to one.

From her bedroom window
Lydia could see
the grass and pigeons

and some boy
with a bow and arrow
she could hear

her mother shouting
at her father
her sister

still asleep
in the big bed behind
the tattooed arm

hanging from the bed
her mouth open
Lydia saw the boy turn

it was Benedict
his quiff of hair
an arrow in his bow

pointing downwards
he was mouthing words
and making gestures

with his free hand
she opened the window
letting in

the morning air
are you coming out?
Benedict asked

Lydia's sister
stirred in the bed
where are you going?

Lydia asked
thought I’d go
to one of the big

train stations
see the steam engines
he said

she looked back
at her sister
the blonde hair

over her face
a breast hanging
out of her nightie

which one?
she asked
he fired an arrow

at a pigeon
but it flew away
Victoria?

he said
I’ve no money
she said

he went
to pick up the arrow
stuck in the grass

he wiped mud
off the end
when are you going?

she asked
after lunch
he said

walking up
to her ground floor
window and peering in

at Lydia's sister
can you call for me?
she asked

sure
he said
will your mother

be ok about it?
last time
she almost

bit my head off
Lydia looked out
at the grass

and dandelions
growing
she'll be all right

she said
uncertain but trying
to convince him

ok
he said
I’ll call for you

he walked off
across the grass
holding his bow

and arrow
shut the blooming window
her sister said

turning over in bed
Lydia pulled down
the window

and watched
as Benedict
climbed the green

metal fence
and disappeared
from view

Lydia picked up
her sister's
***** washing

for something
(in the meantime)
to do.

Mr Fin
thin
moustached

and grey suited
talked
of the Plague of London

in 1665
and people dying
and red crosses

on doors
and rats and ships
and BRING OUT

YOUR DEAD
being yelled
through

the narrow streets
we sat enthralled
taking in

the history lesson
Dennis drew a cross
on his palm

in red ink
(he had a job
to get that off

in recess)
and said
I bet he was there

old Fin
bet he was a kid
back then

it was almost
three hundred
years ago

I said
this is 1956
Dennis shrugged

his shoulders
and kept
to his theory

I watched the teacher
and how his hand
wrote so neatly

on the board
and drew a picture
of streets

with doors
with red crosses
and shadowy people

hanging round
Janice sat to my right
her eyes glued

to the board
as Mr Fin
wrote and drew

her chin
in the palm
of her thin hand

scribbling
in her exercise book
with her right hand

I liked her fair hair
the way it flowed
over her shoulders

like water
over rocks
the way her fingers

touched her cheek
as her palm
held the chin

another girl
sat next to her
some fat girl

with black hair
and a thin
faint moustache

and earrings
I liked Janice's
pink ear

showing through
a gap
in her hair

then Fin said
next time
we'll talk

of the Great Fire
of London
in 1666

Dennis stuck gum
under his desk
Janice closed her book

and gave me
her engaging  
young girl look.

The milkman
let me and Helen
ride on the back
of his horse-drawn

milk wagon
through the Square
stopping here and there
to deliver milk

and eggs
and orange juice
Helen had got caught
in a downpour

of rain
and her thick lens
spectacles
were smeary

where she had wiped them
on her dress
her hair
had been plaited

into two plaits
over her shoulders
soggy looking
ought to

go back home
and change out
of the wet stuff
I said

or you'll catch
yourself a cold
Mum's out
Helen said

gone shopping
up the Cut
with the others
the milk wagon

moved on
the horse trotting
slowly forward
the man with a boxer dog

walked by
and gave us
a stare
sitting there

you could go
to my flat
my mum'll
find you

something dry
I said
I’ll be all right
Helen said

I'll dry out
the milkman
stopped again
and we got off

and walked through
the side
of the flats
and crossed Bath Terrace

and into Jail Park
you sure
you're all right?
I said

your dress
is clinging
to your legs
she pulled the dress

from her legs
I’ll be ok
so we went
into the area

where the swings
and slide were
and got on
the swings

for big kids
and pushed ourselves
high into the air
holding on

to the chains
at the side
our shoes trying
to touch

the grey clouds
then we went
on the slide
but Helen got stuck

half way
because her wet dress
held her there
so she climbed down

and we walked back
to my flat
where my mother
got her some

dry clothes
of my sister's
and put Helen’s clothes
in front of the fire

to dry
and we watched
the steam rise
from them

into the sitting room air
as we sat
on the sofa
with our bemused stare.

Can't find
your Jimi Hendrix
tee-shirt;

I liked it
when you wore it
last year;

the whole 60s image
fitted you well,
your laid back stance,

the beard, moustache,
the humour sharp,
but not unkind.

We looked
for the Hendrix
tee-shirt everywhere,

but couldn't find.
You were my Stoic
philosopher;

I thought you
immortal
to a degree,

the one
who would outlast
us all,

be the one
to arrange us
from this

mortal coil,
but you went first,
death stole you twice,

the second time
for good,
the final kiss

and goodbye,
my son,
watching you die.

Stockholm
Moira said grumpily
I wanted
to go to Greece

but the **** war
put a stop
to that
she was sitting

with me
in a small café
she was in denim
with a pink blouse

smoking
a menthol cigarette
I like it here
I said

it's clean
and the girls
are nice and ****
and I am not?

she said
staring at me
her Scottish tones
sharp as razors

present company
included
I said smiling
she didn't smile

her lips were thin
and her eyes
were icy blue
I think have

Swedish roots
I said
she inhaled
and looked away

I’m fed up
she said
that Yank woman
is getting to me

with her talk
of men and ***
and how much
she can have them

eating out
of her hand
and I have to share
a tent with the *****

why she can't share
with the men
in camp
is beyond me

I don't fancy her
at all
I said
I should hope not

Moira said
I had you down
as one with taste
I lit a cigarette

and watched her
sitting opposite
she sipped
her *** and cola

your brother said
you were engaged
I said
what's that to you?

she said
nothing except
I can't imagine you
engaged to anyone

well I’m not
any more
I gave him the elbow
always after

getting me
into his bed
after a night out
what's wrong

with men
can't they just
have a night out
without ***?

guess not
I said
I drank my beer
and studied her

moody features
anyway
she said
hope you're not

expecting anything
after this wee
drink and smoke?
I wouldn’t dream of it

I said
but I had
but I didn't her
well not

at that time
I had to wait
for her mood
to clear

and her heart
to soften
and the Yank dame
to take a hike

to some guy's bed
and I made plans
but only
in my young guy's head.

See my bridegroom comes,
said Sister Clare, He comes
swift as birds of Spring, His
voice echoes within, His

touch wakes me from deep
slumber, unfetters me from
my sad sins; His eyes watch
me, they run over me like

flowing water, look into my
soul like dawn's light; He is
my keeper, my protector, His
hand caresses me in my deepest

darkness, His fingers raise
my chin, lift my head, His
fingers touch my heart, wake
me from my selfness, my

obsession with my me; He
comes into my heart, He is
the kisser of life, the waker
of sleepers in the grave; I

wait for Him in the night
when the darkness embraces,
seek His company when
demons touch and ******;

He is my bridegroom, my
love, I seek Him out like
one for water as I thirst,
I listen for his footsteps in

the break of dawn, I kiss
Him as one kisses one's
deepest love, I am only
happy when He is near,

when His voice awakes
me. He is my safe ship
out in the dark deep sea.