Enid parts the curtains and peeps out at the sky and the coal wharf over the road where coal men are loading up the coal trucks and lorries she can hear her father's loud voice from another room she blinks at the sound the sky looks blue and a sun is coming over the railway bridge so maybe ok to go out and see if Benny is around and what he's doing today but her father's bark of a voice makes her shudder her mother's screech rides on the air over her father's bark in a kind of operatic duet she closes the curtains and sits on her bed waiting for the row to subside and hopes it will not overrun into her room and bring her into the firing line as it did sometimes she caresses her body in a way no one else does or will her ears on the alert for sounds coming nearer  she gets up and goes to the bedroom door and listens the voices are still in duet but softer now but more bitter then a thump thump sound a scream and cry and Enid moves back from the door and her eyes wide open she stares at the door as if at any moment it will explode inwards and her father come in on her in a spiteful rage she moves to the wall by the window and stands there waiting sensing her stomach rumbling with hunger needing feeding but she daren’t yet go out to the kitchen and the bruises on her arm and body have only just begun to fade from last time she creeps along to her bed and climbs in between the sheets and fakes to sleep maybe then he'll not disturb a roar of words explodes from the passage and a screaming voice counterpoints then silence and door slams and then whimpering then silence then a radio comes on  music replaces whimpering and roaring voices she sits up on the side of the bed and listens intently her stomach rumbles her breathing she notices is heavy her pulse is racing along she can sense it as she holds her wrist between fingers she gets up and walks slowly to her bedroom door and opens it cautiously and peers out along the passageway the radio is playing music her mother is singing along to it in a slightly croaky voice Enid walks down the passage and into the kitchen where a light bulb shows a messiness of plates and cups and saucers and a frying pan on the grimy stove she looks in the larder and takes out a box of cereal and taking a bowl from the shelf she fills the bowl up with cereal and pours in some milk she looks for a spoon and for the sugar tin you've got up then? her mother says standing at the kitchen door a cigarette between lips a bruise on her cheek Enid stares and nods about time at least you were out of his way God he was in a foul mood this morning her mother says moving into the kitchen the smoke from the cigarette following her into the kitchen and making Enid's eyes watery get your breakfast and best be out in case he's home lunch time and still in a mood her mother says Enid puts a spoonful of sugar over the cereal and goes into the sitting room her hand shaking she trying to keep the bowl steady and sits at the dining table listening to the music on the radio behind her she looks out the window through the net curtains at the railway bridge and out onto Rockingham Street and the beginning of Bath Terrace her mother enters the room a cup of tea on a saucer in her hand the smoke about her head and sits opposite Enid deep in thought rubbing the bruise on her cheek Enid wants to ask what was wrong with her father and why was he in such a mood but she doesn't she just eats in silence looking now and then at her mother's face and the bruise spreading there and the music seems too happy for the occasion and she wishes it wasn't on but she listens all the same don't annoy him when he gets home her mother says try and keep out of his way Enid looks at the cereal bowl the pattern of flowers around the outer rim what's up with Dad? she asks her spoon half way to her mouth short of money says I waste it says I don't know how to save her mother says looking out the window her eyes watery red the cigarette shaking between fingers Enid wants to go to hug her mother but doesn't in case her mother has bruises where Enid can't see says I spoil you too much her mother went on looking at her her eyes hollow and deep Enid says nothing but spoons the cereal into her mouth and stares at the tablecloth with its blue pattern her mother's words now drone on and Enid tries to shut them out and think of later and seeing Benny and talking to him he knows what she has to put up with he knows and he'll take her some place and she can forget for a while what has happened at home maybe they'll go to the park and ride the swings and slide or go on a bomb site and Benny collect stones for his catapult can I go out with Benny? she asks her mother breaking into her mother's monologue of woe yes I expect so her mother says tiredly but don't let your father see you with him you know your father doesn't like him or you being with him Enid nods and finishes her cereal and takes her bowl to the kitchen and washes the bowl and spoon under the cold water tap until clean and puts them on the draining board to dry catching sight of her father's shadow out of the corner of her eye.

Yiska feels as if
she's about to
split open
and her mind

pour out
all her thoughts
and feels like
she's about to *****

but she doesn't
now she feels
as if she's constipated
and the thoughts

and words
won't budge
and the mind quack
(psychiatrist)

sits opposite her
at his desk
and she sits
cross legged

staring at him
and out
of the window
behind him

she can see snow
falling
drifting slow
then fast

as if it can't
make up its mind
what to do
and on his desk

is a photograph
of a family group
of smiling faces
and she hates it

the smiling
that we are ok
and living well
kind of look

she says nothing
the words
have become
bunged up

in her head
and he talks
about ECT
about how it helps

depressives
and others
with mental
health issues

and all she wants
is to go back
to the locked ward
and sit

in the arm chair
by the window
and radiator
in her night gown

and think of nothing
just good old nothing
and wait until
Benny arrives

and sits beside her
and they both sit
and think of nothing
and nothingness

enfolds them
like a warm
fat mother
and they just

like to be
close to each other.

O my God
the ride down here
to this base camp
in those converted
army trucks
wasnt that something?
Miriam says

my face felt frozen
and my hair
looked as if
Id been in front
of a massive
hair-dryer
for hours

I sip my coke
and watch her
sitting at the bar stool
thinking
her jaw sure must
have unfroze
since shed not
stopped speaking
for a good five minutes

and guess who
Im sharing
a tent with?  
she informs

I dont know
I say

that hippy girl
you know the one
whose boyfriend
looks like Jesus

o yes
I know the one
yes so whats
she like
to share with?

o you dont
want to know
she says

then dont tell me

o but I must
so she does

and as she rabbits on
I study her hair
a mass of curls
tight and red
which reminded me
of a guy
I worked for once
who said
I took a red head
out last night
no hair
just a red head
and I laughed
because he was
my employer
but it was a kind
of put on laugh

and o
she says
and thats not all
when she undresses
at night in the tent

I am brought back
to the present
and am all ears
hanging on to
her every word
about the dame
*******
like a penitent
awaiting
a priests blessing.

The coach is parked outside the gospel church along Rockingham Street. Brown with a yellow line along the side with the name of the coach company's name: RICKARD'S.

Janice stands next to her grandmother waiting to get on the coach; she's wearing  a flowery dress and a white cardigan and brown sandals. Next to Janice's grandmother is Benedict and his mother and Benedict's younger sister Naomi.  Members of the gospel church who have organized the day out to the seaside are ticking off names from a list.

Weather looks good- the grandmother says, eyeing the sky which is blue as a blackbird's egg.

Benedict's mother looks skyward. - It does, hope it stays that way. Benedict looks at Janice; she smiles shyly. She's wearing the red beret. Her hair looks nice and clean brushed. Sit next to her on the coach.

Wouldn't surprise me if it isn't a little cold by the coast- the grandmother says, looking at Benedict's mother, seeing how tired she looks, the little girl beside her sour faced.

Maybe, hopefully it won't be for their sakes- the mother says, looking at the coach and the tall gospeller with the one eye. - mind you behave, Benny, no mischief.

That goes for you, Janice, no mischief or you'll feel my hand- the grandmother says, her voice menacing, and don't forget to make sure to know where the loo is don't want you wetting yourself.

Janice blushes looks at the pavement-  I always behave, Gran, and yes, I'll find the lavatory once we get there, she says.

One Eye ticks off Janice and Benedict's names; his one eye watching them as they board the coach,and sit by the window, and look out at the grandmother and Benedict's mother and sister. Kids voices; smell of an old coach stink; the window smeary. Janice waves; her grandmother waves back. Benedict waves; his mother waves and smiles, but his sister looks down at the pavement.

One Eye and two other gospellers stand at the front of the coach calling off names and the kids respond in return in a cacophony of voices, then they sit down at the front and the coach starts up. A last minute of hand waving and calling out of goodbyes and the coach  pulls off and away along Rockingham Street.

Well, that's it, just us now- Benedict says, looking out of the window, looking past Janice.

No more bomb sites after this for a few hours- Janice says, no more being made embarrassed by Gran. I know she worries, but I am eight and a half years old, not a baby.

That's the elderly for you- Benedict says, always thinking us babies when we're almost in double figures.

Janice smiles. She looks at Benedict. He's wearing a white shirt and sleeveless jumper with zigzag pattern and blue jeans. He's left his cowboy hat at home; his six-shooter toy gun has been left behind, also. Glad he came; like it when he's near; I feel safe when he's about.

Have you any money?- Benedict asks.

I've  two shillings- she says, Gran said I might need it.

I've got two and six pence- Benedict says, my old man gave me a shilling and my mother gave me one and sixpence.

The coach moves through areas of London Benedict doesn't know. He looks at the passing streets and traffic.

Billie, my canary, has learned new words- Janice says.

What words has he learned? - Benedict asks, looking at Janice's profile; at her well shaped ear, the hair fair and smooth.

Super, pretty and boy- Janice says.

Talking about me, is he?- Benedict says.

No, about himself- Janice says, but who taught him the words neither Gran or I know. Was it you? She asks.

Me? why would I teach him to say those words?- Benedict says. If I was going to teach him words they'd be naughty words.

You haven't have you?- Janice says, or I'll get the blame; Gran thinks I taught Billie those words when I didn't.

Well, I may have said certain words in his presence when I came round the other week- Benedict says.

Was it you who taught him to say Billie without a *****?- Janice says.

Benedict looks down at his hands in his lap. Did he actually say it?- Benedict says.

Janice nods. I got in trouble over that- she says, gran thought I taught him; came close to getting a good smacking, but she thought it over and said she didn't think I would.

So, who does she think taught him?- Benedict asks.

Janice raises her eyebrows. Who do you think?- she says.

So, please don't teach Billie words- Janice says, or I could be for it.

Sorry- he says, looking at her, thought it'd be a laugh.

Gran doesn't share your sense of humour- Janice says. Now she wonders if she ought to let you come around anymore, and I like you coming around. So please don't teach Billie words.

I won't- he says, not a word, not a single word.

She smiles and kisses his cheek. He blushes. What if the other boys on the coach saw that? How would he live it down? Girls and kisses. He's seen it in films at the cinema. Just when a cowboy gets down to the big gun fight some woman comes along and spoils it with that kissing stuff. He's seen Teddy Boys who seem quite tough, spoil that impression when a girl gets all gooey and kisses them.

Janice looks out the window, watches the passing scene. She like it when Benny's there. She doesn't like most boys; they seem rough and tough; seem loud and spotty and smell sweaty, but Benny is different, he's tough in a gentle way, has good manners and that brown quiff of hair and his hazel eyes that seem to look right through her, right into her very heart.

Benedict doesn't think other boys saw the kiss; he sits feeling the slight dampness on his cheek; he doesn't think having a kiss, makes him look weak.

And Helens mother says as Helen climbs down the stairs of the building mind the road and dont talk to people you dont know and make sure you get the right change from Baldys you know what hes like Helen holds the stair rail and takes one step at a time as they are quite steep and she doesnt want to fall down in her small palm she holds the coins for the shopping and they are becoming damp as she holds them so tight and in her other hand she holds a bag to put the shopping in and thinking over in her mind how much change she ought to have if her sums are right and she thinks she has got it right although Baldy will get it right no doubt but she must try and get it right or her  mum will tell her off she reaches the lowest stair and stands there looking back up the stairs and waits to hear if her mother has stopped talking and its all quiet and so she moves out into the street and the sky looks grey and rainy looking and that man is on the corner in his black coat buttoned up to his neck and the black trilby hat and he looks at her as she passes and she looks away her mother had said dont talk to people you dont know and she doesnt know him but her dad said the mans a bookies runner although shes not seen him run anywhere as yet although he may run when shes not looking and she wonders as she passes him what a bookies runner is and why he stares at her so he doesn't look friendly in fact he looks like a criminal as far as she knows what a criminal looks like the man turns away and gazes up Rockingham Street and she walks quickly to Baldys shop and climbs over the steep step that leads into the shop and it is quite full and so she waits her turn behind Mrs Knight who is a tall thin lady from upstairs who has cats and she smells of cats and when she looks out of her door when at home she looks like a cat too Helen sniffs yes cat smell she thinks and looks at Mrs knights coat and sees cats hairs and she holds a purse in her thin hand and a shopping bag in the other Helen being only eight years old cant see beyond Mrs Knight but at the side she can see other people at the counter and Baldy is busy and his assistant is rushing about quite madly Helen thinks she ought to have gone to the loo before she came out shopping because now she feels like she needs to *** but she doesnt want to go back home again so she tries to think of something else to take her mind off of the *** wanting feeling then someone taps on her shoulder and as she turns she sees its Benny the boy from school who lives up the road and whom she likes and who doesnt call her four-eyes or take the mickey out of her hello Helen says looking at Benny what you doing here? shopping for Mum he says holding up a brown shopping bag got a list or ill forget I always forget he says he moves close to her and shows her the coins wrapped in a paper list in the palm of his hand you shopping too? he asks yes she says looking shy and gazing at him got to get some things I can remember what Mum says and what change I have to get afterwards he studies her as she stands there her hair in plaits with a center parting and the wire framed glasses which make her eyes look large and cow like and the faded red flower dress and green cardigan with two buttons missing what you doing after? he asks dont know she replies why where are you going? going to the herbalist he says get some liquorice sticks and a glass of sarsaparilla could I come too? she says if Mum lets me and Ive done all that she wants? sure you can he says meet me by the Duke of Wellington if you can go about ten or so if youre not there by ten past ten Ill go without you he says she nods her head and hopes she can go and looks at him standing there his brown hair and hazel eyes and a cowboy hat at the back of his head and the six shooter in the belt of his blue jeans and she feels happy for the first time since shed got up and she says can Battered Betty go too? sure he says and she smiles and senses her heart go quickly in her chest thump thump thump thump yes Helen what can I do for you? Baldy asks her as she is next in line to be served so she recites what her mother had told her so much sugar in a blue package and a certain amount of cheese and a pound of broken biscuits and a loaf of bread and o yes a dozen eggs she says offering him an empty egg box and he goes off to fulfil the recited list and Benny is served by the assistant and he hands the man the list and the man reads it and goes off to put together the items on Benny list and suddenly Helen feels the need to *** again and hopes Baldy wont be long getting the stuff she asked for and o yes Benny says my old man says hes taking me to the pictures on Sunday did you want to come? he wont mind its a U film so kids can go too she pushes her knees together hoping Baldy will hurry up Ill ask Mum Helen says feeling the sweaty coins in her palm and having to pass the bookies runner and hope she wont do her any harm.

Sophia lies on Mr A's bed;
I put away his clothes
in the chest of drawers.

We go for meal?
Sophia says
(she's Polish
and her English
is broken),
looking at me
as I go about
my tasks.

I'm busy,
ask someone else.

No, I want you
go meal with me,
she says,
her legs crossed
at the ankles,
her shoes on the floor
by the bed.

My me?
What have I done
to deserve this?
Anyway you shouldn't
be on the bed;
if Mr A comes in
and sees you
he'll get the wrong
impression,
I say,
looking at her
lying there.

What impression?
I lie here,
do nothing wrong,
she says,
unless you lie with me
and we have the ***?  

Look, I've got to go;
I have other beds to make
and clothes to put away
and Mr G needs his bath.

She looks at me
pouting her lips.

You not want the ***?

No, not now,
not here.

I open the door to go
and hear Matron's voice
along the passageway
and close the door quick.

Get off the bed,
it's Matron,
I say to Sophia.

She looks at me.

So what?
I tell her
you want the ***,
she says.

You can't
it's not true,
now come off.

She reluctantly
gets off the bed
and slips on
her shoes;
her hand on my arm
to steady herself.

She looks at me.

You have meal
with me?

Yes, ok, yes,
but get on
with your cleaning.

She picks up her cloth
and begins to wash
the sink and taps,
and I go out the door
and close it behind me.

Matron is by the door
of the bathroom.

Where's the Polish girl?
She asks.

No idea,
I reply,
I think she was
downstairs earlier.

Matron pulls a face
and walks back down
the passageway,
her heels going clip-clop
ahead of me.

I sigh and look back
at Mr A's room
where I almost
met my doom.

How are things
on your side
of the fence or curtain,
my son?

I think of you
quite often
as well you know
I guess.

Do you visit me
as I sleep or sit
at my PC
tapping in my words
and you stand there
as you used to do
gazing over
my shoulder
with your silent presence?

When I visit your grave
to bring flowers
or stand and talk
are you there
as I stand and stare?

I think your are
and when I walk away
back along the path
between graves
having sighed
and secretly cried
I imagine you
walking there
by my side.

The Irish monk
reads from a life
of a saint-

refectory lunch-

his eyes walk
the page-

silence as he reads
from others-

eating as a work
of art.

I look at the monks
around me-

one with a patch
over one eye
like a pirate-

and a memory
of her licking
my ear
and whispering words.

The French peasant monk
brings water
for the flowers
in the church
and he labours
as a whole millennium
of peasant monks
have done –

he being solitary
but not the only one.

We lie there
on the grass
in the park
of St James

young Nima
and young me
both smoking
looking up
at the sky

you know what?
she utters
if I don't
get a fix
pretty soon
I'll dry out
be withered
like a nun's
******

you won't get
out of that
hospital
or get those
mind quacks off
of your case
if you get
more fixes
I tell her

I know that
my parents
tell me that
when they come
to visit
both doctors
of a kind

what about
having ***?
are you up
for a ****?
she says loud
disturbing
the wild ducks
near by us
and others
passing by

not right here
I tell her

of course not
some place else

what place else?

some hotel
some cheap joint
like we did
a month back

not today
getting late
you've to be
back in that
hospital
before long
I inform

she looks round
stares at me

can't go on
not like this
I'll go slit
my **** wrists
if I don't
get a fix
or a ****

she lies back
on the grass
cigarette
held aloft
like some young
movie star
in a role

I lie there
watching clouds
and birds fly
and thinking
of the ***
that we had
in that cheap
hotel room
on that bed
that made sounds
like migraine
in the head.

She stands there
at the sink

I can see
the outlines
of her bra
through her blouse
at the back

Milka's mum
is talking
about the
state of
Milka's room

complaining
never seen
such a mess

I sip tea
she's poured me

if I left
my bedroom
in that state
my mother
would have slapped
my  backside

I nibble
a Rich Tea
biscuit that
Milka's mum
offers me

I forgot
Milka says
I'll do it
after this
washing up

never seen
such a room
her mother
says again

I can see
the outline
through her skirt
of *******
(Milka's not
her mother's)
the skirt's tight
about her

I dunk in
the Rich Tea
and nibble
the soft mess

just as well
Benedict's
not seen it

(I had though
the bedroom
the small bed
untidy
littered floor)

her mum says
giving me
her soft eyes
and a smile

I try not
to red blush
or let her
see that I'd
been in the room
and had ***

I study
the large broach
she's wearing

lovely broach
I utter

Milka's dad
gave it me
her mum says

Milka turns
and her eyes
look at me
and she knows
what I know
as her face
is blushing
a bright red
about the ***
on her bed.

You have seen flowers fade,
Grown men falter, hard rain
Against bedroom windows,

Felt the numbness of the still
Born babe, sensed the slap
Across the face from Mother’s

Hand, felt the wind of time
Finger your hair, your lover’s
Kiss dry on the brow. You have

Known the hammer blows of
Love, the silence of the night
Alone, the empty bed of lust,

The tiredness at dawn. You
Sought unconditional love,
But found only the love with

Strings attached, with a price
Tag on the gift of love and touch
And maybe promises. You have

Felt the dead baby fall, the womb
Ring empty in the troubled nights,
The poxed phallus between the

Thighs, the sour kisses of long
Betraying love. You have played
Bach until the ears bled, played

Cards with a drowned woman,
Dreamed of the sister you never
Had, dreamed of the baby you

Lost, felt the baby **** on the
Dug, sensed the dream fade to
A dead baby’s coffin. You sleep

And you wake, you want to live
And want to die, you want to be
Forever young, a perpetual mother,

A constant lover, an untroubled
Daughter, not be lonely, left in
The dark, sacrificed on someone’s

****** altar. You are and am not,
Born to be, then left to rot, you
Want your mother’s embrace,

Want certainty, want undying
Love, God’s redeeming grace.

She comes in
Yochana
with her friend

Angela
a squat girl
with blonde hair

and sit down
in two seats
at the front

of the class
I watch her
from the back

with Reynard
my best friend
the teacher

old Miss G
is writing
on the board

with white chalk
before she
sits down she

looks at me
(Yochana
not Miss G)

there's a hint
of a smile
then she turns

and I see
just the back
of her head

(straight black hair
reaching down
past shoulders)

sometimes when
when she turns
left or right

I catch her
pale profile
and secretly

take a kiss
from my lips
put it down

on my palm
and blow it
towards her

pallid cheek
no one sees
the palm blown

small kisses
then Miss G
plays piano

some Schubert
piano work
and I watch

Yochana's
thin fingers
move along

the desk top
her response
to Schubert

not to me
I sit there
wishing hard

those fingers
were playing
upon me.

On the school bus home
she looks out the window
her younger sister
yakking as usual

to her friends nearby
but Elaine tries
to shut her out
and focus on John

and what he said
when they met
on the school
sports field

at recess lunch time
and what she said
to him and still
she couldn't say

to him how the kiss
had made her
feel inside
she watches

the passing view
fields
farm houses
trees

cows
sheep
trees
and she knows

if she looks across
on the other side
of the bus
he'll be there

looking out
of the opposite window
should I look over?
shall I see

if he's looking at me?
her sister giggles
about something
her friends giggle too

she hates it
when they giggle
she thinks
they're giggling

at her
she puts her hands
on her knees
rubs them

take her hands off
runs her palms
along her thighs
she looks over

at John
he's looking out
the window
she can see

the back of his head
and that boy
who sits next to him
is talking to him

she looks away
tries to go over
in her mind
the kiss he gave her

what seems now
some time ago
so sudden
so unexpected

and his hands
touched her
as he kissed
where?

does it matter?
she looks over
at him again
and he looks at her

and she blushes
and looks away
houses pass by  
hedgerows

horses
houses
she feels open
as if he'd spread

her wide
and nothing
is hidden
no place to hide.

Yiska sits in the classroom
listening to the teacher's yak
or not as the case maybe.
Something about Pilgrim

Fathers and a Mayflower,
she stares out the wide
window; feels the numbness
of *** where's sat so long.

Some kids are out on
the playing field. Cricket
or such like. Wonder if
he's there? Hard to see

from here. The girl next
to her elbows her elbow.
The teacher is talking
to her. She focuses her ears.

Others stare at her. She stares
at the teachers eyes, watches
his lips move, strains to hear
his words. Have you been

listening? He asks. She nods.
He wonders; pulls a face;
looks at the blackboard,
writes down more. She

picks up her pen; scribbles
down; watches his hand
move chalk across the board.
Benedict's hand moved  

elsewhere during break;
his lips on hers; she can
still feel where his lips
wet her neck; feels with

her fingers. Scribbles
the words, black ink like
flying birds. She rests her

cheek on the palm of her
left hand; scribbles copy
of the teacher's words;
senses the place where

Benedict touched. O to be
touched, touching, touch,
the teacher stops and looks
around; his eyes scanning

the room; he settles on her
beady-eyed. Have you got
all that? He asks. Yes of course,
she lies, dreaming of Benedict,
she opening, in her mind, his flies.

We sit and stare
at the pond.

Summer day;
warm and
almost airless.

She has a white blouse
and blue skirt, sandals,
her toes visible.

I'll be glad
when school's over,
she says,
get a job
and earn some money.

Can't wait,
I think I can get a job
at the garage down
by the crossroads,
I say.

No more ugly
green uniform
and white socks;
can wear clothes
I like, not what
my mother chooses,
Yehudit says.

She turns to me
and her eyes
search mine.

Remember our
first kiss?

Yes, took
my breath away,
I say.

Wasn't here though,
was on that
Christmas carol
singing night,
under moon
and stars,
she says.

We did things
here though,
I say,
looking at her eyes,
how sunlight
brightens them.

And there was that
guy over there fishing
and we didn't see him
until later,
she says.

Maybe he never saw us.

Maybe he did.

He never told no one,
least not that
my mother
ever found out,
she says,
looking back
at the pond,
where ducks swim
and a swan floats by
over the other side.

Just as well
or I'd have been for it,
Yehudit says.

I kiss her cheek.

She looks at me,
her eyes burning blue.

That's how things start.

Guess so.

She kisses me
and we kiss more.

We lay back
on the grass
embracing and kissing.

A blackbird sings,
a woodpecker pecks
on a tree in the wood
near by.

I see a new world
in the beauty
of her eyes,
in the touch
of her skin.

I can enter
that new world
if she'll let me in.

Lizbeth prepares for bed;
undresses, washes,
brushes teeth,
gets into bed
and turns off
the bedside lamp.

The moon light
coming through the window
makes an eerie feel
to her room.

What a waste of a day;
all dressed up
and out on her bike
to see Benedict
at the cottage.

He's gone out
with his father
to his father's work
in the woods,
his mother said,
I expect he''ll be collecting
bones and bird's eggs
and fossils in chalk.

Was he expecting you?
His mother asked.

No, Lizbeth had replied,
hiding her frustration
and anger, just came
on the off chance.

His mother said
she could come in
for a cup of tea and cake,
but Lizbeth declined
and rode back home again
in a foul four letter mood.

Then her own mother
had a go at her
about the state
of her room
and the leaving
of soiled linen everywhere
and last night's plate
and cutlery were
under your bed ,
she had moaned.

Lizbeth pulls the blanket
over her shoulder
and looks at the wall
by her bed.

She pretends he's there
beside her now;
imagines him
laying there
**** naked,
hand on her back,
his thingamajig
(she forgets
the name of it
in the book)
poking her belly;
him staring at her,
his hazel eyes
wide and ****.

She closes her eyes;
pretends he's kissing her;
his hand along her thigh;
his lips hot and wet.

What would he say?
She asks herself,
imagining him
parting her legs
(she'd read that bit
in the book)
and her father's voice
says(on the landing
outside her room)
to her mother
(moody cow)
have you put out
the cat and locked
the back door?

The imagined Benny
has gone;
the space beside her
in bed now vacant.

Her eyes are open;
the moonlight
making patterns
on the wall
and now she can't
make love to him
at all.

The youngest monk-
holding the holy water sprinkler-
walks beside the abbot

down the aisle
between the choir stalls;
the other monks

bow their heads-
the semi-dark
of the church lit up

by moonlight through
the large windows
on either side.

I polish the floor
of the refectory
with a cloth on

a broom head,
smoothing out
the polish laid-

I think of her-
laying there
on the bed,

hands behind her head,
her Eve's garden visible
and laid bare;

I polish hard
not being there.
The old Belgium monk

listens to the bell
for Compline,
his hand behind his ear,

ready to capture
like a fisherman's net
when sounds are near.

We cross a field
by the cottage
where I live
with my parents

the sun is warm
and the sky
a blue and white cloth
above our heads

it's Saturday
I have spent part
of the morning
up the farm

weighing milk
and cleaning out
cowsheds
Jane wants to show me

a small river
where there are fish
and now and then
unusual butterflies

can you fish there?
I ask
some do
but very few

she says
but it is good
to see them
swimming by

with their lovely colours
I look at her
as she relates the details
but I am not listening

so much to her words
as the music of her voice
and the brightness
of her dark eyes

her black hair
is drawn back
into a ponytail
and I am there

beside her
and I feel like
touching her hands
as she shows me

the size of the fish
but I don't just
sense her there
her being

the almost purity
of her
and butterflies float by
quite innocent

she says smiling
and now and then
if one is gentle
one can hold them

in the palms
of the hands
and just open up
enough to see

them there
opening and closing
their wings
like small bellows

I study her
her lips moving
the lips
opening and closing

like landed fish
and yet I had kissed
them before
but don't want

to just kiss
without her
knowing before hand
but how to ask

to kiss?
we cross about
three fields
I tell her

about my morning
at the farm
and the farm dog
a black mutt

who bit me
one morning
and show her
my scar on the arm

and she touches it
and her fingers
seem almost healing
and sends through

my whole body
an electric
buzzing feeling.

I went to watch tennis
with Fay
on the South Bank
by the Thames
(amateurs but good)

we sat in the stands
it was warm
the sun was out
in the sky
like a big boy
showing its muscles

I shouldn't be here really
Fay said
I should be home
studying the letters
of St Paul
Daddy wants me
to know them by heart

why's that
why learn them
by heart?

he said
the nuns at school said
I don't seem
to know them
that well

do you?

I thought I did
but he thinks not
she said

we watched the players
and the tennis ball
going left to right

I only learn by heart
what I like
my old man tests me
sometimes on
who was in what film
because he's
a film buff
but he don't worry none
if I don't know
and I usually don't
or I pretend I don't
because I'm too lazy
to tell him

o you are naughty
she said
my father wants me
to know things
wants me to know
the Pater Noster in Latin

Pater Noster?
What the heck is that
when it's at home?

it's the Lord's Prayer
but in Latin

o that
I know that mainly
because we have it
day after day in assembly
at school
I said

we do too
but in Latin
she said

there was cheering
from those around us
as a player
won his match
and we clapped too
even though we'd not
been watching
that closely

fancy ice cream?
I asked

sure that'd be nice
she said

so we walked along
the South Bank
to some guy in white
who was selling some
from an ice cream van
and bought two

and stood by the Thames
and watched
the water and boats
and such passing
us by

she reciting
the Pater Noster in Latin
I thinking
of pirate ships
at sea
which were
really tug boats
below me.

Anne rubs
her leg stump
to ease pain

Skinny Kid
watches her
sitting there

in the black
old wheelchair
can I help?

he asks her
kneeling down
best not Kid

if the nuns
are watching
they'll be here

like black bats
at dusk time
Anne says

the Kid stares
as she rubs
the leg stump

still painful?
he asks her
yes it is

she replies
kiss it Kid
kiss the stump

he studies
the fleshy
stump of leg

will it help?
sure it will
she suggests

looking up
at the home
where the nuns

nursing nuns
are at work
other kids

play about
swings and slide
coast is clear

kiss it now
she whispers
he puckers

his small lips
and kisses
the leg stump

Anne laughs
get off Kid
you're tickling

making me
**** myself
he removes

his small lips
from her stump
well done Kid

that's better
the pain's gone
looking up

she sees there
across grass
rushing close

a young nun.

Enid removes her glasses
wipes them
on the hem
of her skirt

tries to clean off
the smeariness
she breathes on them
they cloud up

she wipes them again
I watch her
near the wall
of the playground

after lunch
waiting for her
are they better now?
she asks me

I look through them
the view is magnified
a million times
one big blur to me

yes that's better
I say
giving them
back to her

and watching
as she puts them
back on
pushes the wire arms

over her ears
then pulls the hair
over her ears again
is it all right now?

she asks me
sure I can see your eyes
clear as day
she nods

and looks
at the playground
and the other kids at play
why do some boys

call me four eyes?
or ugly bucket?
she asks
some kids are just finks

ignore them
I tell her
I can't help it
if I have to wear glasses

or am ugly
she says
intelligent people
wear glasses

and hey you're not ugly
I think you are
quite a pretty girl
as they go

she looks at me doubtfully
and then at the kids
and look Mrs M
wears glasses

and she's a teacher
and bright
Enid sighs and sits
on the steps

leading down
into the playground
even my dad thinks
I'm ugly

she says softly
you're old man
wouldn't know prettiness
if it came up

and introduced itself
I say
she smiles
do you think

I'm ugly?
I frown and peer at her
look I'm no expert
being a 9 year old kid

like you
but you can be
my Maid Marion
to my Robin Hood any day

could I?
she says
sure you could
she smiles wider

and says
thank you Benny
and walks down
into the playground

and goes play skip rope
with a couple of girls
by a wall
and I walk

down into
the playground
feeling six feet tall.

Ana, your father says,
where is the vase
your grandma gave to me?

You look at him
with your large eyes.
Not seen it, maybe

it is in the lounge
with the others?
You say.

No, I have looked there,
it is not there,
he says,

then I do not know,
Papa, you say,
looking away,

trying not to show it
in your big brown eyes,
your childlike lies.

He sighs, doesn't look
in your eyes, maybe
knowing somehow,

that you broke
the family heirloom,
but not wanting

to push it too far,
waits until you regain
your conscience to say,

if not now,
then some other day.

I show Lydia
the toy Bowie knife
which came

with the cowboy outfit
my parents had bought
for my 9th birthday

and there's a 6 shooter
and holster
and other stuff

I say
we're standing
on the platform

at Waterloo
watching for the next
steam train

to come in
it looks quite real
she says

can I feel it?
I hand her
the toy knife

and she rubs
her finger along
the blade

looks sharp
but it's not at all
she says

handing me
back the knife
I put the knife

into the belt
of my jeans
and we look

for a train
if Hem had that
he'd throw it

at me pretending
I was his
knife throwing

assistant she informs
your brother's a ****
I say

she smiles
what's that?
I think it means

an idiot
I reply
I look at her

standing there
with her thin arms
and straight fair hair

and that always
worried stare
that off grey dress

the black plimsolls
and white socks
here comes one

Lydia says
pointing towards
the far end

of the platform
and I see the smoke
in the air

and the sound  
and the smell
that steam trains have

and we stare
as it approaches
taking in the black

steaming beauty
of it as comes
on by

drinking in
the power
as it lets off steam

huge and noisy
like a dragon
in a dream.

Your father has paid
Good money for the
Artist. Sit very still,

Deepta, the man needs
You not to fidget, he
Says, placing his hairy

Hands on your shoulder.
Why must women move
So? Is stillness alien to

Your nature? You thought
He was going to laugh or
Smile but he does not; his

Lips disappear into his huge
Moustache and beard. The
Artist moves you to the left

Slightly, his small hands
Moulding you to the position
He requires, his eyes studying

You, dark brown, you notice,
The thin moustache thinly
Grown. Your father stands

Where he can see you. He  
Folds his arms and stands
Stiffly. The artist seems

Nervous, he fiddles with
His charcoal, his fingers as
A dancer warming up before

The dance, his eyes moving
Over you as if his mind has
Already taken you in, has

Swallowed you in a huge
Gulp. Father nods, then rather
Slowly leaves the room, his

Hairy hands behind his back,
His fingers crossed. You
Breathe easy; the artist blows

Out air, his anxiety away, he
Smiles at you. Men often smile
At you, it is their way of

Capturing your image for
Their sleepless nights, for
Their empty lives, replacing

Your beauty for the dullness
And ugliness of their wives.

There is light
Ingrid sees
through curtains

of her room
as she lays
in her bed

she hears rows
raised voices
her father

bellowing
her brother
answering

her mother
crying out
Ingrid bites

at her lip
what's up now?
She wonders

sitting up
anxiously
her brother

shouting back
her father
barking words

she gets up
out of bed
listens out

at the door
of her room
don't go Tom

please don't go
her mother
pleads loudly

to her son
a door slams
then silence

whimpering
is then heard
her mother

in the hall
her father
swearing loud

which echo
in Ingrid's
ears and mind

she creeps back
to her bed
snuggles down

like a mole
under brown
thick blankets

hopes to God
her father
won't come in

taking it out
on young she
his daughter

but she knows
usually
that he does

she just waits
laying there
in her bed

for the harsh
bitter hurtful
bee-like buzz.

Time's the great healer,
I've heard say,
but not just now though,
not here within this heart

and mind it's not,
least just not
here and now,
and you know,

my son,
and though
I sense you near
in the way

the dead can be,
you're not here
as you used to be
and that's what gets me,

that it will not be
like that again,
hence the grief,
the pain.

But stoically,
as you,
my stoic son,
were right
until the end;

seeing
the larger picture,
view the whole horizon
not just the tiny details

of the here and now;
but I miss you,
right here, right now,
without doubt and how.

I knocked the black
door knocker
on Janice's nan's door
and her nan answered

and said
o hello Benedict
Janice can't come out
she let the canary out

and we had
a hell of  a job
getting it back
in the cage again

so I'm keeping her in
I was going
to tan her backside
but I thought

keeping her in
was more
of a punishment
on a day like this

o right
I said
looking at Nan's eyes
and her greying hair

and unsmiling face
but you can come in
and see her
for a few minutes

shame that you
have to be
without her though
so she walked

back up the passage
and into the sitting room
where Janice
was sitting on a settee

looking disgruntled
it's Benedict
come to see you
he is only staying

for a few minutes
so don't think
you can go out
because you can't

Janice nodded
and looked tearful
and her nan walked off
into the kitchen

I didn't mean
to let the bird out
I just opened
the cage door

to get it to stand
on my finger
but it flew out
and it to ages

to catch it again
and Nan was so angry
that she was
on the border

of giving a smacking
but then she thought
keeping me in
was more

of a punishment
so here I am
on a lovely warm day
sorry about that

I said
where are you going?
she asked
I was going to Jail Park

on the swings and slide
I said  
I see
she said

looking at me sadly
what have you got
in the bag?
I opened the bag

it's that Robin Hood book
I bought it
in that junk shop
on the New Kent Road

she held it
and opened it up
and looked
at the words

and  pictures
maybe next time
I can be
your Maid Marian

to your Robin Hood
she said
yes
I said

looking
at the canary
in its cage
that'd be good.

The nights
seem longer now,
darker, depressing,
the moon
a laughing clown,
getting me down.

The days seem
less brighter now,
the hours passing
like ghostly scares,
minute upon minute
clocking up a speed,
the joy of being
in need of watering
or a newer feed.

Certain days
of the week
come and haunt
and replay
the dark hours
and ugly pain,
the losing of you,
my son,
all over again.

I see your face
as it was
those last days,
it come to me
in dreams or
in the still hours
between this or that,
comes vivid
yours eyes,
my stoic son,
that liquid blue,
darker seeming,
a different seeing,
another you.

Do you like
my new shoes?
Helen says
Dad got them

for me
I look
at the new shoes
brown like new

polished conkers
yes they look good
Mum says I can
wear them to church

today and I've put on
my Sunday dress
as it is Sunday
and what do you think

of the white socks
and the little pink
ribbons at the top?
and you'll never guess  

I've got new handkerchiefs
and I've got one
with me now
and she gets it out

of her dress pocket
and shows me
and I gaze at it
waiting to get

a word in edgeways
but she says
and after that
Saturday morning

matinee yesterday
and that boy
attacking you
with that knife

Mum says she's
not sure I should go
any more
you know what

Mum's like
but maybe you
could talk her around
because I like

being there
with you
and o by the way
my doll Battered

Betty's other eye
is stuck now
and she can only
see through half

an open eye
it's my little
brother's fault
he banged her

with his toy hammer
o poor Betty
and to think
she could see

out of both eyes
when Mum bought
her for me
from that jumble sale

a few years ago
I nod having given up
trying to get  
a word in

and see how neat
her hair is plaited
into two neat plaits
with pink ribbons

and her think lens glasses
clean so that I can
see her eyes
large as oysters

and guess what?
she says
I have two
shiny pennies

for the collection
at church
Dad gave them to me
and said new pennies

for new prayers
have you got
pennies too?
yes I've got 3d

my Mum gave me
I say feeling it good
to get my words
out there on the stage

of the day
and she smiles
and that smile
blows me

a seven
year old kid
in my best suit
far away.

The monk raises
the host
during Mass,
high between fingers

and thumbs,
head and eyes
look up,
the Body of Christ,

he tones.
I watch
the old monk eat;
his jaw moving

in a semi circle
as he ate,
his eyes down
on his plate,

an old French
soup spoon
half way
from bowl to lips.

I remember her hands
sorting through
my garments
for the fellow,

her eyes intent,
her fingers nimble
as an artisan's.
A French peasant monk

peels potatoes
in the kitchen
with the seriousness
of Van Gogh

in a darker mood,
thinking of deeper things
than wine or food.

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

just happened
to be catching
your eyes
and she just happened

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

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

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

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

of her van
and stood there  
sunning herself
nothing to me

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

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

maybe I just ring
the newspapers
and tell them
the news

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

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

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

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

nothing would
surprise me
she said
with a shake

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

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

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

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

on the bed
I said
she looked
at the woman

over the way
in her bikini
bright yellow
and quite skimpy

sitting in a deckchair
with her dyed
blonde hair
bit risky

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

I said
she smiled
never thought
of that before

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

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

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

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

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

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

I liked the shaking
of his tonsured head.

Shamira
said to me
come for lunch

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

Shamira's
parent's place
was empty

just us two
sitting there
eating lunch
drinking wine

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

Ok then
I replied

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

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

how about
some dessert?
I asked her

have we time?
she replied
my parents
may return
anytime

always time
for dessert
I told her

so we went
to her room
and undressed
and began

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

o my God
she uttered
and we stopped
and got dressed

she uptight
my pecker
all distressed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

by the look
on the faces
anyway they go
jogging along

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

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

just nods his head
now and then
and turns
and smiles

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

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

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

gaping
she talking
of the time
they stayed before

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

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

You always were
my advance guard,

even as a kid,
way out

in front
searching out

the land ahead.
Now, you've gone

ahead again,
leaving me behind,

bringing up
the rear;

but now,
you've entered

Death's land,
and I can't

come yet,
my dear.

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

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

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

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

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

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

sulks,
wanders down
to the crowded beach
with her towel

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

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

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

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

pity.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's snowing‭;
I can see it‭
through‭
the ward window,‭

drifting slow‭
and filling‭
the branches‭
of the trees,

and out there‭
in the fields about.‭
It looks surreal,‭
like it is being painted‭

as I watch.‭
Glad we're in here,‭
not out there in it,‭
Yiska says,‭

moving next to me‭
at the window.‭  
I can smell her perfume‭
or is it soap‭?

It has a kind‭
of fascination,‭
I say,‭
trying to imagine soldiers‭

on the Russian Front‭
knee deep‭
in to snow,‭
fingers freezing‭

to rifles,‭
feet so cold‭
they freeze off.‭
She says nothing‭;

looks at the fall of snow.‭
You have imagination,‭
I’ll give you that,‭
she says after a few minutes.‭

Some days I want‭
to just lie there‭
and become numb‭
in snow.‭

I read some place‭
soldiers froze‭
where they stood‭
like statues,‭

dead and white,‭
I add,‭ ‬looking at her‭
beside me,‭ ‬her hair‭
unbrushed,‭ ‬her pale‭

blue nightgown‭
hanging loose,‭
no belts or ties‭
allowed‭( ‬suicides‭

always possible‭)‬,‭
her eyes staring‭
outward.‭
If I could get out‭

of this locked ward,‭
I’d be out there,‭
looking for a place‭
to just lie,‭ ‬and go‭

to sleep,‭ ‬she says.‭
I imagine us both‭
laying there out‭
in the falling snow,‭

cold,‭ ‬freezing‭
waiting to go.

O the rain yesterday
Miriam says
didn't it come down?
I thought once

in San Sabastian
all would be well
and then it poured
I sit next to her

in the camp cafe
others from the coach
were there
some looked fed up

with the weather
I know
the guide said to me
and the ex-army guy

there's your tent
down in the field
and it was pouring
down with rain

and we could hardly see
and the ex-army guy
says to me  
what the heck

I thought
by coming here
I'd get away
from manoeuvres

what's he like?
she asks
he's ok I guess
I say

bet you wish
it was me
in your tent?
she says

be a bit crowded
three of us
not with him
just me and you

o sure
that'd go down
a bundle with him
and others

I say
but I like to think
it was possible
especially as

the ex-army guy
kept me awake
a good part
of the night

moaning about
his mother's
new boyfriend
and how he gets

on his nerves
and how the army
was once his life
anyway maybe later

we can
she says
I nod
and think of her

on the journey
down from Paris
on the coach
her next to me

the dim lights
on the coach
through the Parisian night
us kissing

and such
doing all right.

I guess my grief
is like an open wound.
It seems never
to heal over,

my son,
seeping all
over my soul
with its hurt and pain,

as if all
was happening
over again.
Five days forever branded

in my mind and heart:
Thursday to Monday,
haunts and repeats
the images and events

and the ward
and the waiting
and you
-you so patient,

-so stoic-
I wondering
if this circus of care
will lead anywhere.

Your final breath,
then death,
and an ever repeating
Monday of the same

soaks in
my heart and mind.
How are things,
on that side

of the curtain?
Do you visit
when you can?
I guess you do

-you my stoic son,
being there,
watching, seeking
to make me

hear or see,
that you are fine
and all is
as it's seems

must be.
An open wound
my grief,
the ache seeps

in soul's span,
you my son,
my stoic man.

Sophia leans over
the fresh made bed
of old Tom
and says to me

film on at cinema
(she's Polish
and her
English's broken)

is there now
I reply
folding neat
the old boy's clothes

it good film
I put away the clothes
in the top drawer
of the chest of drawers

you take me?
why would I do that?
it good film
after we go back

to my home for coffee
you want me
to meet your parents?
no they out

at some ex army thing
my Tatus was in War
over here
she says

I stare out the window
of Tom's room
not sure
I can make it

I say
maybe we could
be having **** after?
she suggests

the sky is off grey
the clouds are heavy
the grass below
is bright green

don't need ***
I reply
just a film
I look at her

standing there
blonde hair tied
in a ponytail
eyes bright

as new stars
you go?
she asks
dare I say no?

I muse thinking
of the times
she's nearly
seduced me

on the beds
in this old folks home
me a nurse
she a cleaner

a seductive one
at that
sure
I say

looking away
making sure
all the jobs are done
in Tom's room

so I can leave
she smiles
it be good have
coffee after

I nod
and down the hall outside
there's an old boy's
rattly laughter.

Did you go
to Vegas
after all?

Does the Spirit World
permit such?

I hope you go
if you've not been
and are allowed,
my son;
there ghostly
amongst the gamblers
who have lost or won.

I think of you
good part
of my time,
or suddenly
out of the blue,
something
some tune or photo
brings to mind, you.

I used to be ignorant
of grief's ache,
the hurt loss brings,
but not anymore,
not since you've
been gone.

You gone,
just like that,
no big farewells,
just the final words
vague now
and possibly banal
as most
in real life are,
like faded lights
of a burnt out star.

What have you got there?
Record, LP.

Nima looks at me.
Which one?

Ornette Coleman.
I show her
the record sleeve:
three men standing
in snow.

She nods,
loses interest,
looks away.

Pigeons make noises
about us;
people pass by.

We're in Trafalgar Square.
How are you?
I ask,
sitting on the low wall
around the fountain.

*** starved,
need a fix
and a smoke,
she says.

I can give you
a smoke.

She sits beside me.
There is the sound
of water
from the fountain
behind us;
chat of others
around us.

I give her a cigarette
and light it for her.

She inhales gratefully.
Needed that, said
the bishop
to the good-time girl,
Nima says.

How's your *** life?
She asks
after a few  minutes
of silence.

Non-existent.

Likewise;
I feel like
a ****** nun.  

I watch traffic go by;
a boy and girl
walk by
hand in hand.

Nima watches them.
Bet they're *** life's
up to the top rung,
she says.

How's it
at the hospital?
I ask.

The usual:
stupid quacks,
*** starved nurses
and medication
to help me get off
other drugs.

And is it working?

Don't know;
all I know is
that I am aching
for a fix.

What about a drink?

Not allowed.

Coffee?

You know how
to get to
a girl's heart,
she says sarcastically.
Coke and burger  
and you're on.

I nod my head.

We walk through
the Square
and up towards
Leicester Square
to a burger bar
where we sit
and order both.

If you come visit me
at the hospital next time,
bring me
a packet of smokes.

Sure, if you like.

And they'll look at you
suspiciously.

Why?

They suspect
we had ***
in that cupboard.

We did.

I know
and so do they,
Nima says, smiling.

I picture the scene
some weeks back,
she and I
in a broom cupboard
off the ward
in the semi-dark,
risking it.
Quite a lark.

Some days
it seems
so unreal-

your demise-

as if it
hadn't happened
at all,

was just some
weird dream
that repeats
night after night

and that when
you awake
every thing's all right;

but it's no dream-
a nightmare maybe-

because it's real-
your demise-

I saw it all
before my eyes

my son-

the bright lights
within you

going out
one by one.

Milka's there
by the sink
washing up

miracles
do happen
her mum says

watching her
I watch too
the figure

the outline
of *******
through her skirt

take this in
her mum says
it's a rare

event this
washing up
I'm watching

but not that
washing up
but the slight

impression
through her blouse
of her bra

it's a sight
isn't it?
her mum says

to young me
open mouthed
it sure is

I reply
it's not rare
Milka says

I've washed up
before this
at Christmas

her mum says
after tea
her mum looks

at young me
smiling wide
I'm glad she

(lucky me)
cannot see
what I see.

The squat,
Yorkshire monk,
pulls on the rope
and tolls

the Angelus bell;
his smooth hands
allow
the rough rope

to rub against
his skin,
rough on smooth.
I flushed the latrines

of the abbey,
having cleaned
with a stiff brush;
I recall her

mouthing my fellow;
her dark eyes
closing
as a dying moon.

The old French monk
scythes the tall grass,
his cutting swoop wide,
a studied look,

a prayer moaned
inside.

Yochana seldom seems
to get flustered
never seems out of key

with what's going on
and as I wait
by the school

before getting
the school bus home
I wonder if she'll come

or if it was just a ruse
by her to get me
off her back lunchtime

kids pass me by
even Rolland goes by
see you Benny

see you mate
he says
and I feel like

a doughnut stuck
on a baker's shelf
at close of day

then she's there
cool eyed
prim and proper

in her uniform
her school tie
tied just so

her shoes shining
her skirt uncreased
didn't think

you'd show
I say
not sure

of your
attracting power now?
she says smiling

not that you have much
but I had to come
and see you off

she says
I look at her
then at the school bus

getting crowded
then back at her
standing there

neat
well groomed
black hair

she's too thin
too sweet
out of my league

but a kiss
just a lip to lip job
she eyes me

I could have
caressed her
a thousand times

(exaggeration)
lunch time
but no

here I wait
anxious
about the bus going

and she knowing
then she leans forward
and kisses me

just the once
and then turns
and my lips

seem hot
and my heart
burns.

Your father and other men
Play cards and smoke around the

Table in the other room.
Your mother sits knitting by

The fire listening to
The radio low. You sit

On the sofa reading a
Book sensing the fire’s warm

Glow. Your sister Kate is out
With that young man from the store

To see a movie and won’t
Be late. A man laughs out loud

From the other room and your
Mother looks up and shakes her

Head and knits on, the battered
Radio playing Country.

You turn a page of the book,
The characters coming to

Life, the tale unfolding. Your
Cousin Merle is upstairs with

Some girl although your mother
Doesn’t know she believes he’s

Studying hard in his room
Sitting digesting the books.

You listen for some sounds from
Upstairs, a small cry or shrill

Laughter from being tickled
Or bed springs moving, but all

Is hush, just the sounds of your
Mother knitting and men and

Your father talking and low
County music playing on

The radio. You picture
Merle on his bed keeping the

Girl’s voice down low shafting her
Real slow while out of the small

Window the full moon’s all glow.

I think about you a lot.
Do you? Yes, especially
when you're not near.
John looks towards the

sports field at the school.
Why about me? I don't know.
Elaine has let the words
out, but they're like

uncontrollable hounds.
I guess I think of you, too.
Do you? He nods his head;
sees a blackbird go in a hedge.

What do you think about?
You. What about me?
He looks at her, sees her eyes
like large puddles behind

her cheap-bought specs.
Did you mind? Mind what?
Me kissing you? She feels
his eyes on her; she tries

to hold the words in some
kind of order. No; I didn't mind.
He looks away; sees other
kids at play. I didn't mean to

upset you, just kind of happened.
What did? The kissing, the kiss.
She feels unsure; wonders
whether the kiss was meant

or not. Did you mean to kiss me?
He looks at her again; he sees
how dark her hair is close up.
Sort of, wanted to. He's not good

at words with girls; they make
his words come out all wrong.
Unexpected, she  says, the kiss.
He nods, sees how soft her lips

( up close) now seem. Not kissed
a girl before. He watches her
scratch her head; her fingernails
seem chewed. Not been kissed

before; not by a boy, she adds.
She wants to say more; tell him
how it makes her feel inside;
how since the kiss, she's felt opened

up like an oyster in someone's palm,
waiting to be ****** out and in, but
she doesn't, she just stares at his nose
and a few protruding light brown hairs.

How's your Mother?

Why do you asked?

Just wondered,
I say,
standing by Yiska  
by a school fence.

Usual moods;
moans at me;
always about my room
or the length
of my dress or skirt.

I thought she was ok
when I saw her last.

You've only met her once
on one of her rare
good days.

Sunlight brightens
Yiska's face;
her eyes reflect
two small suns
and me amongst them.

And your father?
How's he?

Why the interest
in my parents?
I'm the one
you should be
talking of,
Yiska says.

Where shall we kiss?

On the lips.

But where about
in space?

She smiles.

Behind the maths block?
Quiet there.

I look along the fence
to the blocks behind;
the window glass
reflecting the sun
and other aspects
of the school behind.

There's not much time.

Then here, then.

She looks at me;
her eyes drink me in.

I look about us;
kids in the playground,
out on the field,
passing by behind us.

She leans in;
her small breast
pressing against
my chest.

We kiss,
then move apart,
lips at rest.