Early July
and Judith sat
on the wooden fence
beside you

over looking the pond
which she called the lake
dressed in a plain grey skirt
and green blouse

her brown hair
brushed untidily
as was per norm
her hands beside her

balancing her
on the top beam
mum said men
are not to be trusted

Judith said
me included?
you asked
you especially

she said smiling
she didn’t mention you by name
just said men in general
and my dad looked at her

sideways on
pulled a face
then carried on
with his breakfast

a jackdaw flew across
the pond noisily
making Judith jump
****** bird

nigh on made me
wet myself
she said
following the bird’s flight

what made your mother
go on an anti men campaign?
you asked
watching two ducks

move across
the water’s skin
I think she saw us
coming through the woods

behind your house
yesterday after school
Judith said
we were too close together

mum said
but where she was
to see us I have no idea
hanging from a tree maybe

you said
don’t think so
Judith said smiling
maybe she’s spying on us now?

you suggested
Judith looked around her
then back at you
don’t say that

I almost had kittens
it’s not kittens
you have to worry about
you said

sunlight flickered
through high branches
birds sang
white clouds

moved slowly overhead
you touched her hand
with yours
felt her warm skin

her fingers
her short fingernails
she looked at the flickering sunlight
I know

she said softly
come on
let’s go near the lake
she said

and jumped off the fence
and so did you
and walked over
the grass

to the pond’s side
under a vast sky of blue.

Benedict watched Christine;
she was applying lipstick
to her lips, gazing at herself
in the bathroom mirror.

She mouthed her lips together
as he had seen his mother
do many times as a child
to spread the lipstick evenly.

That looks better, he said.
She eyed in him in the mirror.
Least I can do to make myself
liveable again. He smiled.

Her hair was brushed, not
messed up as was per norm.

Maybe you’ll be ready to get
out of the locked ward soon,
he said. She lowered her eyes.

Brushing hair and applying
lipstick doesn’t mean I can
forget that *******, she said.

Still have problems inside
my head. Maybe they’ll stop
the ECTs, he said, give you
pills or such. She pushed
the lipstick in her dressing
gown pocket, walked out
of the bathroom on naked feet.

He followed her to the window
of the lounge where other
patients sat or stood and
peered out at the snow.

I want to be out there,
feel that coldness, that air,
that biting chill, want to be
alive, want to feel, she said.

Benedict smelt the scent
of old soap, sensed her fingers
touching along his arm, her
breath made mist upon the glass.

They can stick their ECTs,
she muttered, they do nothing
for me except mess with my head.

He allowed her finger to run
down his skin, to move about
his wrist, smooth the scar where
a blade once ran, touch his
lips waiting again to be kissed.

After the snow
had cleared
Miss Billings said
hey kid you got

a girl friend yet?
you said no
although you did
in a kind of way

but she needn’t
know that
you thought
why’s that?

she asked
why haven’t you
got a girl friend?
you said you needed

a rest from girls
but she just laughed
and said girls
had had enough

of you I expect
anyways look out
for incoming cars
this is

a petrol station
not a love nest
and she wiggled
her backside

back to her office
a poor man’s Monroe
and the door closed
and you wondered

what the guys who came
to the petrol station
saw in her
and how they

drooled over her
when they dropped
in now and then
and she lapped

it up putting on
her Marilyn thing
that blonde hair
bright eyed stare

and a laugh
that would undress
a man’s mind
not that you’d

say no but there you go
you mused
standing in
the small front office

waiting for a punter
to come get
some petrol
or oil

or have their tyres
checked and blown
and looking out
the window

at the passing traffic
you wondered
how many men
she’d bedded

and what she
looked like
without her
white overalls

and red dress
and black stockings
and ankle boots
and sans her spectacles

and thought how
she’d ****** you dry
right down
to your 15yr old *****.

You were sitting on the grass
outside your tent

at the base camp
along the road from Tangiers

smoking a cigarette
when Mamie came along

and stood with her arms folded
and her red hair damp

and her face flushed
like a spanked behind

Have you seen the latrines?
She asked

No not yet
you replied

she took a deep intake
of breath and then said

I expected at least
a white bowl

but there are just two bricks
over a hole in the ground

and no paper
to wipe yourself afterwards

you exhaled smoke
and said

You’re meant to
take your own with you

Your own latrine?
She said angrily

No your own bog roll
you said

she sighed
and looked down

towards the beach
reaching to

the Mediterranean Sea
I haven’t unpacked

my bags yet
she said

and you gazed at her
standing there

in her pink shorts
and white open necked blouse

and tried not
to imagine her

crouched on two bricks
over a hole

in the ground
her legs bent

her ******* by her ankles
and her backside

mooning over the hole
Well

she said moodily
At least now you know

what to expect
and went off

towards the beach
her hips swaying

side to side
her taut buttocks

captured in her pink shorts
and the midday sun

touching your head
in a kind of blessing

with its heat
and you inhaled

smoke again
remembering the rain

coming through
Franco’s Spain.

Ingrid winced
as she sat
on the stone steps

of Banks House
with Benedict
after his tea

of beans on toast
and a glass of milk
the early evening

was still warm
he never asked why
she winced when she sat

he guessed her old man
had hit her again
her eyes were red

when he knocked her door
a few minutes before
to ask her out

her father had gone by
Benedict on the stairs
5 minutes before

smoking his usual
thin cigarette
his cap pulled

over one eye
don't go far
her mother said

and shut the door
have you had your tea?
Benedict asked

she nodded
and put her hands
on her knees

he wondered if she had
she looked so thin
how about coming with me

to the chippy?
he said
Mum said not

to go far
Ingrid said
it isn't far

he said
it's only up Meadow Row
and across the road

she bit her lip
saw your old man go out
a little while ago

he looked his usual
happy self
Benedict said

she looked
at her tatty plimsolls
she winced

as she moved
well are you coming?
he asked

what if she calls me?
I'll tell her I'm taking you
to the chippy

and be back soon
he said
she might say no

Ingrid said
she won't
he said

she never says no
to me
she looked at him

nervously
suppose
she said

you stay here
and I 'll go say
and he went up the stairs

and she sat watching
until he went from view
she rubbed her thigh

and tried to sit comfortably
she said yes
Benedict said

coming down the stairs
two at a time
did she?

Ingrid said
as long as I was paying
which I am of course

I've got 6d
that'll buy us
a big bag to share

she moved carefully
on the stair
and stood up

and they went down
the steps in silence
passing Ingrid's big sister

who was with
the Spiv looking guy
with the black and white shoes

and greasy hair style
and onto the Square
Benedict told her

his old man
had made him a metal money box
painted blue

to keep my money in he said
that's when he don't nick it
to buy his cigarettes

if he gets short
still at least he made it I suppose
she said

my dad makes nothing
and gives me nothing
they went down the *****

and by the grocer shop
except a good hiding
Benedict said

she said nothing
he gives you that
he calls it discipline

for being bad
she said
cruel ***

Benedict said  
she smiled
they went by

the noisy public house
half way up Meadow Row
she cringed in case

her father was in there
and went up and by
the green grocer shop

where Benedict got
his mother's potatoes and cabbages
they crossed the New Kent Road

and into the chip shop
where he asked
for 6d per of chips

and salt and vinegar
and she waited by the wall  
hands by her side

her hair held at the side
by hair grips
her eyes less red

he brought the chips
to the table along the wall
and sat on the high stalls

she wincing as she sat
he looking at her
sitting there

her flowered
stained cardigan
her off white blouse

and grey skirt
coming to her knees
and felt funny inside

being there with her
he and she
both 9 years old

he the fastest six shooter
of the West
and she his saloon girl

his sidekick
sweet heart
better than the rest.

Bath times as a child were
a mixture of joy and fear,
Lulu remembers, rubbing
her neck dry after her bath,
holding her long hair out of
the way with her spare hand.

You must wash under the arms
and your neck and between
your legs, her mother said to
her as a child, leaning over her,
pouring hot water over her head,
feeling she was drowning, she
remembers, sitting on the edge
of the bathtub, almost seeing
her mother standing there with
her usual critique and that wet
hand slapping her legs or hand
if she missed an area of skin.

Lulu rubs under her arms, raises
her hand upward as if reaching
for the moon or stars. As she
leans forward to rub her feet,
pushing the towel between toes,
she recalls her putting her feet
into her mother’s lap as she dried
them with harsh rubs, pushed
the towel between toes roughly,
causing wittingly or unwittingly
the long after remembered pain.

Her mother, hard as granite,
with reddened hands and stern
stare, cursed in the bed of her final
days, glared at Lulu as she blanket
washed her mother in the last weeks
before death came for her and carried
her off with her foul words filling the air.

Lulu lays the towel over her lap, sitting
still she leans her elbows on her legs
and hides her face in her palms, wishing
her mother could have gone out not
with curses or swear words, but psalms.

Sunday was visiting day
the day when briefly
as the visitors arrived

the locked ward
was unlocked
nurses on edge

eyes on the doors
patients on beds
or in chair

in the lounge
drugged up
or not so

depending on mood
or demons or how
far down

the deep pit
they’d gone
you can’t recall

Christine’s visitors
can’t remember
anyone there

but your mother
came through
the unlocked doors

carry smiles
and pinned in concerns
soft voice

smelling of perfume
or fresh air coming in
standing there

then sitting in the chair
by the bed
handing over sweets

or books or wash stuff
conversations
of how are you?

and what’s the food like?
are you feeling better?
were noted

and exchanged
your mother worried
lines on her face

in her eyes
swan deep concern
you saw Christine

over the way
standing by the window
looking out

then by the doors
waiting
arms folded

her nightgown
held tight
about her

her slipped feet touching
then the visitation over
the visitors gone home

the doors locked
the ward quiet
the patients subdued

staring into space
or at each other
gazing

into eyes
as blank as each others
depression deeper

nurses doing rounds
giving out drugs
listening acutely

to souls in torment
with their sad
silent sounds.

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.

It was here
they used to come,
he fourteen,

she thirteen,
walking to the church
for choir,

between tombstones,
along
the flagstone path,

she peasant like,
seemingly like
some Russian girl,

treading the tundra
in icy cold,
her scarf tight

about her neck,
her coat buttoned up
to chin's hold,

the dark brown hair
messed up
by the evening

November wind.
Now he stands alone,
she has gone,

some ages passed,
death and time
cutting her down

before her prime,
cancer feeding,
and drawn

and dragged
and gone
into the dark

beyond his sight
into
the eternal night.

He stands
and thinks of her,
and the place

they stood,
and where
they first kissed

beneath a full moon,
embraced in love,
wordless, hugging,

cloaked by the moon's
pushed away shadows,
young love,

searched for
and found,
but then gone,

he his way,
she hers,
the countless moons

have come and gone,
full and waning,
waxed and fled,

now he sees her,
not alive,
but in

his older,
lonely
head.

Miryam walked with you
through Tangiers
miles from the base camp
still feeling tired

from the previous night
after the late evening
on the beach
hugging and kissing

each to each
not going further
that time
back to the tent

(your tent colleague out)
you and she
lay there
almost making out

but then he was back
and she had to leave
mouthing words to you
as she left

behind his back
then the morning ride
to Tangiers
on the back

of the truck
the smell of the city
the aromas
the people

almost Biblical
the snake charmers
the shops in alleys
the kids

trying to sell you
hashish on corners
and she held your hand
clutching her bag

with her other hand
her curly hair
orangey red
and she talking

of bags and clothes
and how back home
there was
so much more

to buy
and her hand
warm in yours
her small thumb

on the back
of your hand rubbing
as she walked
and you felt

and sensed her
and recalled her
a few days back
on the beach posing

for a photo
with a camel
and a Moroccan guy
in that skimpy

bathing suit
( giving the guy
the heat)
and you taking

the photo
with the borrowed camera
and she stopped
in a side street

looking at clothing
beautiful colours  
and this guy
brought out

two cups of mint tea
while she decided
what she wanted  
and you sat there

beside her
smelling her perfume
looking at her hair
and lips

and how she held
the small cup
in her hands
sipping

breathing
talking
her eyes
bright lights

her small **** pushing
against the cloth
of her purple top
and the tightness

of her jeans
on her thighs
and the whole scene
like something

you'd seen
in one of those
coloured pictures
in the Bible

the people passing
some with donkeys
one guy
with a camel loaded

and you watched
her sipping
her hands holding
the fingers curved

about the cup
and she talking
of what to buy
and you drinking

her in
all aspects
with your greedy
all too human eye.

Hey Kid
Anne says

Benny follows
to where
she calls him

what is it?
he asks

go get my chair

your wheel chair?

yes my wheel chair
what other kind
of chair do I have

ok
he says
and goes off
over the green lawn

passing kids
on the swing and slide

pass the skinny nun
who has just come
whom Anne says
looks like a clarinet
she's so thin

in through
the French windows
passing a girl
who has ****** burns
but who manages
to smile at him

in down the hall
into the girl's dormitory
and takes hold
of Anne's wheel chair
and is just about he
to wheel it out

when Sister Blaise
stops him
where are you going
with that Benny?
she asks

he looks at the nun
with her stern features
and icy blue eyes

it's for Anne
he says

did she ask you
to get it?

he looks at
the crucifix
on the wall
behind the nun's head

no I saw she was
struggling
and thought it best
to bring it to her
he says

taking in
the Crucified's head
leaning to one side
eyes half open
as if He were
looking at him

is that the truth?
the nun asks

he nods
and puts on
his Mr Innocent face

all right off you go
she says
eyeing him
as he wheels the chair
along the passageway

and out through
the French windows
and across the lawn
at full belt

until he comes
to where Anne stands
propped painfully
on her crutches
any problems?
she asks

no
he replies
trying to get
the nun's
icy blue stare
out of his eyes.

Is she in love with you
or what? Reynard said

indicating across
at the girl

at the other side
of the classroom

every time I look up
she’s peering over

here like some hawk
after prey

he added
and you guessed

she was
but didn’t say

to Reynard
who thought

all thoughts on love
were dumb

or should be left
between pages

of Shakespeare
or Keats

or maybe just
a cover word for

a fumble behind
bike sheds or woods

maybe she just likes
the way I comb my hair

you replied
looking down

at the science book
open on the desk

and by the way
he said

how much grease
you got on your hair

you look like
you fell in the **** jar?

Tooley the science teacher
looked your way

and Reynard clamped up
and began writing

in his book
and in between

scribbling words
in the exercise book

you glanced over at her
and took in her eyes

and that smile of hers
and smiled kind of

weakly back
and she mouthed

something to you
her lips making odd shapes

like some fish
out of water

and you tried to lip read
but it didn’t make sense

so you just nodded
and hoped you’d not agreed

to anything
that her scary mother

wouldn’t agree to
and then looked away

back to the science book
and life dull

and uninteresting books
full of boring questions

and Tooley at front
of the class

writing on the board
her fat *** moving

as she wrote
like some aging stripper

on her last show
and outside

the window
grey clouds

carrying
heavy snow.

Benedict's mother
stood by the twin tub
washing machine
lifting the steaming wash
from the washer
to the spinner
with wooden tongs,
her eyes focused,
her arm straining.

He watched her;
a book, Plato's Republic,
lay open
on the table
by his hand.

He studied
the red hands,
the worn fingers,
how she wiped the wet
from her forehead
with the back
of her hand.

Plato’s Philosopher Kings
seemed too hard
for his delicate mind
at that stage,
the Greek world
too far off
in the past
to give him comfort.

Maybe you ought
to read something lighter,
his mother said,
pushing down
the washing
with the end
of the tongs.

Find it hard to read
at all at present,
he said,
everything’s
an effort.

Making the effort
is part of the effort,
she said.

You don’t want to be
in the hospital again,
do you?

He closed up
the Plato book.

He wondered
how Julie was.
He’d not seen her
for months.

Good job too
his mother
would have said
if she had known
about her.

No, he said,
not there again.

His mother spun
the washing,
the noise ratted
the machine.

He rose from the table
and walked down
the passage way.
The machine rattled still.

He went in the back room
and put Miles Davis
on the hifi.
The muted horn,
the saxophone weaving,
the drummer
keeping pace,
jazz on a highway,
he closed his eyes,
head full of darkness,
breath full of sighs.

The sun was out strong
and there were ducks
and swans on the water
in the park

and Julie
was there with you
clothed
in her hippy dress

and her hair let loose
and unbrushed
in sandaled feet
beside you

on the park bench
she had her legs
out straight
in front of her

as if she were making sure
they were still there
need a fix
she said

need it
like hell
you took in her eyes
lightless as if someone

had switched off
the bulbs in the rooms
of her head
can’t they give you stuff

back at the hospital?
you asked
they’ve no idea
they’re stuff shirts

and narrow heads
she said
that ward sister
doesn’t no ****

you sat
and looked away
some kid
was feeding ducks

at the fence
enjoying the excitement
of the feeding process
lost on the less innocent

it’s all if you do this
such and such will result
and if you take
such and such

this may go away
she said bitterly
how about an ice cream
up there on the rise

of the hill?
you said
she pushed her hands
between her legs

as if to push back
the fix hunger
as if that will solve
the fix ****

she said
didn’t say it would
but it sure tastes good
you said gently

seeing the kid
clap her hands
for more bread
Julie got up

and walked away
and you followed
watching her hips sway
unsteadily

like a ship buffeted
by rough seas
she spoke over
her shoulder

said words about
her parents
the rich
middle class

suckers
about the do-gooders
who came
to the ward

with their bright eyes
and second hand faith
you just listened
walking beside her

her hands going up
and down by her sides
as if out of control
how about that ice cream?

you said
watching her eyes
staring ahead
I know what you’re after

she bellowed
either my soul
to save
or a quickie in bed

an old woman
on a park bench
gazed at her passing by
with that

o dear me look
in her ancient eye
you asked about
maybe take

in the art gallery
look at the Moderns
you had neared
the ice cream van

and she stood there
looking with her eyes
on the menu
on the side

hands motionless
and still
what are you having?
you asked

a fix if I could
but that ice cream
with chocolate flakes
and sauce

will do for now
she said
and so you bought two
from the Italian looking guy

and gave her one
and kept one yourself
and walked on back
by the water

and bridge
she quiet
slow walking
you eating and *******

no thought of ***
or her fix
or side room
*******.

Michelle has
just made love
to Nesta

her lover
satiated
she lays back

on the bed
Nesta's head
on her *******

her right hand
on her hip
Michelle feels

all her nerves
tingle hot
electrified

from hair end
to small toes
Nesta breathes

Michelle’s *******
the softness
pink piggies

tiny tails
of brown dugs
recalls wet

hot kisses
body hugs
******

deep probing
warm juices
then she hears

from the hall
her deaf child
from her room

loudly call
and swiftly
leaves the *******

and sweet smells
to rescue
her deaf child

and bring her
back to bed
with Michelle

her lover
who always
gives kisses

all counting
none misses.

I want to show you the pond
John says
ducks and swans
are there
and now and then
herons come

Elaine wonders
where the pond is
is it far?
she asks

no not far
just down through
the wood
here
down these rides
mind the brambles
he walks ahead of her

she follows

can you hear that?
he says

what is it?

blackbird
you can tell
by the song

she looks at him
ahead of her
she wishes
he would stay with her
she's not been
in these woods before

how big is it?
she asks

not that big
but big enough
you'll see
he says
back to her
walking on
that's a song thrush
he says
love the song thrush

she treads carefully
along the ride
she doesn't want
to catch her legs
on brambles

they reach a fence
and he climbs over
and waits for her

careful how you get over
he says
don't want to get
a splinter
in your leg

she climbs carefully
trying to keep
her skirt
tight to her legs
doesn't want him
to see up her skirt
but he looks away
out at the field

see pheasants
out there sometimes
he says

she climbs down
the other side
brushes her skirt down
and stands next to him

where's the pond?

over there
he says pointing
over the way
not far now

he walks on
and she follows him
he is just ahead of her
then he climbs over
another fence

it's here

she comes to the fence
and looks over

you'll have to climb over
to see it properly
he says

she climbs the fence
carefully

but he has gone down
towards the pond
staring at the water's skin

she walks down
beside him
standing there
a gentle smell
of flowers
hanging in the air.

It was all part of the scheme
of things Henry thought and
even when the women looked
at him with that odd curiosity
he never failed (at least not in

the beginning) to make a score
usually with one of the females
less prettier than the ones who
left before and after taking her
for the drink and meal routine

and maybe to the cinema he took
her back to his place and poured
her a drink and put on a cool jazz
record on the hifi and set her down
on the sofa and she talked and he

watched her lips move the lipstick
red the kind his mother used to wear
and her nose was kind of pointed and
lifted up at the end and her words
went over his head he wasn’t interested

in her philosophy of being or what
she had bought at the last sale he
studied her chin the way it rose and
fell as she spoke the words pouring
out and he said look Honey I know

you like to talk but how about you
and me going to bed? Oh she said I
haven’t told you about the time I
went to New York and so Henry lay
back on the sofa closed his eyes

and let her talk a jazz saxophone
filling in behind her voice the record
turning her mouth opening and closing
and he thought of time passing and
remembering his mother’s red lipstick

mouth scolding and after boredom had
set in deep he drifted off to sexless sleep.

And Mrs Shepherd said
come up
and see me sometime
-she was no Mae West

but she did her best-
and so I went
to her apartment
and she invited me in

and said
sit on the couch
and I'll get us drinks
so I sat on the couch

and watched her
get two tumblers of scotch
and she had a neat ***
compact body

and fine hair
in a kind of
Clara Bow style
and she came back

to the couch
and sat down
handing me my drink
and she said

how'd you like me?
it was warm afternoon
the sun was strong
and poured itself

on her red carpet
you're fine
I said
she smiled and said

no I meant
how'd you like me to be?
laying out here
on the couch

or the floor
on all fours?
there was a picture
on one wall

of a vase of flowers
sunflowers big and yellow
I'm not sure
what if your hubby comes in

while we're at it?
o don't mind him
he's miles away
she said

put him right out
of your head
so what will it be
me spread here

with class or me
on all fours
and you take my ***?
the scotch was good

nice and smooth
and a dog barked some place
-she was no Mae West
but she did her best.

Having met Julie
at Victoria railway station
and travelled by tube
to Charing Cross Road

you sneaked
into Dobell's
jazz record shop
and listened

to some Coltrane
in the small record booth
up close
she having got out

of the hospital
for the day
although
the drug withdrawal

was getting her tight
her short skirt
was riding high
as she sat there

squashed up
near to you
her eyes closing
and opening

her hands
in prayer mode
in her lap
can we go now?

she said
I need a drink
and smoke
so you left the booth

giving the guy
back the Coltrane
record sleeve
and left the shop

taking it on foot
to the café
and ordering
two coffees

and she took out
her smokes and lit up
and she gave
you one too

and she talked
of how her parents
hadn't visited
and how

the whole show
at the hospital
was getting her
on the edge

and you sat
watching her
the dark hair
drawn back

with a black ribbon
the red
high necked jumper
the short black skirt

her eyes bright
as stars
her lips making
a large O

then closing up
and going
like a narrow slit
you remember

that quickie
we had
in that small cupboard?
she said

those brooms
and boxes
and then she smiled
and you smiled too

that was my last time
she said
last time I had it
she said louder

she took a drag
of her smoke
and sat silent
watching the smoke

rise before her eyes
Warwick’s worried
about you
you said

is he now
she said sarcastically
well he can go pray
to his God

for me then
she said
sitting back
in the seat

yes you thought
the ***
had been good
but quick

unexpected
out of the blue
she in her night gown
(and little else)

and in the background
the music playing
from the radio
some Beatles' song

along the hospital ward
what did you think
of the Coltrane album?
you said

breaking the silence
in the café
bored my **** off
she said

I’ll get it anyway
you replied
and she looked out
the window darkly

as if someone
had fingered her
slowly
then died.

Yehudit sits
at the front
of the school bus
with her sister.

I sit with Goldfinch
on the left hand side
half way down.

She turns
and smiles at me.

Her eyes glimmer
like moonlit waves.

Goldfinch talks
of football.

I hate football
but pretend
to like it,
throwing a few names
I know
into the conversation
to keep away
the silence.

The driver turns
on the radio.

A song about Mr Postman
and a letter comes on.

I look up at her.

She looks at me
the smile still there.

I wish she was here
next to me
instead of Goldfinch;
her thigh touching mine
as we sit,
her elbow brushing
against mine
in conversation.

Her smile seems to say:
remember yesterday?
I remember.

My lips holding
her lips in the that
first kiss.

Her body close to mine.

A pulse racing through me
like a chased cat.

I wish she was here
and not there.

I look up
and she has turned
to the driver and talks.

I wish it was me
she was talking to do,
my eyes
she was gazing into.

I look away
and catch a word
that Goldfinch throws.

How deep love sinks
and holds
no one knows.

You took Fay
to Kennington Park
it being a fine day
and with no school

and her father
away working
and she sat
on the bus

there in her orange dress
which matched
her fair hair
tied in a ponytail

her brown sandals
and white socks
hands in her lap
her eyes large

in expectation
you sat beside her
in your checked
open neck shirt

and faded blue jeans
battered black shoes
you both swaying
to the bus’s motion

and when you got off
at the Park
she said hadn’t been
to the park before

and that her father
took them
to the park nearby
sometimes on a Sunday

after mass
if she’s been good
and could recite
the Pater Noster

right through
in  Latin
without mistakes
what the heck’s

the Pater Noster?
you asked
the Lord’s Prayer
she said

the Park was busy
people everywhere
parents with kids
and without

and kids
with no parents
and she was talking
about the nuns

who taught
at her school
how strict they were
and the girl who was hit

over the knuckles
with a ruler
for not knowing
the Credo all through

you didn’t bother to ask
what that was
but saw her eyes
bright blue

and looking around
the grass and trees
and bushes
and you both sat

on the grass
and you said
your parents brought you here
on Sundays

and you watched
the cricket or played ball
and sometimes
your old man

bought ice creams
or lemonade
and she talked
of her mother

and how she
had to work hard
to please her father
and sometimes

they rowed
and sometimes he hit
her mother if the row
got out of hand

and she went quiet
and looked at you
don’t tell anyone
she said

I’m not to speak
of what goes on
indoors
I won’t say a word

you said
what about an ice cream?
you said
I haven’t any money

she said
I have
you said
my mother gave me 2/6d

for doing chores
o yes then
she said
and went with you

to the ice cream place
and ordered two
and paid the coins
and got your change

and walked along
the path
she taking hold
of your hand in hers

and you sensed
the pulse of her
through your fingers
and the sun was warm

and the sky
a bright blue
with just 12 year old Fay
and 12 year old you.

Spank me
Mrs Cleves said
it was all part
of her ****** foreplay

rather than some
Freudian slip
of a childhood probing
stuck inside

her head
OK
Baruck said
willing to oblige

to keep the show
on the road
the game in play
and she

19 years older
and 15 pounds
heavier
and he a novice

of the way it goes
the music
from the lounge
easing through the air

the wine seeping
through his head
trying to keep her words
and image

and her body
on the bed
she above him
he beneath

wondering what
the priest would say
if seeing him now
hand pounding flesh

moving to the music
and lust
doing
what a young guy

must
the Mahlerian
symphonic sounds
the sounding springs

the echoing voice
of her demands
and needs and pleads
come on more more

Mrs Cleves said
and he recalls
that Lucien Freud painting
he'd seen

of the fat dame
lying on a couch
naked as the day
she was born

seductively reclined
her huge *******
and ample flesh
her body crushing thighs

and thinking such
he smiled
and closed his eyes
and thought of Rome

and the Roman ******
he'd read of somewhere
and the smell of perfume
and wine

and he and she
moving
quickly and sexually
there.

I tread on eggshells, says Ruby,
my life is the fearing of the heavy
steps, the trudging where others

fear not to tread; I see dangers
where some see none, where
the shadows become real, where

shades become demons, I am
the fearer of the bogeyman. I hear
laughter in the nightly dreams;

hear the sounds of baby’s cry,
the empty cot, the vacant spot
where baby lay, the moonlight

on the chilling room. I see my baby
as it used to be, its mouth around
my dug, its lips on the **** *******,

the sound of that is my aching wound,
the lance in my side, the hammering
nails. Nine months I carried the

precious gem, my womb the dwelling
place of my dearest love, the moment
of the birth my deepest joy, the echoes

of my happiness ring in my mind when
I'm ****** and drawn by the depressing
nights, the lowest ebb of the sea of loss.

The smallest coffin carried they said,
the men in black, the coffin white,
crowned with roses, the smell of death

covered by blooms, the kisses of my
lips on the coffin’s lid, the sleeping
baby held within, the tiniest shroud

to hold her warm, to keep her safe
on her journey’s way. They sang hymns
to my deepest loss, their voices like

pinpricks to my ears, the sounds seeping
in my skin, eating at my grief. In my dreams
my baby’s safe and sound, in my dreaming

arms not underground, I hear the baby’s
words, the chuckling laugh, the open eyes,
the ******* mouth, the first steps across

the floor, the first day at school. I carry my
loss like a heavy cross, my baby forever in
my thoughts, the vacant spaces where baby

was seems to hold her ghostly scent, her
shadowed presence is my mind’s pretence,
my need for holds and kisses. Bring back

my baby; let me hold it once again, here
comes the night and the ever present pain.

Fay met Buruch
by the entrance to the Square,
waiting by the wall,
eyes tearful,
fair hair in disarray.

She had shopping in her arms,
hands holding bread rolls
close to her breast.
Buruch took in her eyes,
the hair unkempt, unusual.

You ok? He asked.
They are rowing again, she said.
Who? He asked.
The parents, she said.

You got to take that home?
He asked pointing to the shopping
in her arms.

Yes, she said, I dropped the last rolls
and he sent me out for more,
after hitting me,
after the rows began again.

I’ll walk back with you, he said.
They walked to the stairs
and climbed up side by side.

Don’t you have shopping to get?
She asked.
I can get it later, he said, no rush.

They reached her landing
and he waited
while she went in the door.
Loud voices, shouts, crying.

He waited, hands in pockets,
wondering how she was,
wishing he could knock
and ask her out.

He waited,
looked over the balcony,
looked back at the door.

He knocked the door.
The door opened.
Fay’s father stood there.
What you want kid? He said.

Can Fay come out to play? Buruch asked.
The father stood staring,
hands by his sides.

Who wants to know?
I do, Buruch said.
She’s busy, the father said,
got things to do.

All day? Buruch asked.
If I say so, the father said.
Buruch stood staring,
hands in pockets,
head to one side.

So she’s not coming out? He said.
The father sighed.
Do your parents know
you pester people?
Buruch said,
Yes, pretty much.

The father said, beat it kid.
I’ll wait, Buruch said,
touching his toy 6 shooter
in the holster at his side.

You’ll have a long wait,
the father said.
Buruch leaned against the wall,
pushed the cowboy hat at a tilt.

Ain’t you that Jewish kid
from downstairs?  The father said.
Aren’t you the Catholic
who beats his wife and kid?

The father stood full stretch,
his eyes darkening,
his hands becoming fists.

Scram kid before I beat you,
the father said.
Buruch pulled out
his 6 shooter.

Touch me and I’ll fill you
full of lead, Buruch said.
The father closed his eyes,
then closed the door.

Buruch waited;
more loud voices and cries,
as were before.

After breakfast
after doing shopping
for your mother
you met Fay on the grass

in front of Banks House
and you lay there
looking up at the summer sun
and white clouds

and the sound of trains
shunting
over by the railway yard
and Fay said

my daddy says
I’m to be able to recite
the Pater Noster in Latin
by the time

he gets back
from his work travelling
what the heck’s
the Pater Noster?

You asked
looking at her sideway
her pale features
catching your eyes

her blue eyes
gazing at the sun
it’s the Our Father in English
she said

what’s the big deal?
You said
doesn’t God
understand English?

sure He does
she said
but Daddy wants me
to learn the Latin

he said all good
Catholic girls
need to know
their Latin

what’s kiss my ****
in Latin?
You asked
she looked at you

and laughed shyly
and said
I don’t know
ask your dad

You said
I wouldn’t dare
she said
looking away

back at the sky
does he know Latin
your dad?
You asked

some he does
she replied
but he wouldn’t know that
I shouldn’t think

maybe
you should learn that
and say that you him
instead of the Pater Noster

she looked anxious
I wouldn’t dream of it
she said
and as you both lay there

on the grass
she moved her leg
and you saw
a blue bruise

on her thigh
turning greeny yellow
but you said nothing
of that but talked

how your old man
had made you
a blue metal money box
to keep your pocket money in

and she listened in silence
her pale features
and blue eyes
holding your eyes

as you spoke
looking along
her lime coloured dress
at the leg showing

the bruise still there
like a fallen fruit
and she smelt of apples
freshly picked

and held to the nose
better go
she said
best learn this Latin

before his return
and off she walked
across the grass
waving to you

as she went
and you blew her a kiss
from your palm
but she had gone

but at least
You said
gazing at the sky
it’d been sent.

The old woman
was lying

on the path
from her

ground floor flat
along Harper Road

when you and Helen
walked by

on your way
from the shop

with your penny drinks
you both ran to her

and she said she’d fallen
so Helen

ran across
to the surgery

on the other side
of the road

while you knelt
by the woman

placing your
short sleeved pullover

under her head
you’re a good boy

she said
but you’ll have blood on it now

don’t matter
you said

you stroked her head
and pushed

her grey hair
out of her white blue eyes

when Helen returned
with a doctor

he examined
the old woman

and said
he had called

an ambulance  
Helen stood

next to you
her eyes tearful

her hand
touching yours

the woman said
thank you both

I don’t know
what I’d have done

if you hadn’t come along
it’s the least we could do

Helen said
you waited

until the ambulance came
and took her away

and disappeared
off along Harper Road

look at your pullover
Helen said

it’s got blood on it
don’t matter

gives it colour
you replied

anyway Mum’ll wash it out
she gazed at you

through her thick lens
her eyes awash

with tears
her small hand

still in yours
the path

from the old lady’s flat
had a small stain

of dark red
where blood had seeped

where she’d laid her head
a bit like an abstract

pavement artist’s work
you said

the white stone canvas
with that touch of red.

Father knew **** about Vietnam,
Says Bill, other than what he heard

On the radio or the newspapers or
All that other spiel from red necks

Or dumb heads, he knew nothing
About the real war or the reasons

Behind the death fields. Bill inhales
On his cigarette and takes in the

Young feller undressed and laid
Out on the bed with his thin arms

Behind his head, his ***** hanging
Limp like something dead. He watches

As the youngster looks up at the ceiling,
A cigarette held between red lips, his

Pale blue eyes like ponds of shallow
Water. We pulled out of Vietnam quicker

Than a ***** drops her draws in the end,
Although we in the know knew it’d come

To that even before the politician could
Pull up their pants and put on the public

Faces. The youngster sniggers, pulls on
His smoke, some private joke, Bill considers,

The shallowness of youth, remembering
Young soldiers in Vietnam and elsewhere

In later years blown up or out or dead or
****** in the head. The youngster gazes

At Bill wondering if this guy was some secret
Government agent who could **** as good

As he could ****, whether it was all just talk
Or whether the guy could walk the deadly

Walk. Bill smiles, the innocence of youth,
He muses, stubbing his cigarette **** into

An ashtray, remembering the young kid
Whose throat he slit in Mexico some years

Back as he sat and ****, some double cross,
Some dark deceit, Agency orders, job done,

Neat and clean, unknown, unloved, unseen.

Yochana
sits beside
Angela
her best friend

Miss G plays
Beethoven
on the old
gramophone
piano piece
sonata

Yochana
likes this one
the music
stirs her up
conjures up
images
desires

Angela
looks behind
at the back
of the class

she sees them
the two boys
sitting bored
eyeing her

Rowland pokes
out his tongue
but Benny
has that smile
that hair quiff

how is she
he lip talks
Yochana?

she turns back
to the front

he's looking
she informs
Yochana
that Benny

I don't care
about him
Yochana
says softly
(not wanting
to disturb
Beethoven)

but she does
she senses
his hazel
eyes touching
her body

bringing out
hot flushes
distracts her
emotions
from music

Beethoven
(poor Ludwig)
pushed aside

and she feels
Benny’s eyes
hazel warm
look inside.

There was
on the sideboard
in your granddad’s house
a small statue

of a boy and dog
and you used
to stand and stare
at it each time you visited

the house on Sunday afternoons
running your finger
over the outline
as if to make the boy move

or the dog bark
but they never did
and each time
you hoped they would

and Gran said
mind you don’t
knock it over Benedict
it’s one of your granddad’s

prized possessions
he bought it off a man
in the market
some years ago

and you stood
with your finger poised
a few inches away
eager to feel

the cold china once more
the smoothness
on the finger’s skin
your eyes searching

each aspect
of the boy
the way he had
his hands

the dog looking up
expectantly
the boy looking down
affectionately

Granddad’s dog
was not a bit like that
it was grey and old
and  was kept

in the back garden
in a kennel
where it would
bark or whine

and Gran said
shut up Major
you’ve been fed
and sometimes

you’d go out
in the garden
and stroke its fur
or pat its head

its dull eyes
looking at you
disinterestedly
but the boy

in the statue
had an exciting dog
which probably
wagged its tail

and licked
its young master
although not
when  you

were gazing
on Sunday afternoons
and your mother said
don’t knock it off

the sideboard
or there’ll be hell to pay
you said
Ok

and wandered into
the warm
but cluttered lounge
where Granddad sat

in the huge armchair
in his grey flannel trousers
grey cardigan
and thinning grey hair

and you sat still
while the parents
and grandparents talked
your eyes scanning

the photographs
on ledges and surfaces
faces you knew
and some you didn’t

small statues of dogs
or a girl with fruit
or boy playing
a silent flute

or aged paintings
of country scenes
of hills or fields
or rivers and streams

but it was the statue
of the boy and dog
that filled your head
and night time dreams.

Magdalene waits in the passage
for Mary to come. Other girls pass
by hurrying on to the next lesson.

Mary comes along swinging her
satchel over her shoulder, cursing.
If that old ****’s teaching next term

I’m off to join the convent and be
a ******* nun, she says, looking back
along the passage, her face flustered,

her hair in her eyes. Magdalene says,
what up? Has old Murphy had a go
at you again? Mary sighs, moves along

the passage and Magdalene follows,
her eyes moving over Mary’s swaying
hips, taking in her thighs outlined by

her school skirt. Old Murphy’s long
overdue to retire, Mary says, she should
be in the graveyard of St Luke’s with

dog’s ***** on her tombstone. She and
Magdalene pause by the girl’s toilets,
then enter in, making sure there’s no

one in there, before they quickly and
greedily kiss. They part and stand back
staring at each other. I needed that,

Magdalene says, all through R.E. I’ve
thought of it, despite Fr Gragin going
on about the Blessed Trinity. Mary says,

I’d have done the same if the old ****
hadn’t been on about the Civil War and
what do I care? Mary Moran, says she,

will you stop chewing gum and sit on
four legs of the chair. I think she was
after to giving me the ruler across my

palms, instead she gave me 500 lines
on how to sit on a chair and listen.
They move to the mirror and attend to

their hair and faces. Far off a bell rings.
They look at their reflections in the mirror.
They look at each other, then and touch

hands and lips and part, one to double
maths, the other to boring craft and art.

In the night
Alice walks
from her room

along dark
passageways
passing by

Father's door
nanny's room
down the stairs

creeping soft
shadows loom
tick of clock

sight of moon
through window
and its glass

deeper down
servant's end
darker still

talks in sleep
or snoring
from rooms passed

till at last
she reaches
Mary's room

with small hand
and fingers
she opens

up the door
and goes in
shuts the door

behind her
with soft click
there she sees

Mary's bed
metal frame
double size

grey pillows
greying sheets
thick blankets

on the bed
and within
snuggled deep

Mary sleeps
Alice peeps
in half dark

(moon's bright light
splits the night)
and listens

to the sounds
of breathing
mutterings

and soft snores
Alice waits
senses cold

bite her toes
and fingers
quietly

she climbs up
on the bed
and enters

to the warm
rough covers
in between

snuggles up
to the maid's
narrow back

and hot smells
of nightgown
and warm flesh

Alice slips
her small hand
all around

Mary's waist
her other
hand resting

on her chin
listening
to the maid's

rise and fall
in her sleep
safe at last

Alice thinks
safe and hot
drifts to sleep

soundlessly
as far off
a dog barks

a clock chimes
and Mary
in her sleep

dreams of home
far away
unaware

that Alice
is behind
sleeping there.

Each finds
their own salvation
or not,
Nima said.

Birds fed
in her hair.

Her eyes ******
in black holes,
gave birth to dreams.

I sat beside her,
drank black coffee,
smoked menthol cigarettes,
heard Coltrane
on the HiFi.

How deep
does my soul go?
She asked,
what is *** after all?

I inhaled and looked
at the cavern
of her small
firm *******.

Cold turkey,
she said,
rather have
a cool fix.

I sat exhaling
menthol smoke;
the Coltrane runs
on saxophone
caught in my ears.

I think I’ve spiders
in my ******,
she said;
******* ones
with hairy legs.

I closed my eyes
supping on
the menthol smoke,
sensing Coltrane's sound
invade my soul.

Nima lay back down,
legs spread,
black beetles
and insects
inside
her drained out
head.

He kisses
her hip;
lips on skin
and feels bone.

She moves
in intimacy,
hones in
on his lips
in the moist moment.

She curves
about him
like a serpent,
her legs
about his waist,
bringing him in
to harbour
like a pilot
brings in
a large ship
to home port.

Hip to lips,
lips to skin;
sense now
the hot dips.

When Monica asked
if she could go with you
and her brothers
bike riding

her mother said
no you’re too young
or if she asked
to go with you

and Jim and Pete
to the cinema
to see the latest
Elvis flick

her mother said
definitely not
it’s not for young girls
and Monica’d storm indoors

slamming the door
shouting I hate you all
but when you called one day
and her brothers were out

(gone to see their big brother
about some old motorbike)
her mother said
yes come in and wait  

and Monica was
pleased as Punch
especially when
her mother said

you could stay to lunch
and I can show you
over the place
Monica said

and after lunch maybe
we can go for a bike ride
along the small lanes
and maybe you

could show me
some judo moves
and her mother said
we’ll see I’m not sure

Benedict will want
to do those kind
of things with a girl
and went off

to make lunch
and Monica showed you
all over the house
whose room was whose

and up in the attic
she said
this is my room
and took your hand

and took you
to the window
and said
see the view I’ve got?

Isn’t it the best?
and you said
yes it’s good
and you took in the view

and looking around
the room you saw her bed
and the big pink elephant
there by the wall

staring at you
and she said
that’s Pinkie
isn’t she great?

sure
you said
and she took you
down the stairs

to the kitchen for lunch
and her mother
chatted away
about her sons

and Monica sat there
gawking at you
her eyes studying
each aspect of you

her eyes large
as saucers
blue and beautiful
and after lunch

you showed her
a few judo moves
which she loved
especially when

your hands moved her
and you sensed
her almost ready
to burst with joy

and just before
you were ready
to go for a ride
on the bikes

her brothers came
and shooed her away
and she went off
giving them the evil eye

but you she gave
the young girl wink
the we know
what they don’t smile

and off you rode
with her brothers
but she kept
those moments with you

(to herself)
as if you were
Romeo and Juliet
fond lovers.

Cogan said
he was going bust

your nose
but he never did

because when
he took off his glasses

to fight
he couldn't see

**** all of you
to hit

except the blurry bit
by which time

you'd caught him
on the jaw

and put him quickly
on the floor

but he always
came back

for more
as if he had

a memory loss
or he couldn't

give a toss
and it was usually

in the playground
or outside school

by the front steps
after the mums had left

and each time he lost
or you never bothered

to turn up
or wait for him

to come out
of class

then one day
you read

he'd been taken off
by some bloke

gone missing
even his mother was upset

and beside herself
in the papers

but he showed up
in Brighton
safe and sound

unharmed by the geezer
who took him off

and you were glad
he was safe and sound

even if you didn't like
the ****** being around

but at least
he was all right

ready for the next threat
of a punched nose

and losing the next
after school fight.

Sophie stands
at the top
of the stairs

her blue thin
uniform
unbuttoned

revealing
a white top
and blue jeans

she waits there
listening
for voices

a duster
in her hand
pretending
to polish
the hand rail

where is he?
she wonders

she pushes
her fingers
through her hair
long and blonde

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

OK George?

yes I’m fine
he replies

so I go
up the stairs
to make beds
before baths

Sophie hides
by a wall
as I pass

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

not right here
I tell her
not right now

she nibbles
even more

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

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

I remove
her small hands
from my waist

Matron could
come along
and see us
I tell her

she not come
Sophie says
she busy
with others

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

go polish
some hand rail
wash a floor
I suggest

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

I don't know
none of them
I tell her

I release
her thin wrists

she stands there
watching me
her blue eyes
searching me

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

go Sophie
do some work
I suggest

she just stares

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

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

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

I make up
and tidy
old Bob's bed

I help you?
Sophie asks

I turn round
and she's there
by the door

we make bed
then we ****?

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

you bathe me?
Sophie asks
together
be quicker

I smooth down
old Bob's bed
pump pillows

she watches
from the door

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

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

she moves back
from the door
lets me pass

***** smell
filters out

it stinky
she tells me
old men stink
make me sick

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

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

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

And Baruch met Yehudit
by the pond
through the woodland
over a few fences

and through fields of cattle
avoiding cow pats
the morning air warm
and she waiting there

gazing at the pond
at the ducks
swimming there
birds flying across

the water's skin
the trees in full leaf
and she turned
when she heard him coming

thought you might not come
she said
she was wearing
an old green skirt

and white blouse
and her brown hair
was held in place
by a green band

I said I'd come
he said
yes I know
but people sometimes

let you down
she said
he stood beside her
at the water's edge

have a problem getting out?
he asked
a bit
she said

Mother insisted on me
doing this and that
and where
are you going anyway?

she asked after
I did the chores
to see Baruch I replied
oh him my mother said

she sat down
on the grass
and he sat next to her
she sat cross legged

he sat with his legs
out straight
looking
at his old shoes

not impressed by me then?
he said
not impressed
with any male

she said
except her sons
and even they
have to meet

her standards
nice legs
Baruch said
pointing to her thighs

showing
where her skirt rode up
she pulled it over
her knees

you don't help your case
she said smiling
she watched as a swan
landed on the water

and swam as if it
owned the pond
beautiful isn't it?
she said

almost like you
he said
I'm being serious
she said

so am I
he replied
she didn't stop
you coming though

he added
it was close
I had to promise
not to get into mischief

she said
o that's messed up
our day then
he said smiling

she looked at the trees
above her head
I think someone
told her

about seeing us here
she said
what just sitting here
watching ducks?

maybe not just sitting
she said looking at him
her eyes light blue
in the sunlight

had that
draw me in
and see Heaven look
about them

her lips parted
the tip of tongue
ah then
he said

maybe
she said
not impressed?
he said

no don't think she was
who saw us?
God knows
she said

probably does
but He won't tell
Baruch said
you shouldn't blaspheme

she said
he kissed her lips
as she spoke
the words being swallowed

and she closed her eyes
and lips kissed lips
and the swan flew off
the wings breaking

the still air
but they still kissed
as if in someone's Heaven
there.

Enid waits for me
at the school gates
after school-
she'd not spoken to me

during playtime recess-
she looks at me
through her
thick lens spectacles  

and I see her lips
are till slightly swollen
sorry about last night
my mum was too

frightened to let me out
to play as my dad
was in one of his moods
she says

how comes you
didn't speak to me
at recess?
I ask

because he'll ask me
when he gets home
if I've been speaking
to you at school today

she says
how will he know
if you speak to me or not?
because he knows

I can't lie to him
he peers at me
and the truth
blurts out of me

I'm too simple to lie
he says
Enid says
what about now

won't he say today
and not mention school?
she bites her lower lip
never thought of that

we walk on together
anyway he won't know
just tell him
a created truth

I say
she looks puzzled
how do I do that?
she asks

just focus
on a bit of truth
and make it
the whole truth

just tell him
no I haven't
spoken to Benny
at school today

I'm not sure I can
she says
it's either that
or another

thumping from him
I say
we go through
to London Road

as I want to show her
the man
in the pie and eel shop
chopping off

the heads of eels
and chopping them
up into small pieces
when we get there

and watch the man
she says
how awful
how can he?

that's his job
I expect he's
used to it now
we walk on

and she says
I'll try and do
as you say
about telling the truth

but he looks
at me so
I feel frightened
and he knows

if I'm telling lies
we go down
the subway
and she is silent

and I feel sorry for her
and the life she has
I'll call for you
after school

and we can go out
I say
no no
she says

don't come around
or Dad'll go mad
I was only joking
I say

of course I wouldn't
least not
while he's there
she looks at me

uncertain
I'll just wait
and if you can
come out

then knock
on my door
and then
we can go out

she nods
and we walk on
and up out
of the subway

and along the New Kent Road
passing the cinema
then home
which isn't far.

Dalya couldnt even bring herself to be nice to the Yank girl anymore it was as much as she could do to even look at her with her dark hair and eyes and that ******* tight black leather two piece which made her skinnier than a runt and that accent seeming straight out of some American movie and the constant yak about the guys shed had and how that was the worse part the how of it all as if Dalya cared as if she gave a sod about the Yanks love life and that time they showered at the Oslo camp base and the Yank said *** how plump you are like a hippo bathing and she laughed and Dalya gave her a look that would have frozen another more sensitive ***** but no she laughed at Dalya and her so called humour and Dalya would have flicked her towel around the Yanks scrawny **** but another girl passing got in the way and it flicked her **** instead and O did she moan and the Yank ***** walked off swaying if one can sway a backside like hers and was gone or that time when Dalya had been out with a guy called Benny who rode the same mini bus as the Yank and Dalya had got back in the tent real late and the Yank said what time do you call this some of us need our beauty sleep and Dalya said you could sleep for thousand years and still be one heck of an ugly Yank ***** and the Yank stormed out into the night or early morning which ever it was and Dalya lay in her tent trying to sleep after shed gone when Benny creeps in and said the American girls gone in the Aussie guy and is in my sleeping bag and theyre doing things which I wont describe least not before breakfast and so he came in to the tent with Dalya and Dalya seethed and swore and Benny said did you want me to leave but Ill have to sleep in the bar area as shes in my tent with him so Dalya said ok but no funny business and he said I don t do funny business and lay there in the tent where the Yank girl used to lay and she seemed determined not to let him get too near but at the time the birds were beginning to sing and she still being awake she said to him if you want to come nearer we can keep warm against this ground frost or so it seems and he said sure why not and moved next to her and they hugged and one thing led to another and well shed not be telling her mother when she got home that aspect of her holiday and hoped to God her brother didnt see Benny come out of her tent in the morning and next morning when she showered in the base camp the ***** was there washing off her sins with the Aussie guy laughing  and acting like some latter day Joan Crawford and Dalya glared at her the way her skinny arms were wrapped about her rake thin body and love bites around her neck and tiny **** and Dalya thought God what a sight and that time on the ship from Oslo to Amsterdam and Dalya stood on the deck as the waves rose and fell and the ***** of good old USA was puking over the side and O that was good Dalya thought that was a scream and she looked green and looked as if she'd puke up her ring and Dalya smiled to  herself and later when they landed in Amsterdam Benny and Dalya sought out a cafe and sat and drank coffee and ate a couple of burgers and she said how would you rate the *** the other night in my tent? and Benny said how rate? and she said from one to ten one being utter crap to ten being ****** heaven and Benny thought as he drank his coffee and said well its as near to Heaven as Ill get is it better than having the Yank *****? she asked I dont what she humps like but Id say yes with you it was heaven and Ok she said dont let my brother know or hell tell my mother and then shell go off the deep end you know what mothers are like with their daughters and it was in Amsterdam that the good old American girl split saying she was meeting some French guy in Paris the **** ***** Dalya said she must have a ****** like a drinking hole in the Sahara and Benny said nothing but wondered why women worried about each other like that why they couldnt be more like guys who just think lucky guy wish I could be pimple on his **** while hes going it some then as the camping trip was coming to an end and they were on the last leg of the trip at the last and final base camp and she had her tent to herself she invited Benny in for a final fling but before that they went to the base camp bar and bought a good deal of the ***** and staggered back to the tent and she said you know what? and he said no and she said well lie down and Ill tell you and so Benny lay down on the tent floor next to her and she said I was ****** by my cousin once it was at a birthday party at my parents house and me and him- his name must be kept hush hush- had a little must of  my fathers punch drink and we went up to my bedroom-I slept alone- and I thought it would just be kissing but no one thing led to another and next thing I remember we were ******* away like two hounds on heat and the music was still being pumped from downstairs and singing and laughter and Benny said I wish Id been there I could have made it a ******* but Dalya said it was a bad enough him being there ******* away and she looked past him at the dull sky of their last day.

It was the fourth day
since the break up
from school
for the summer vacation

and you were riding
with Janice
on the bus
to London Bridge

and she was wearing
the lemon coloured dress
you liked
that came to the knees

which were pressed
together
and the brown sandals
with the patterned holes

and the red beret
on her fair hair
was swaying
with the motion

of the bus
opposite you
was a man
wearing a trilby

and a moustache
who kept looking at you
with his dark eyes
his head going

from side to side
as the bus moved
and he sat next
to Janice

his hands
on his knees
and he turned
and gazed

at Janice’s knees
then up at you again
his features flushing
and then he looked away

at the passing scene
behind you
pretending
you weren’t there

then at London Bridge
he got off
and so did you
and Janice

and you waited
until he had gone
walking up
and over the bridge

and you said
he was a queer fish
who?
said Janice

that bloke
who sat next to you
why?
she asked

he kept staring at me
and ogling
at your knees
did he?

Janice said
you wait
until I tell Gran
about that

she’ll say
you watch out
for his type Janice
he’s no better

than he ought to be
you nodded
and smiled
at her imitation

of her gran
and she laughed
and you both
walked down

the steps and by
Southwark Cathedral
to the embankment
by the River Thames

and stood by the wall
looking at the passing
boats and ships and tugs
and the occasional

ducks floating  
on the brown water
and you felt Janice’s
9 year old hand

touch yours
as she pretended
(as she often did)
that you were

a married couple
out for a romantic walk
gazing
at the passing scenery

with the added
small talk.

Didn’t tell you
my boyfriend’s
in prison did I?
Julie said

As you walked
through Leicester Square
having met her
off the bus

from the hospital
where she had to stay
for her drug habit
(her parents

being doctors
had her locked away
as best they could)
no you didn’t

you replied
taking note
of her tightly tied
ponytail

her eyes unfocused
the summery dress
long and colourful
got caught with drugs on him

in a raid
she said
o I see
you said

do you get to see him?
you asked
hoping not
wishing the ******

to be locked up good
no
she said
he’s too far away

for me to get to
in the period
I have free
from the hospital

and besides
he’s not really
my boyfriend
more an acquaintance

she sat in a seat
near a cinema
and stared
at passersby

you sat beside her
remembering the times
your old man
had brought you here

as a kid to see the nightlife
or go to the cinema
for some film
he had to see

or some famous actor
or actress he said
he thought
might be there

I’ve brought you
some cigarettes
you said
o you are a dear

she said
and kissed your cheek
and took the packet
and opened it up

there and then
and took one out
and lit it
with a plastic light

from her pocket
did you want one?
she asked
no you have them

you said
and so she sat
and smoked
and in between puffs

and exhalations
she spoke of her parents
and the hospital
and the staff there

and how she still remembered
that time she took you
in that small room
off the hospital ward

and did things
as she put it
and laughed
and the smoke

went up
and the people
went by
and you sat

watching her
taking in her hands
and fingers
the cigarette

between them
the eyes still dull
and bluish
or greenish

depending how
the sunlight caught them
and your cheek
still wet where her lips

had been
and the blue of sky
and the nearby park
with flowers

and grass flushed
with green.

Miss Schinzer do not undress
they said but she did and so
they locked her in the side
room alone and she heard the

key turn in the lock and that
was that she heard them walk
away along the passage heard
the footsteps getting soft and

softer then silence the silence
of that abbey she went to some
years back as a child and the nun
with her beady eyes said here

one must absorb the silence here
silence is our food and drink and
she remembered the way the nun
empathised the word silence

the way her lips moulded the word
as if it were brand new and not to
be damaged or spoilt but that was
then as a child before the voices

began before the orders were laid
out for her to obey do not undress
Miss Schinzer they had said but her
voices inside said undress take off

garment by garment and as you do
so think of Christ and how he was
disrobed and hammered to the wood
and she did hearing as she undressed

the hammer on nails the jacket and
then the blouse and then the brassiere
and she felt the chill about her *******
how they stiffened she thought waiting

to remove more cloth waiting for the
voice to say undress more of the clothes
and she recalled how Mr Dimpledone had
said the same thing but she was a child

then a girl in the choir but she didn’t ask
why she just undressed and he just stared
at her and said what are you doing child?
but you said so she said no no he said gruffly

be silent unless you want to leave the choir
but she didn’t remember him saying that not
then but couldn’t be sure and the voices said
take off the lower garments and so she removed

her skirt the black one the one that made her
look like a nun she took it off and then removed
her slip and underwear and sat on the floor quite
bare remembering the hanging Christ the hands

curled like ***** nailed to the cross beam his
naked flesh the wounds the blood and she lay
down flat and put out her arms forming a cross
and her legs tight together one foot touching

the other and over in the corner knitting and
humming some Schubert her bossed eyed mother.

Push Skinny Boy
push
Annie said
but what if Sister Paul

sees you
on the kiddies’ swing?
she’ll not be pleased
you said

to hell with Sister Paul
to hell with her
Anne said
now push me high

and so you grabbed
the wooden seat
of the swing
and pushed it outward

and off she went
upward and downward
and you stepped out
of the way

now and then
and then you pushed her
some more
higher higher

she bellowed
and up she soared
her one leg taking flight
into the air

like a wild bird
on the wing
the wind lifted
her short skirt

and the stump
of her amputated leg
showed
but she didn’t care

she just bellowed
for higher and so
you pushed as hard
as you could

that’s it Kid
that how it’s meant to be
like a ******* bird freed
up and up I go

and you stood back
and watched her fly
her skirt flapping
her stump flashing

now and then
and the other kids
calling out
I can see her missing leg

I can see her stump
o go to hell kids
she said
go wet

in your aunt’s eye
and the kids went off
and one girl shouted
I’m going to tell Sister Paul

go tell her
you little weasel
go tell her
her white ******* stink

Anne bellowed
but after a minute
or so she stopped pushing
her leg in the air

and began to slow
and you watched
her black hair
about her head

flop back in place
and the fearsome features
settle
upon her pale face.

There is that failure of communication,
At least of that soft civilized kind, the
Type that doesn’t involve blackened eyes

And broken teeth and bruises like fallen
Apples. She tries to hide her face behind
Her scarf, pulls up the collar of her coat

To conceal the bruises to her throat, pulls
The sleeves down to cover up discoloured
Arms and long skirts to mask the beaten

Thighs from her neighbours prying eyes.
He is full of jackshit and self-pity and
Mopes and sulks and blames her for the

Messy house, the kids crying, the bills high,
His fists flying. Unconditional love is the
Only real love, her mother said, lecturing

To her on her wedding eve, pushing the
Rosary beads between fingers and thumb.
Nights he doesn’t come home are best, she

Can sleep and unwind and rest. Even the kids
Can feel the peaceful air when he isn’t there.
His apologises are fake notes, they bring her

Nothing, reveal nothing, cast false hopes like
Wasted seeds, open up the pretending dreams
That life is always better than it is or seems.

That monk in the refectory
sitting there
reminded me

of old Jack:
same look,
same eyes,

that quiet presence.
The French peasant monk,
cutting back

the hedgerow
with a scythe,
black robed,

tonsured,
humble as cheese,
nods and bows.

I picked apples wrong
in the orchard,
the monk said,

he showed how,
his fine fingers
twisted just so,

feminine,
pinkish nails,
his dark tight curls

untonsured.
For whom the bells toll
down to the sea and beach?

I tossed stones
across the incoming tide,
further

than Brother Hugh
(moaning Myrtle)
could reach.

You pushed Anne
in her wheelchair
along the path
by the beach

having left
the nursing home behind
having gone through
the back gate unseen

what will they say
when they see
we’re not there?
you asked

we’ll say
we were kidnapped
by pirates
she said

they won’t believe that
you said
who gives a ****
she replied

here we’ve got freedom
and sea air
away from the peering eyes
and all you worry about

is what they’ll say
you pushed her slower
to hear what she was saying
they’re suffocating me

Skinny kid
I can’t breathe
shut up there with
kids gawking

at my one leg
and stump
now push on
and faster

she said
you pushed her faster
looking over your shoulder
to see if anyone

was following you
but none was
where are we going?
you asked

forward and into battle
she said laughing
waving a hand in the air
drawing the attention

of people walking
along the path
and some on the beach
there Kid there

she said
pointing to an ice-cream van
by the side of the path
got any money Kid?

she asked
no I haven’t
you said
lucky for you then

that I have
she said
all this ******* way
with no ice-cream

and I’d have been
******* myself
with frustration
she muttered

as we approached the van
what are you having Kid?
you stared at the list
on the window

of the van
one of those
you said
pointing out an ice-cream

in a cone
two of those
she said
to the ice-cream man

he made up two ice-creams
and handed them to her
and she gave him
the money

and you pushed her
by the side of the beach
where she gave you one
and you sat

on the side
of a low wall
and ****** away
thank you

you said
you’re  welcome Kid
she said
and anyway

take it is a reward
for helping me out
of the bath last night
you looked away

and felt yourself blush
she smiled
her upper lip
touched by ice-cream

her eyes on you
anyway Kid enjoy the day
don’t have regrets
for not doing

and she ****** away
some more  
as you watched
the incoming waves

rushing
on the peopled shore.

Converte nos, Sister Teresa whispered, leaning forward in the darkness of the church; convert us, she repeated, sensing the infirmarian nun beside her, hearing the breath and muttered prayers. She had insisted on being wheeled into the church for Compline; had got her way; was pleased she was in the pew where she'd sat for the last ten years. She loved the silence before it all began; the sense of space; the soft opening of the Confiteor, the movement of bodies like a wave of water over the blacked-out walls and high roof of the church. She brought her arthritic hands together; dug deep for a fresh prayer, but all was used; all had done before; all spread wide over her life of contemplation; in and out of her light and alternating darkness. The infirmarian muttered something. Sister Teresa shrugged her shoulders; inclined her ear; moved her head and unseeing eyes. Was it Sister Bernadette? Or was it another? She couldn't tell; all were the same in her darkness, except the touch; hand on hand; whispered words. Long ago, Jude or Judas had kissed; had betrayed. The sound of footsteps on flagstones; the rustle of habits and clicking beads; a sense of breathing and life; entering into the shared darkness and blackness, except for the red altar light to inform of the Crucified's presence and the all-seeing-eye. Sighed. Waited. Held breath. Reached for the sister's hand or arm to reassure, to sense she was not alone in the dark and that she had not died and sunk to dimness and damnation of another dark. The infirmarian tapped her hand. Relief. Converte nos, she mumbled, convert us, she repeated. The Confiteor opened up as if the whole world had breathed out in one voice; had poured out the world's sins in a soft eruption of voices. She breathed in. Clutched her hands. Wanted the closeness and nearness of all; wanted to be held; to be kissed; wanted to see the face of the sister beside her who sat close and whispered her own Confiteor. Ora pro nobis, she whispered, pray for us, let me not be lost in this darkness. Where was Papa? Where is Mama? Clare where are you? she muttered, her eyes searching the blackness, reaching out with a hand into the empty space before her. Hand on hand. Whispered voice. The chant rose and fell like a gentle sea carrying the prayers of the black-robed sisters. Jude or Judas and the kisses and betrayal. Dead now; all dead; all gone. Left here, she muttered, like a beached fish, flapping on the emptying sands of my hourglass like a whimpering child. She clutched her breast; sensed a pain. Leaned her head neatly on the sister's shoulder; sank slowly into her arms like a child searching for its mother's breast and the comforting embrace of warmth and love. Stillness. Peace. Darkness. Light.

Brody's mother
was quite the dame
she had this way
of inviting you in

after school
and offering things
to eat and drink
and hey boys

she said
why not try out
the outside pool?
Brody said

OK
and so you followed him
but what do I wear?
you asked

O nothing
he said
no need
it's only us

and well
the neighbours
can't see ****
and so you went

with him to his room
and undressed
and he gave you
a big white towel

and you went
downstairs with him
to the outside pool
his mother was there

and said
how about a drink of pop?
sure
Brody said

and you nodded
holding tight
to the towel
and off she went

in her red
two piece swimsuit
her **** quite neat
in the sack

of the suit
come on in John
Brody said
don't be shy

and so you dropped
the towel
and climbed in
the pool

and the water
was warm
and came up
to your chest

he swam around
but you just stood there
with arms folded
over your chest

after few moments
his mother came out
with a tray of pop drinks
in glasses with straws

gosh John
she said
looking at you
you sure are white

do you hide your body
from the sun?
Brody laughed
guess so

you said
she smiled then put
the tray on a small
white table

by the pool
and climbed in
the pool
her top piece floating

like pink piggies
you looked
then looked away
she talked

of Brody's father
how he liked to
just lounge
on the water

like a lily
Brody guffawed
some lily
he said

his mother smiled
as she looked at you
her eyes blue liquidy
as if they were

of water
she swam towards you
you afraid of the water John?
can't swim

you said
can't you
she said sexily
Brody you never said

John couldn't swim
didn't know
he said
swimming off

to the other end
of the pool
I’ll have to
show you how

she whispered
would you like me
to show you how?
she came nearer

her piggies seemed
pleased to see you
it's all a matter
of confidence

she said
trust in yourself
and the water
you looked at her

liquidy eyes
she put her arms
under the water
and held you

lift your feet
off the bottom
of the pool
she said

you tried but your feet
wouldn't move
here
she said

and she uprooted you
and you fell
into the water
and splashed

and flapped your arms
like a drowning bird
she held you tight
and said

relax your body
in my arms
you stiffened
then slowly relaxed

in her arms
holding you
to her
the piggies brushing

against you
her breath applely  
and perfumery
right

she said
slowly flap
your legs
in the water

and move the water
with your hands
and arms
and so you did

slow but with a kind
of nervous pleasure
feeling her there
her hands and arms

holding you
and Brody up
the other end
flat on his back

looking at the sky
like some thin lily
as you lounged
with his mother

and her piggies near
getting to trust
the water
and the new acquired

skill she'd shown
and you wished Brody
was gone
and you had her

to yourself
all alone.

Down the lane
behind the cottage
where you lived
you walked with Jane

the summer sun
beaming down
the birds in song
cows mooing

from the fields beyond
I can’t believe
you actually got
the cows in

the other day
she said
you a London boy
her eyes focused on you

her lips in smile
it was fun
you said
the cow man was helping me

of course but he said
I did well
she knelt down
by the small running stream

along the lane
you knelt beside her
she put her fingers
in the water

as it flowed through
her open fingers
you studied her fingers
and her hand

her face in profile
her dark hair
and her kneeling there
the smell of apples

and freshness
and you wanted
to kiss her
as she knelt

to put lips
to cheek
she broke the silence
what do you want to do

when you leave school?
she asked
the cowman asked me that
you said

what did you say?
she asked
said I wanted
to be a cowman

she smiled
what did he say?
he said want to get yourself
a proper job sonny

don’t to want to get stuck
on a farm all your life
what did you say?
she said leaning closer

her arm touching yours
I just said I liked the work
you said
she nodded

and you sensed
her nearness
her knee near yours
she stood up

and so did you
and walked on
she talked
of her father’s work

and her mother’s ways
and how she thought
her mother liked you
and you listened

to her words
and wanted
to hold them
and frame them

and to place them
in your heart
and mind
for always

the lane
the stream
the bird song
the long summer days.

Under the railway bridge
in Rockingham Street,
Benedict met his cousin
who said: your mum’s home
with your twin sisters,
best get home quick.

So he did and when he
got to the flat where
they lived he found
his mother holding
one of the babies
in an armchair,
breast feeding her.

His mother said his
other sister was in
the cot in her bedroom.

He entered the bedroom quietly.
He approached the cot
and looked over. There she was
his youngest sister, asleep.

Now he had to share
his mother with two more;
his other sister and brother
and he made five.
A five way split.
Less shares.

But not necessarily
less love or attention.
His mother had
a unique way
of stretching love
and attention
like a magican.

He smiled down
at the baby, touched
the dark curly hair
with a finger.
The baby stirred.
He withdrew his finger
and stood and stared.

After a few minutes
he returned to his mother
and the other sister.
The other baby was plumper,
more rounded,
chubby cheeks and such.

His mother looked tired,
drained. He hadn’t seen her
for a few weeks, except
short hospital visits, once
he remembered he stood
outside in the evening air,
staring up at the sky
with moon and stars.

His mother laid the baby
in the cot with the other.
They lay there together
in separate sleeps,
occupying their own
new dreams, hands
tight in tiny fists.

He watched while his mother
went off to prepare tea.
After a short while he left
the room and drew
the door shut
with a gentle click.

One hand on the door,
the other on the handle,
drawn towards him
did the trick.