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.

Ingrid stares
at the sea
the wild waves
the seagulls

we've come down
on the coach
from London
organised
by the church
of gospel
worshippers

what are those?
she asks me

they're seagulls

do they bite?

I don't know
want ice cream?

her brown eyes
gaze at me

no money
she tells me

I’ve got some
I tell her

is there lunch?
she asks me

I think so
there's money
from the church
for us kids
from poor homes
I tell her

her brown hair
is pinned back
by steel grips

she smiles wide
her rather
mild buckteeth
beam at me

fish and chips?
she asks me

I guess so

can I be
your girl friend
for the day?

want ice cream?

O yes please
she utters

I go get
2 ice creams
from a van
parked near by

what you want?
the guy asks

2 ice creams
with choc flakes

I watch him
fill 2 cones
with ice cream
then plonk in
2 choc flakes

I walk back
to Ingrid
here you are
I tell her

she takes one
and we walk
on the beach
in the sand
8 year olds
hand in hand.

So extraordinary
that each time you saw her

it was like the first time
as if you had been new born

to the vision of her
even that last time

when she went across your view
with her husband

to the grocery store
and looking over at you

she smiled that smile of hers
and her eyes had that same sparkle

and even though
you had not seen her

in a few years
and didn’t know

her husband from Adam
you still felt seeing her

as if you had seen
a Degas painting

for the first time
or heard Beethoven

touching your ears
at a young age

or smelling your first Chanel
on some dame

but as she went by
into the store

and disappeared from view
you wanted to turn back the clock

to that evening
walking home from choir

and she turned
and kissed you

beneath the moon
and held you close

and happily sighed
but time was fixed

in its rut
for having seen her

that last time
she died.

Where are you now,
Ajanta? Your
Father calls, his

Voice coming from
His room along
The hall. By the

Window, you say.
Ajanta, what
Are you doing

There? Looking at
The sun; feeling
The sun’s warmth on

My hands and face.
The sun is not
Good for you, your

Father replies;
It will dry your
Skin and harm your

Eyes. Remember
What it did to
Your grandmother.

You stifle a
Giggle with your
Hand and watch the

Boy from along
The street passes by
On nimble feet.

His hair is well
Combed and he is
Well groomed. You are

Much too silent,
Ajanta, when
Children are too

Silent, mischief
Lingers, Father
Says, his shrill voice

Carrying down
The hall like some
Unseen spirit,

The tone harsher,
And the meaning
Firmer. I am

Looking at the
Sky; the birds are
Flying high, you

Say, watching the
Boy’s ******
Motion and you

Wonder if he
Will turn and look
Up at you. Have

You no work to
Be doing, child?
Does your mother

Not require
Your help about
The house? You lift

Your eyes skyward,
Sigh out softly,
The boy turns and

You wave and he
Smiles and waves back.
He has diamonds

In his dark eye’s
Brightness; he has
A tiger’s strength

In his strong stride.
Adjanta are
You there? Father

Calls out, his tone
Tougher, tighter
Than a tiger’s

Grip. Just coming,
I can smell the
Summer and the

Scent of flowers,
You reply. The
Boy has gone and

Taken off with
Your dream. Come here,
Adjanta, your

Father calls, where
Is the pen I
Lent you? Where are

My books? You turn
From the window
With a deeper

Sigh, ****** at the
Sky’s blue and bird’s
Flight and the hot

Image of the
**** boy for
Your dreams tonight.

Miss Billings was chatting
to one of the customers
leaning on the black
counter top

with her elbows
her chin placed
between open palms
her blonde hair

and spectacled eyes
gave her the poor man’s
Monroe look
you stood behind her

leaning your back
against the wall
hands in the pockets
of your white overalls

and what’s going to win
the 3.30?
she asked
the horse in front

the guy said
she just stared
does a horse with *****
run slower

than a horse without?
she asked
never given it
much thought

he said
she raised an eyebrow
all I know is
I like a young filly

he said
giving her a gaze
you would
she said  

I guess you’d like a mare?
he said
she stood up
and stretched

her arms in the air
I’d rather ride my motorbike
than a horse any day
she said

you studied her
standing there
her blonde tied back hair
her red stockings

and white ankle boots
her curves and ***
the bulge against
her red knitted top

of her *******
and she rides it good
you said
to the guy opposite

I bet she does
he said laughing
he knows ****
she said

giving you her stare
I ride as I’ve always ridden
hard and fast
the best way

he said
you wondered if she would
ever give you a break
and smile or say

something nice
but she had the ability
to freeze you out
like a block of ice

even though
you dreamed of her
at night
**** naked in your bed

playing games
inside your head.

If only he wrote poems for
her like Byron did those
whom he knew, if only her

man took time to put pen
to paper, rather than his fist
to her cheek or jaw or pushed

her to the floor to have his way.
She liked the Byron book, kept
it by her bed or in her bag to

take out to read to **** the
words to her head. If only her
man had the good grace to

speak in such a way to make
her feel loved or needed, not
talked to like something on the

end of his shoe or poked about
till black and blue. Maybe one
day he will changed, she mused,

maybe he’ll speak to her in finer
tones in lovers’ words in softer
voice in kinder ways, as if some

inner fire blazed, not bellowed
at or cursed or punched till dazed.
She opened the book and read

her favourite lines, the words
caressed her, brought her joy
and enlightenment, not like him

and his dark side, violence, brutality
and punishment. Reading out loud
is difficult when her lips are swollen

or her bruised eyes are closed by
his vicious rage, then the words
sit silent on the open white page.

Milka waited by the gate
of the farmhouse
for him to arrive

her brothers waited also
for he was their friend first
even if she had
drawn in him

with her emotional tide
I showed him how
to drive a car

one said
and I showed him
how to ride a motorcycle
said the other

in a field
Milka said
just in a ******

farm field
they sniggered
what have you shown him?
the oldest brother asked

yes what fine skills
have you taught him?
the other said laughing

wouldn't you like to know
she said stormily
folding her arms
and avoiding their stares

they guffawed
in the background
then proceeded

to practice their judo
until he arrived
she turned
and glimpsed them

now and then
but all she wanted
was for him to arrive

just a quick word
and maybe kiss
before her brothers
collared him

for the judo practice
the last time he came
and practiced

he had them both down
on the ground in minutes
and she stood
and clapped and cheered

what had she shown him?
that was between
she and him

not for her snooping
brothers to know
she looked up
the narrow road

that led to the farmhouse
but he wasn't in sight
just a car

then a tractor
slowly moving along
whose driver waved
(and she embarrassed

waved back)
one of her brothers
was on the ground

the other stood triumphantly
hands in the air
she looked away
she caught

the summery air
the sight of birds
in flight

but not him
and she'd put on
her new jeans
and top( too tight

her mother said)
with a flowery pattern
then he was coming

over the hill
riding his bike
and the ******
of excitement

ran through her being
and she stood expectantly
by the gate

trying to appear casual
unconcerned
and he dismounted his bike
and came over

his Elvis style quiff
his jeans and shirt
and despite herself

she stood there on tiptoes
her body tingling
and he smiled
and shyly kissed

her cheek
and touched her hand
then walked to her brothers

and they came at him
with their judo moves
and taunts and laughter
and she stood there

watching
sensing the kiss
on her cheek

burn into her skin
and light a fire
of passion within
waiting and watching

feeling his touch
on her hand
(not to be washed off)

and she rubbed
her finger along
where he had laid
his touch

and inwardly
she mused
and thought

o God
o too much.

She spat out
a string
of four letter
abuse words

followed by American *****
you stood at the bar
at the base camp
outside Stockholm

sipping a beer
Moira stood beside you
in grumpy mood
her Glaswegian tones

still in the air
others in the bar
gazed your way
amused

some giving
a small titter
if have to share a tent
with her one more night

I’ll suffocate her
with my sleeping bag
over her head
she said

you girls
don’t get on then?
you said
more expletives followed

after which she sipped
from her glass
of white wine
you lit a cigarette

all the time
watching her
listening to her
talking about

the American girl
the tour guide and driver
had picked up
in Hamburg

how she spent ages
in the shower
at base camps
across northern Europe

how she got her man
whom she slept with
and what she did
and leather

said Moira
her and her ****** leather
I know her sort
she added

you studied her
as she spoke
her short stature
her wild blazing eyes

her hair tight curled
her small ****
pressing against
her tee shirt

then she was silent
and leaned on the bar
sipping the wine
grimacing

staring at the mirror
behind the bar
maybe we could swap tents
you said

you share
with the Australian bore
and I with the Yank girl  
that’s a case

from the frying pan
into he fire
Moira said gruffly
I’d rather share my tent

with a shaggy dog
with fleas
she said
I guess

you thought
taking in her tight ***
some
are hard to please.

Once school was done
and after your tea
of beans on toast
you went with Janice

to the narrow passages
behind the ABC cinema
evening creeping in
she next to you

getting the jitters
street lights
here and there
casting shadows

making pretend giants
and you'd pick up
dog-ends
from the ground

and put them
in your pocket
what do you want
them for?

she asked
make myself
a cigarette later
you said

cigarette?
she said disapprovingly
you mustn't
that's horrible

and those
left over cigarette butts
have got
people's spit in them

but they make
good cigarettes
you said
her face grimaced

you took in
her red beret
to the side
of her fair hair

her blue eyes
on fire
if I did that
Gran'd spank me

well and truly
Janice said
trick is
not to be caught

you said
a rat ran by
and she screamed
a rat ran by

my foot
she stepped back
and grabbed your arm
yes you get them here

at this time
of an evening
you said
I shouldn't be here

she said quietly
Gran thinks
I'm in the park
well as far she knows

you still are
you said
but that's lying
she said

no it is being
careful with the truth
you said
you walked along

the passageway
and came out
on to the New Kent Road
and at the front

of the cinema
with its big billboards
and little photos
of the film being shown

and what was
to be shown
you peered
at the photographs

Janice beside you
how about
I bring you here
on Saturday?

you said
she peered
at the photographs
then at you

it's a cowboy film
she said
yes and its got
good gunfights in it

and I can practice
how they do it
she frowned
not sure

if Gran'd let me
she said
say you're with me
and she will

you said
she didn't look
convinced
bit her lip

treat you
to an ice cream too
you said
how much will it cost?

she asked
1/-3d
you said
but don't worry

my old man will pay
he usually does
she bit her lip
a little more

have to ask Gran
she said
ok
you said

then you walked
along the road
past some shops
then stopped

at the fish and chips shop
smell that
you said and sniffed
she sniffed

isn't that good
you said
she sniffed again
smells of vinegar

she said
and fish and chips
you said
she looked at you

her blue eyes
lit up
by the light
from the shop

want some chips?
you asked
I've no money
she said

I've got 6d
that'll get us
a bag to share
she nodded

so you both
went into the shop
and the warmth
and the smell

and the noise
from some radio
blasting out
a Bill Haley song

and ordered a 6d
bag of chips
and added
salt and vinegar

and walked out
and across the road
and down Meadow Row
the moonlight bright

lighting up
the beginning of night.

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.

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

that's a dog begging
Milka said
pointing skyward

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

could be I guess
I said

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

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

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

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

birds flew overhead
as we watched the clouds

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

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

yes it was good
I said

thank you Benny
she said

where are your brothers?

gone out I suppose
she said
did you want them?

they said we might
go see a film
I said

what film is that?

an Elvis film

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

would your mother
let you go?

Milka looked uncertain
I could ask
she said

another time maybe
I said

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

OK she said
she went quiet
looked at the farmhouse

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

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

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

Prayers will help, the pastor said.
Hands joined, rest on her stomach,
the blue dress, neat and clean, her
hair set just so. Eyes closed, lips

mouthed prayers. Behind closed eyes
memories stirred, waking giants,
deep feelings woke from dark sleep.
Light from open window warmed

eyelids, skin, hands. She saw behind
lids, shadowy figures, deeds done.
Some other place, other time, all
remembered, recalled. She bit her

lip between teeth. Sensed the smell,
familiar scent, odour more. His not
hers. Side by side, smells, memories,
deeds and music, sensations and

feelings of uncleanness. Just this
once he had said. Just the once.
More after. Each time deeper, more
hurtful. None had known. So said.

Some must have. Time and tide.
She felt sunlight on cheek. Eyes
behind lids moved.  Shadows lingered,
dark room brought sweat and damp

beneath armpits. Clothes removed,
by whom? She or another? Where
was Mother? Father lost at sea. No
return, body lost, sea swallowed.

The bed warm, shutters closed, lie
still, said he. There was that candle.
Yes, remembered that. Light moved
in draft’s touch, slight, not overmuch.

She sensed even the now the then’s
feel, the touches, the pains, thrusts.  
Bathing brought no cleanness, no
undoing, no removing from mind’s

surface the worms of dark deeds.
Prayers will aid, pastor claimed,
what he didn’t know of, just general
stuff, depression, sadness on skin’s

surface, bags under eyes, weeping
over meals.  Dressed such as she did,
plain, no frills or glamour or over
the top colours and patterns. Not

wanting to attract, she clothed dull.
She had been undone, ill used, nightly
mucked, and unknown to Mother, ******.

Carmody said
what did you get
your old man
for his birthday?

well
you said
my sister and I
saved up

what money we could
siphoned off
some of our pocket money
took back

the empty beer bottles
to the off licence
did extra chores
for our mother

and went bought him
some cigarettes
and gave them to him
what did he say?

Carmody asked
said he didn’t smoke
that kind
said they made

his throat sore
that was what he said?
yes and my sister
was upset of course

and went off
to her room to cry
but I just said
but it’s the thought

that counts
and we just thought
you’d smoke the cigarettes
look ok thanks

for the thought
the old man said
and took the packet
and stuffed them

in his pocket
and read
the birthday card
we’d both written him

and put it on the table
and said
how much did you get
on the empty bottles?

so I told him
and he said
they were my bottles
I ought to

have had the money
for them kid
you have
I told him

In the form
of the cigarettes
what did he say
about that?

Carmody asked
he just stared
and took the cigarettes
out and opened them up

and lit one
and inhaled
and coughed
and I thought

good job too
and walked away
and Carmody
nodded his head

and sniggered
and you went off
with him to kick
around the ball

in the playground
at school
and said nothing
much more at all.

Mother said
you were to go back

to Mrs Clark’s house
for tea after school

and she would pick
you up later

after work
and so when

the bell went
for the end

of the school day
you went with Mrs Clark

and her daughter Helen
for tea and Mrs Clark

talked all the way
to her house

her words rough
as hewn stones

going over your head
to which you just nodded

or shook your head
and when you arrived

at the house
which smelt

of past dinners
and washing drying

and the baby’s nappies
she said

What would you like for tea?
Bread and butter

bread jam
bread and Bovril

or dripping?
and how about

a large mug of tea?
Helen said

I’m having bread and jam
and a mug of tea

why don’t you too?
you said

Yes that will be fine
and shyly sat in a chair

by the window
looking out

at the backyard
where washing hung

on a clothesline
and an old doll’s pram

sat rusting by a wall
and Helen came

and sat next to you
in her grey skirt

and off white blouse
and swung her legs

back and forth
under the chair

her white ankle socks
and black scuffed shoes

coming in
and going out  

of view
and she said

After tea
I’ll show you my dolls

and the doll’s house
my daddy made

out of orange boxes
and as Mrs Clark

made the tea
you sensed Helen’s small hand

run along your arm
which set alarm bells ringing

in your head
and a sweating in your palm.

You see a blue tractor pushing through deep snow in a far away field and trees laced with the whiteness of the recent fall and ignoring the babble of voices behind you you peer up at the dull grey sky and the chill makes its way through your body’s flesh and bones as you stand in your nightdress and bare feet because they don’t trust you here in the asylum with laces or belts or anything you could hang yourself with what with the last thing you did in the female john with the dressing gown cord around your neck tied one end to the high up flush system and the other around your pretty neck and if it hadn’t been for some nosy patient giving the game away and screaming at the top of her voice like some demented cow bringing the white uniformed nurses racing to your unwelcome rescue you’d be swinging your way to some paradise by this time or not so but now you stand by the window peering out with a cigarette in your mouth and your hands behind your back and your head leaning to one side as if some string had broken in the neck of a puppet and you trying to forget the memory of Bates and his leading you on and down into the dark depths and all that pumping of ***** and needles and that moon that you recall shining down on you as you lay on the grass your head about to explode into a thousand shapes and colours and sounds and the heat there uniformed and not so over you looking down their words lost in haze of Hendrix and guitars and all you wanted then was to slit your wrists and lay in a bath of warm water and go meet Jesus if He allowed but the heat boys had other ideas and the stars were all over the place and you talked of each note of music being still out there somewhere racing through space each tone and half tone each blues note easing itself through the space of time and you and your mind and the heat boys just looked on and smiled and thought no doubt she’s on a trip to nowhere let’s get her to the A& E of salvation and they did you recall and their words and touches were of kindness and not of lust or *** or that fecking ***** that some deliver to you remember out in the real world if real it is and who the heck knows anymore and as you stand by the window looking out at the snow and field and tractor and trees Sassy comes upon you with her arms around your waist and her lips on your neck where the scars of a failed hanging show mild red and none of the nurses are looking in your direction too busy in their work to see you and the dame with her lips ******* your neck and her hand feeling your ******* and even if your ******* is on hold what with the stress and such you don’t feel much for the loving touch she wants to give remembering Bates and his strong fingers and his tongue like some viper licking and you turn away from the window seeing her eyes and smile and her hands held out to her side like some Crucified waiting for the nails and hammering and the goodbye words and far off you hear the morning birds and feel the emptiness open wide to swallow all and each and whatever it is you want hidden or lost or seek just yourself within the walls of your mother’s womb and there to hide.

Sonya posed
by the Eiffel Tower

I had my box
Brownie Cresta camera
I took a photo or two
trying to get her in focus
bring in the Tower
behind her

she smiled
and put her hands
on her hips
as dames do

her blonde hair
was bunched
behind her
in a ponytail
her face looked drawn

afterwards we went
for a coffee
at some bar
down by the Seine

and she sat there
with one leg
over the other
the foot dangling

I sat opposite
******* through
the French money
looking at the notes

you should read
Kierkegaard
she said
leave Nietzsche
to the Germans

I prefer Nietzsche
he's more realistic
I said

Kierkegaard
is more religious
and more positive
she said

the waiter came
and we ordered our coffees
and he went off

Kierkegaard
is Danish like me
she said

not so good looking though
I said
and he's been dead
sometime

she lit up a cigarette
and offered me one
I took and lit up
and inhaled

there's something
about Paris
I like
the atmosphere
the way these people
just live here
all this history
all the art
I said
as I exhaled smoke

cultural capital
of the world
she said

I listened
as she went on
about this artist
and that
and who did what
and when

as she spoke
the waiter returned
with our coffees
and went off again

I sipped mine
remembering her
coming out
of the bath
the night before
like some Venus
all stark and bare
shaking her head
letting loose
the water
from her long
blonde hair.

Judith sat next to you
on the school bus
going home

holding hands
beneath her coat
on her lap

and she said
some one must have seen us
the other week

by the pond
because my dad
asked me about it

last night
and he said
not to let mum know

which I wouldn't
of course
but who saw us?

I don't know
you said
couldn't see anyone about

but who would tell my dad
about it?
did your dad say

who told him?
no he wouldn't say
she said

looking worried
have to be careful
where we go

you looked out
the window
at the passing scenes

her hand in yours
warm
her fingers next

to yours
what about meeting
in my dad's tool shed

that's quite big
and there's a couple
of old chairs in there

apart from his tools
and such
you said

I don't know
she said
what if your parents

see us?
we could go
into the house

they won't mind
me and you together
mum likes you

does she?
Judith asked
yes she says she does

you said
Judith smiled
and leaned closer to you

but didn't kiss
because of other kids
on the bus nearby

I like it near our lake
(Judith called it the lake
even though it was just

a large pond)
I like the quiet there
and the ducks

and fish just
beneath the surface
and the birds flying

overhead
she said
I like it there too

you said
us being alone together
just lying there

or sitting
looking over
the pond

the peacefulness
the aloneness
of us just being us

and you thought
of you and Judith
that last time

kissing
laying near
the pond

being there
feeling her near
smelling the perfume

she borrowed
from her mother's collection
feeling her lips

on yours
and as she looked away
out of the window

you wanted to kiss
the nape of her neck
but you didn't

you just sighed
wishing you were elsewhere
sans other kids

sans others' eyes
just you and her
and the pond or lake

feeling as if dawn
had just come
and you from some

dark sleep
and were now awake.

Polly strips back the sheets
where Master George has lain.
She folds the white sheets and
lays them on a chair. She lies

her head on the pillow where
his head has been. She sniffs
and smells him. Closing her eyes
she imagines she’s there beside

him and he has her in his arms,
his lips against her flushed cheek.
She imagines they are in bed
together when dawn’s light breaks

through the shutters and Susie
the other maid enters and wide
eyed she mouths a huge round O.  
She opens her eyes; the pillow

is vacant beside her head, just
a small indentation where he had
laid his head the night before.
She fingers into the pocket of her

white apron a few black hairs she’s
discovered on the white pillowcase.
She strips off the pillowcases and
puts them with the sheets. The bed

is now stripped of all coverings
and is left to air. She imagines as
she stands that he is still there,
laid out unclothed, skin all bare.

But in reality she knows he has
gone of to war as he has before.
She hopes he will return alive
and in one piece; no missing

limps or blind or gassed as some
have been she’s read; but most of all
she dreads him laid out cold and damp
in some foreign field lying still and dead.

What do you want from me?
Max’s wife said

and he looked by her
at the waitress

at the cafe
who was walking

with some order
behind his wife’s back

and he noticed
the cute *** as she moved

the way she swayed
and the hands

holding the tray
huh? What is it

you want from me?
his wife repeated

her eyes peering at him
taking in

that aspect of him
as he turned his head

look said Max
following the waitress

to the table across the way
his eyes slowly

******* her
his mind making up scenes

like in some movie
you say come on Honey

let’s go out for a meal
and talk

and what are you doing
looking elsewhere

and not talking
his wife said

spittle on her lower lip
Max looked back

at his wife and said
oh yes sure

I was thinking
of the Picasso print

we saw the other day
you know that one

we both liked
and you said you’d like it

for your birthday
well maybe

I ought to get it
what do you think?

And the waitress
looked over at Max

as she went by
and he saw

a whole new ball game
in her eyes

and caught the cheek
and ear

and was sure
he captured some aspect

of her perfume
and his wife said

Picasso?
That Picasso?

are you sure Max?
and she went into a daze

and smiled
and Max imagined himself

and the waitress
and *** games

and a party
going wild.

Alice sits in the large
window of her father's
library, looking at the
garden and trees and

fields beyond. Silent
except for distant voices,
from the billiard room,
where her father is

with friends of his.  
Laughter, deep, haughty.
She hates it when the
men see her, and want

to haul her, onto their
laps to play horse riding
and over hedges in the
fox hunt. She pretends

not to hear. The garden
view brings Dougridge
to sight; the gardener
pushing wheelbarrow

of manure. Seldom speaks,
nod of head, touch of
forelock type. The men's
laughter gets louder; she

imagines herself tucked
up in her mother's arms,
safe, warm, and out of
harm's way. Mother is

out for the day. Taylor
drove her; he of sour
face, dark eyed and hair.
Alice holds her doll tight

to her chest, arranging
the mother made dress.
One day, one time, one
of her father's friends

held her on his lap and
tickled her to tears, his
thick fingers squeezing
her thighs, his alcohol

breath in her ears, soft
wording sounds, she
didn't understand, she
wanted to get down,

and did. They laughed.
She still felt his fingers'
grip long after the laughter.
She sees the maid from

the kitchen throw stale
bread to the birds, thin
girl, thin arms and fingers
and features. Brought her

breakfast in bed once,
when unwell; sad, quiet,
sickly girl. The laughter
stops. Doors open

and close. Voices, greetings
and farewells, an odd laugh.
Then silence. No going
riding on a hunt today,

no horse-play; no perched
on knees with thighs finger
squeezed. She hugs her
doll and kisses its head.

Your mother will be back,
but not until you're asleep,
and tucked in dreams and
bed, her grumpy father said.

Such games they’d play
and it all mattered

not a fig
the bedroom romps

the bed making
just so to survive

the latest fashion
in the art

of making love
and she saying

let’s try this
and him saying

if you like
and the handcuffs

and the little
weedy whip

and the nakedness
and oh

she’d say
let’s pretend that I’m

the naughty one
and you’re

the master
and he kept

a straight face
as best he could

and not let her see
he saw through

the ****** games
and that time

she’d had him
tied to the bed

and they heard
her parents’ car

in the drive
and how she fumbled

to untie the twine
and he wanting to die

and him naked
as the day he was born

and the key
in the lock downstairs

and her fingers fumbling
and he saying

covering with hairy hands
his manhood pride

where can I hide?
and she finally untying

took off the twine
and he leaping from bed

put on his clothes
and so did she

and she whispering warnings
and pulling on her dress

his tee shirt
hanging out

her hair in a mess
and her mother calling

are you up there Chloe?
and he thinking

of the weedy whip
and unmade bed

and love making mess
and Chloe shouting out

yes mother
yes yes yes.

Ingrid sees Benedict
from the balcony
he's in the Square

riding a blue scooter
a two wheeled affair
pushing himself along

with his right foot
his small quiff of hair
moving there

in the morning air
his opened necked
shirt short sleeved

and jeans blue
fading to grey
she wishes

she could ride
the scooter
could have

some fun
feel the air
of freedom

in her dull
brown hair
riding with him there

but her father
in his moody blues
has tanned her hard

and said not
to go beyond
the space of balcony

or beyond
not just out
of punishment

imposed
but in case
others see

on leg or thigh
bruises and welts
to blind the eye

now Benedict
races fast
his foot

pushing hard
and quick
O to be there

with him
to feel
his hand

in hers
or feel
his words

of humour
warm her heart
and ease her

troubled mind
now he stops
and turns

and sees
and stands
and waves

but shakes
her head
she can no more

leave her space
than the dead
can leave their graves.

One Sunday
in the 1950s
your old man
took you

to London’s West End
it was summer
and the evenings light
and the streets busy

and crowded
and he took you
to amusement arcades
and cafes for refreshments

and ice creams
and you saw the actress
Billie Whitelaw pass
along a street

with two guys in suits
and she gazed at you
and you knew
who she was

and she looked at you
knowing you
had recognised her
you a young kid

in short trousers
and Brylcreemed hair
and she kind of blushed
and looked away

and you followed her
as she went off
behind you
and your old man said

who was that?
you told him
and he gazed back
probably taking in

her ***
her sway
but you thought
of the Monroe lady

in the film you saw
with those lovely eyes
and red lips
and later

next day
at school
when you told Helen
who you’d seen

her eyes lit up
behind her
thick lens spectacles
and she looked

kind of jealous
of some other
female attention
you’d seen

so you said
of course I paid her
no mind I only
thought of you

wishing you
were there
with my old man
and me

licking ice creams
and boozing back
the coke or lemonade
and she smiled

and her eyes
fell on you
with her jealous demon
laid.

Look who’s over
by the school gates
Reynard said
and you looked over

and there was Christina
with her school bag
over her shoulder
and her hands tucked

in the pockets
of her green coat
see you tomorrow
Reynard said

and walked on
giving Christina a stare
as he did most girls
finding them an enigma

yet to be solved
when you got
to where Christina was
she took her hands

out of her pockets
and put a hand
on your arm
I wish I was going

on the school bus
with you
then I could sit next to you
and I could tell you

about myself
and not have to cram
everything into a rush
of words as I do

at school
you looked over
to where the school bus
was waiting

you still had
five minutes
or so before
it took off

and you knew
Fred the driver
always did
a head count

before hand  
don’t you wish
I was there
on the bus too?

she asked
squeezing your arm
with her fingers
you turned

and looked at her
sure I do
you said
but you live here

and I live miles away
I know
she said
and I miss you

once your bus goes off
and I know
I won’t see you
until the following day

and the weekend is worse
because then
I don’t see you
for two whole days

other kids
passing through
the school gates
stared at you both

and Hill said
come on
or you’ll miss
the bus

and he laughed
and moved on
and Christina stared
after him and said

what’s his problem?
and you said
oh he hasn’t been born yet
he gets this way

and she laughed
and said
maybe I’ll come
on the country bus

to your village
and we can meet?
sure that’d be good
you said

and her eyes lit up
and she smiled
and leaned
towards you

and gave your cheek
a peck
and you said
look I got to go

and you took her hand
and gave it
a quick kiss
then turned

and walked quickly
towards the bus
knowing her eyes
were following

your every step
and that maybe
she dreamed
of you at night

and imagined you
beside her
and her dolls
and Teddy Bear

and you in turn
maybe imagined
at night
you too were there.

It was her half day off work
and your afternoon
between shifts
and she had come

to the house
while others were out
at school and work
and after talking

about her job
and the manager
being a pain
and the work

so different from school
you both made love
in your upstairs bed
and afterwards

as she lay there
looking out the window
on the left hand side
she said

my mother will wonder
why I'm home late
on my half day off
you looked at the grey sky

through the windowpane
sensing her beside you
feeling her arm
touching yours

what will you tell her?
you asked
well not
that I've made love to you

she said
turning and smiling at you
why not?
you said jokingly

o yes and never see you again
probably be locked up
in the tower
if we had one

she said  
she leaned over
and kissed you
and you smelt soap

and toothpaste
and her hair
brushed against
your forehead

I'll say the manager
wanted me to stay behind
and such and such
she said

laying back
her head on the pillow
you lay your hand
on her thigh

felt her smooth skin
and would he ask you
to stay behind
for such and such?

you asked
maybe to stock shelves
if any of the other girls
weren't in

but not for such and such
she added laughing
you thought back
to the first time you

had kissed her
that Christmas while out
carol singing
with the choir from church

and it seemed
as if angels sang nearby
rather than the choir
and you caught her eyes

in the moonlight
sparkling like stars
in small oceans
what time will your mother

be home from work?
she asked
you looked
at the alarm clock

on the dressing table
at the foot of the bed
about half hour
you said

God we'd best get up
and dressed
she said
or she'll be here

and what would she say
if she saw us thus?
probably hope you
made up the bed

after you
you said
o yes I'm sure she would
I know she's a lovely lady

but I don't think
she'd say that
you both got off the bed
and began to dress

and you watched her
thinking of the times
at school when you used
to gaze at her

across the classroom
wondering as she sat there
what she looked like
without her clothes

or what colour her underwear
and now you knew
(she like some latter day Eve)
and you

her long lost Adam
sans fig leaf or shame
once dressed
she helped you make the bed

and you saw her downstairs
and out into the garden
with the chilly sun
and God's pardon.

Bring me the men, said Bettina,
bring me the men of passion,
bring those of high class, those
whose purses are overflowing,

those whose mothers spoilt
them rotten. Send me the men
of lower classes, bring me those
whose voices scratch the ears

of the well bred, send me their
hearts in jars, carry to me their
coins gripped in hands. I am a
lover of men, I soak them into

my being, I smell them in my
dreams, their hands are my soft
saviours, their tongues are my
snakes of satisfaction. Let loose

the sons of shallow mothers,
unloosen the tame of heart and
loose of tongue, let me embrace
their bodies, hold their penises

with tenderness, kiss their lips
like one possessed. Men are the
bane of all women, said my mother,
her eyes were undone by my father’s

ways, his heart was of ice and his
body of iron, he cursed me with
his dying breath, his torments I
boxed away with the dried up

flowers and cast off underwear,
he dwells where the heartless
reside, **** his soul and hide
and eyes. Bring me men of a gentle

disposition, those whose skins
are yellow, whose hearts are soft,
who shudder at the thought of a
good ****. I am the daughter of

pleasure, a niece of hot sexuality,
a sister of the free and untainted,
unspoilt by the ways of the ones
in charge. I see men in my nightly

bed, in between the sheets of plenty,
on the mattress of my desires; they
are the lamps that burn my pleasures,
my lovers, my treasures. Bring me

the men of the cloth, the God lovers,
the ones waiting for the last salvation,
let them loosen themselves on my
desirable flesh, bury their holy noses

between my plumpish ****, their tongues
upon my skin, their souls free of the
maybe promises. I am the granddaughter
of Venus, the lover of men and life,

the keeper of the long ago wishes,
I am the one they think of on their
bended knees, the one they lift to
their heaven in their daily prayers,

the fulfiller of their deep down desires.
Bring me my comforts and my gentle
end, my last good kiss, my final ****;
bring me the echo of them crying or

loudly laughing, the last farewell,
the good time lady, the last bad belle.

Her parents
row at night
Fay heard them

from her bed
her brothers
young and small

innocent
in their sleep
she held tight

in her hand
her wooden
rosary

her small thumb
rubbed over
the plaster

crucified
two voices
in conflict

high and low
a duet
that threatened

harsh violence
Fay's body
huddled up

beneath wool
coverings
if only

Benedict
could be there
him there now

at the foot
of her bed
her 12 year

old white knight
and she his
12 year old

young princess
of their twin
childlike game

but he's not
he sleeps in
his own bed

in a flat
on the next
balcony

beneath hers
if only
he would come

sword in hand
standing there
at the foot

of her bed
protecting
with his mum's

small saucepan
a helmet
on his head.

Helen wiped
her thick lens glasses

with the hem
of her school dress

and you watched
her finger and thumb

move around the glass
in circular motion

Can you see much
without your glasses?

you asked
she looked up at you

and said
Not much

you for instance
are like a small tree

without leaves
with thin branches

hanging down
you smiled and saw

as she lifted the hem
a glimpse of thigh

white as one kept
out of sun and light

But what do I look like
with your glasses on?

you asked
looking at her face

and eyes that squinted
quite naked

without the specs
A boy who’s cheeky

but often shy
especially around girls

and their blue eyes
and dark curls

and she giggled
and dropped

the hem of
her dress

and put her glasses on
and her eyes enlarged

and gazed at you
taking in

your unkempt hair
and school boy grin

and at that moment
as she stood stifling

her giggle with one
small hand

you sensed a love
you neither had before

nor could
in the light of day

and innocence of youth
quite understand.

Dottie wishes Willie would
return home. All night she
had twisted and turned in
his bed. She looks out of
the window of their cottage
for the postie to come with
a letter from her brother,
but there is no sight or sign.

She sighs. Later she will prepare
one of his favourite pies. He’ll
bring Sammy and they’ll go
for walks and talk and smell
flowers and hear the birdsongs
and sit beneath trees and study
the sky. She moves to the kettle
and switches it on and prepares
a cup of tea. One teabag, two
sugars, a small spill of milk.

She sips and thinks. If Willie
were here now he’d lay his head
on her shoulder and read her
one of his poems. She likes it when
he reads her one of his poems.

She knows them because she
scribbles them down as he recites
them as they walk along. I can’t
write sitting down, he often told her.

I need to walk and breathe the
air and hear the songs of birds.
She sits and imagines him there
beside her, his head on her
shoulder as if a pillow, his
vibrating voice moving inside her.

She senses a headache coming,
feels the tremors along her nerves
like a coming storm. It is a time
of bleeds. The moon’s pull drags
her down. If Willie were here he’d
say, Go lay down and I will come
bring you pills and water and kiss
it better. But her brother is away
bringing Sammy. The clouds are
gathering, dark grey and heavy,
the sky becoming black, oh, she
says, if only my Willie was back.

During boring
school lessons
he looks across
at Yehudit at her desk

takes in her brown hair
shoulder length
her profile
the eyes

nose
and how she sits
her large bust
her pen in hand

writing
and the teacher writing
on the board
boring stuff

time wasting scribbling
he watches her
her head bent
intent on the work

and thinks
of that time
by the pond
in the wood

he lying there
on the grass
sun above his head
and she came

and sat beside him
her peasant simplicity
overwhelming him
her show of leg

as she moved closer
her eyes large
and fire filled
and he told her

about the large butterfly
he'd seen in the woods
red and black
and white tips

and as he spoke
she touched his thigh
moved her hand along it
her fingers doing

that walking thing
on the jeans
and he proceeded
with the butterfly talk

as her fingers
walked deeper
and pressed and pressured
and he said

OK so the butterfly
isn't the most
intense subject
but hey

what are you doing
with the walking?
raising an interest
she said

and he said
two can play
at that game
and touched her leg

the soft flesh
moving his hand
just beneath
her skirt

warm and silky
and now once
you've written
that down

the teacher says
dragging Baruch
from his day dream
of memories

I'll talk about
the exports and imports
of the nation
and so he goes on

but Baruch
is only half listening
he studies Yehudit's hands
how they join together

as if in prayer
elbows on the desk
her chin resting
on the finger tips

and how her knees touch
issuing from the skirt
beneath the desk
and that time

he kissed her
under the full moon
and he howled afterwards
like some hound

and she laughed
and it echoed
around trees
and they kissed again

dismissing
the November rain.

Helen walked
from her home
to the bomb

site where the
boy Benny
had told her

after school
he would be
off Meadow

Row behind
the old green
grocer's shop

but when she
got there he
was no where

in sight so
she was scared
-after all

tramps often
slept or hid
in the bombed

out buildings-
where was he?
she muttered

what to do?
she looked out
over the

large bomb site
biting her
finger nails

thinking that
maybe a
***** would jump

out at her
then she saw
a figure

come out of
one of the
bombed ruins

she stared hard
panicking
thinking she'd

wet herself
when Benny
waved his hand

and called out
you came then?
-he sometimes

stated the
obvious-
I wondered

where you were
she muttered
he tapped his

6 shooter
silvery
looking toy

gun in his
black holster
on his belt

looking out
for bad guys
he replied

she was glad
it was him
not a *****

want some chips?
he asked her
we can share

I've got coins
sufficient
although she'd

just had tea
she nodded
so they walked

to Neptune's
fish and chip
shop and bought

6d worth
and stood out
side the shop

and shared them
watching life
rushing by

both of them
beneath an
evening sky.

Reach for the sky
Ingrid said
as you and she
swung on the swings

in Jail Park
your feet pointed skyward
your hands gripping
the metal linked rings

the wooden seat
beneath you
and the sky
was a fine

summery blue
clouds were white
as engine puffed smoke
and you said

my old man
nicked money
from my blue
money box

I never saw him
I just heard him
early this morning
with the rattling

as he used a knife
to eject the coins
Ingrid gaped at you
as she swung

beside you
how much
did you have in there?
she asked

couple of quid
I expect
you said
now it's lighter

and rattles emptier
why did he do that?
she asked
you pushed your feet higher

and bent forward
on the swing's chains
and up you went
reaching for the sun

he needed it
for a packet of cigarettes
I guess
you said

but that's thieving
she said
he'd say
it was liberating

coins for a purpose
of need
you smiled
has a way with words

if not much else
you said
you studied Ingrid
as she swung at your side

her black scuffed shoes
the grey once white socks
the sleeveless
stained flowery dress

which came to the knees
her dark hair
pinned back
with the metal grips

her thin wired spectacles
with her large eyes
staring at you
if I'm ever given money

she said
for birthday
or whatever
my dad takes it

and says I've been
too bad to have it
once he almost broke
my fingers open

to take coins
I was gripping
you tut-tutted
and looked away

as you rose higher
the trees of the park
and bushes
seemed miles

beneath you
and the other kids
on the see-saws
and ropes and sandpit

or on the tall
metal slide
seemed so small
and you remembered the time

Ingrid fell off
the ropes
and grazed her knees
and you helped her up

and helped her hobble
to the first-aid room
near the toilets
and the stern

middle aged woman
in charge there
helped her into the room  
and sat her on a chair

and you stood there staring
made a mess of these knees
ain't you deary
the woman said

best get you cleaned up
and she used cotton wool
and some purple smelly stuff  
to clean away

the stones and dirt
and blood
and as she lifted the leg
she saw a blue green bruise

on Ingrid's thigh
you have been in the wars
the woman said
with a shake

of her blonde
haired head
not wars
you thought

her old man's belt
more like
but never said
and Ingrid cried still

her face red
the woman's plump pink fingers
cleaning the knees
the blood seeping through

the cotton wool
and you
just standing there
giving it

your concerned
and boyish stare.

Ed Sutcliffe said
he saw his cousin
walk from bathroom
to bedroom (not his)

starkers
nigh on
had to push
my eyes back in

the sockets
he added
you muck pig
O’Brien said

you did it
on purpose
so you could
have a gawk

I never did
it was just
one of those things
never in a month

of Sundays
would I have gawked
Sutcliffe said
is she worth

the gawking?
you asked
o to be sure she is
O’Brien said

would Eddie here
be gawking
at a titless wonder?
no to be sure

she’s got to be worth
the eye strain
but not my cousin
Sutcliffe said

I’d not be waiting
outside the bathroom
to gawk at her
coming out

so say you Succy
you lecherous bronco
I think I saw her once
you said

hasn’t she got
white blonde hair
like yourself
and more curves

than the figure eight?
no
Sutcliffe said
that’s not her

that’s my mother
you’ve seen
you don’t gawk
your mother

do you Eddie?  
O’Brien said
what you take me for
of course not

Sutcliffe said
he’s just joking
with you
you said

nothing meant
Sutcliffe walked ahead
in a strop
four letter words

coming over
his thin shoulder
poor old Eddie
you sure take

the *****
out of him
you said
ah it’s nothing

O’Brien said
he’ll get over it
as the bishop
got over the actress

and sure enough
as soon as you all
reached the school gates
Sutcliffe was his old self

wanting a quick drag
on O’Brien’s smoke
thinking all
the old patter
as one huge joke.

Auntie’s mutt followed you
around the army base
across parade grounds
and grass between trees

keeping out of the sun
you racing ahead
but the mutt keeping up
getting by you easily

its head looking at you
as if to say
you can't keep up
with me kid

but you tried
and then stopped
on the edge
where the army huts were

and stood staring at them
behind a little way
you could hear
some voice shouting

from a parade ground
and the sound
of marching feet
but there by the huts

it was quiet
except for bird song
and the hum
of distant traffic

Auntie had said
don't go
where I can't see you
but you had

and looking back
the place
where Auntie lived
was out of sight

must have run too far
you said
but the mutt just lay there
with its tongue

hanging out
panting
let's go look around
you said

so the mutt followed you
around the huts
and there were two
large gates

which were locked
and so you and the mutt
crawled underneath
and into the bigger

huts beyond
and you ventured forth
the mutt behind you
wagging its tail

and you looking
through windows spying
but seeing nothing
but desks and chairs

or iron bedsteads
in a long line
then you saw
an open window

and climbed the bricks
and peered in
and there was a whole bunch
of soldiers sitting

at desks
and this tall guy
with a moustache
bellowed out at you

and you leapt down
and made a run for it
towards the double gates
the mutt getting underneath

but you getting stuck
and the moustache soldier
and another pulled you out
and said

what you doing here kid?
you spying?
no mister just looking around
you said nervously

well where you from?
you told him
about your auntie
and how your uncle

was away fighting
some place called Korea
and you were keeping
your auntie safe

and he raised his eyebrows
and said
well keep out kid
go play elsewhere

and he opened up
the double gates
and let you out
and the mutt

was waiting for you
wagging its tail
its tongue hanging out
of its mouth

and you walked back
to Auntie’s place
hoping she'd not find out
and if she asked

where you'd been
you'd say
oh just over there
where the grass is green.

Benedict waits
by the pram sheds
in the Square
for Lydia

to come out
of her flat
he wants to take her
to the big bomb site

behind the tabernacle
although she won't
tell her mum
where she's going as such

she'll say to the park
to play on the swings
or slide or other such thing
just as he did

to his mother
the baker rides by
on his horse drawn cart
the horse walking slow

the baker sitting
on top of the cart
nodding his head
still no sign

of Lydia
Benedict sighs
he hates wasting time
likes to be out

and at it
a man with his boxer dog
walks by
the man puffing

a cigarette
hat at the back
of his head
the door opens

and Lydia comes out
in her red and white
checked dress
and white cardigan

she looks stressed
and walks towards Benedict  
looking behind her
at the door

of the flat
got out then?
he says
just about

she says
had to help
put the washing
in the copper

and gather up all
the ***** stuff
and take *******
to the shoot

and just done
he nods
and says
a girl's work

is never done
as my old man says
well it is for now
she says

where are we going?
she asks
big bomb site
behind the tabernacle

he says
isn't it
dangerous there?
she says

not if you’re careful
and don't let
the Rozzers see you
he says

so they walk
down the *****
and along
Rockingham Street

she talks of her mother
being in a mood
about her father's drinking
and O yes it's all right

for him to *****
and sing
and play the fool
but it's me

who has to feed
you kids
and keep a roof
over your heads

she says
her mother said
Benedict listens
takes in

her straight hair
her thin arms
and legs
her pale features

her mouth opening
and closing
like a fish
in a bowl

they cross over the road
and walk up
and along the street
behind the Trocadero

by the smaller bomb sites
along the narrow alley
and out
on the main road

where they go down
the subway
to get across
to the tabernacle

she still talking
about her mother
and her big sister
and the bloke

she brought home
the other night
and wanted to take him
to the bedroom

for some reason
or other
Lydia adds frowning
the subway echoes

her words
they float
then bounce
off the walls

as they climb the stairs
up and out
she stops
and looks

at the bomb site anxiously
will other kids be there?
she asks
usually are

he says
but that doesn't
matter none
they'll keep to themselves

and we can keep to ours
she bites her lip
and follows him
as they climb

between hoardings
and up and into
the bomb site
with its half standing houses

and ruins
and walls
and houses empty
with no roofs

or roofs
with only three walls
she hesitates
stands with her fingers

in her mouth
want if the Rozzers come?
she says
leave it to me

he says confidently
she follows him
as he climbs
onto a wall

and over the top
come on
he says
she climbs after him

mind you don't
scrape your knees
he says
and helps her

over the wall
holding one
of her hands
she gets up and over

and stands inside
a bombed out house
it stinks
she says

yes probably
some tramps
****** in here
he says

not still in here
is he?
she says anxiously
no long ago scarpered

he says
he walks through a room
and she walks after him
holding her nose

looking around her
bits of wallpaper hang
from walls
a doorway with no door

a window without glass
that looks out
on an abandoned garden
full of weeds

she follows him up
a riggedy stairway
holding on
to a rocking bannister

and up
to a landing
with three rooms
going off

in each direction
he stands still
taps the floorboards
with his foot

should be safe
he says
is it?
she says nervously

course it is
he says
walking carefully
over the floor

of the room
she stands
by the doorway
what if the floorboards

are rotten
and you fall through?
she says softly
then I get

to the bottom
quicker than I came up
he says smiling
come on

he says
beckoning her over
she stands still
fiddling with her fingers

then she bites her fingers
of one hand
and holds her groin
with the other

it won't give way
he says
she holds herself
it might

she says
then we die together
he says
what away to go eh?

she looks at him
standing there
with his hazel eyes
and quiff of hair

and his hand
held out
towards her
she walks gingerly

over the floorboards
one step
after another
until she reaches

his hand
and grips it tight
and they are there
in the middle

of the room
she feeling
as if she's wet herself
and he like one

who has climbed
Mount Everest
and is about
to plant a flag

with glee
she looks at him
and he looks out
the window

as far
as his hazel eyes
can see.

Enid barely hears her mothers farewell not given happily not wanting her daughter to to go out to see the boy Benny whom Enids father doesnt like but none the less she lets Enid go out of the flat calling out half heartedly as she puts the boiler on for washing Enid rushes down the concrete staircase of the flats before her mother changes her mind and calls her back she takes the concrete steps two at a time to get out of the flats faster  then out into the Square out into the fresh morning air rushing past the man with his boxer dog not looking back in case her mother is on the balcony beckoning her back home she runs down the ***** her hair sensing the air going through it where will Benny be? she muses coming to the end wall of the ***** and taking a right turn through a gap in the wall and waits on the kerb of Rockingham Street looking up Meadow Row wondering if Benny is on the bomb site up there behind the green grocer shop she waits her feet on the edge of the kerb rocking back and forth wondering whether he will be there or whether he is still at home in the flats  after a few minutes of indecision she crosses Rockingham Street and walks up Meadow Row slowly hoping Benny is there because she doesnt like going on bomb sites on her own too creepy and there might be tramps hiding there and she doesnt like them they frighten her she passes houses and looks up towards the green grocer shop in case Benny is there waiting like he sometimes does but no he isnt there  she passes the public house on the corner hears a piano playing and the smell of beer and an old man at the bar drinking and smoking she walks to corner and turns into the Arch Street where the back of the coal wharf is and the bomb site opposite she walks up gingerly hands folding inside each other nervously coal wagons and lorries are parked by the coal wharf  and coal men are busy working loading up both lorries and the wagons drawn by horses she looks over the bomb site scanning the ruins and half walls for Benny she screws up her eyes and puts a hand over her eyes to block out the morning sunshine and yes there he is she says to herself over by the wall putting cans on a low wall as targets for his catapult practice she walks over towards him glad she has found him happy for the first time that morning despite her  fathers temper and rages she had not been touched that morning no slaps or hidings just the rows and her mothers screams and cries Benny turns and sees her and waves his hand beckoning her over she walks over the bomb sites uneven ground  until she is next to him he studies her takes in her face and eyes and scans her body for bruises and black eyes none good he muses sticking his catapult into the back pocket of his jeans you all right then? he asks yes she says wondered if you were here or not been here a while now he says you got out all right then? he asks noticing apprehension in her eyes yes just about Mum let me come although I have to be careful Dad doesn't see me with you or therell be hell to pay Mum said Benny nods his head he knows Enids old man knows hes a bully and belts Enid but he befriends Enid despite her old mans dislike of him whered you want to go? Benny asks she shrugs dont mind where he smiles what about Kennington Park? she looks unsure is it far? she asks no about fifteen minute walk he says not been there before she says is it good yes it is good he says we go along Kennington Park Road and when we get there we can get a drink of pop and maybe an ice cream her eyes light up then she frowns havent got money she says he raises his eyebrows so? Ive got a few bob my old man gave me some for doing a few jobs for him and my mum gave me a bob for getting her some shopping the last few days Benny says Enid nods her head and wishes her parents gave her money for doing jobs rather than her fathers hand across her backside or her mothers sharp tongue well? Benny says want to go? ok she says it sounds good and Ive not been before but at the back of her mind she worried about her father what he would say or do if he found out shed been out with Benny come on then Benny says and they walk across the bomb site she walking beside him feeling happy to be with him feeling safe despite them being only nine years old Benny seemed older seemed like her knight in short sleeved jumper and jeans  they walk on to the New Kent Road and she knows Benny knows his way even if she doesnt well how was your morning? Benny asks looking at her side ways on my dad was in a mood and shouting and there was a row so I hid in my room until he went to work and Mum wasnt happy but she said I could go out but to be careful Enid says her voice letting the words flow as much as to inform as to get it out of her mind what set him off? Benny asks looking both ways before they cross the road dont know he was rowing first thing their voices loud and hen Mum screamed and I was afraid hed come in my room and give we a whack or something as he does if hes in a mood but he didnt Enid says they walk on down Kennington Park Road traffic passing them by hes a *** on your old man Benny says I had him in my sights the other evening when I had my toy rifle on the balcony I could have blown his head open with one shot but the cap just went BANG and Enid jumps back and Benny laughs sorry didnt mean to frighten you he says holding out a hand towards her which she takes and holds did he see or hear you? she asks no I hid behind the walls but I reckon he nigh **** himself and they laugh and she feels a **** of happiness run through her and his hand holds hers warm and soft and secure shes happier now than shes been for age thats for sure.

Christina, dressed in her grey school jumper,
grey skirt, white blouse and green tie,
met Benedict by the wire fence,
which separated the playground
from the sports field.  She looked excited
as he approached, he walked
his Robert Mitchum style walk,
met her with a smile, a scanning gaze,
taking in her eyes and hair and legs
and hands folded, standing there.

Guess what, she said, I've got an
Elvis Presley LP. Benedict nodded
and listened while she spoke.

Her mother had bought it for her
while in a good mood( she suffered
depression), though her father
didn't approve, he allowed her
to play on the new Hi-Fi.

Maybe you can come hear sometime,
she said, the when and how were
not discussed, she living in the town
and he some miles on a bus route away,
but maybe, he said, someday.

They walked up the field,
the other kids enjoying
the midday recess in the bright sun
and cloudless sky, her hand
gripping his, he taking in
her soft speaking and hips sway.

She conversed on the boring maths
she'd had, the domestic science
where she'd burnt her cake, who'd
eat it anyway, for Christ-sake,
she added, giving him her eyes
to drink, her words to hold and think.

He spoke in turn of geography
and woodwork where he began a stool,
thanking her for her photo she'd given
him to keep, tuck between his favourite
book at home, taking out to scan
and treasure, now and then( such
is the way of boys and men).

She spoke of love, the feelings touched,
the mind excited, her dreams of him,
talking in her sleep( her mother said).

He stared out at the other kids at play
or wandering in talk or playing ball
or skipping-rope, a teacher spying as
he crossed the grass, hands behind his back.

She leaned in close and kissed his cheek,
he turned and kissed her lips
to smother any further words.

Someone laughed out loud,
across the field, disturbing birds.

Julie was walking
down Oxford Street
with you

one of her hands
was in yours
the other was holding

a cigarette which she put
to her lips and drew on
and exhaled the smoke

and said
pushing smoke
into the world

do you think Christ
ever came?
of course

you replied
the whole calendar
of the Western world

is spilt before and after
his coming
she inhaled deeply

and stopped to peer
in a shop window
don’t like that dress

it’s too **** middle class
too safe
you looked at the dress

in the window
at the colours and style
would your mother where it?

you asked
she’d wear it
but I wouldn’t

be seen dead in it
she said
moving you on

squeezing your hand
reminding you
of the quick *****

and *** in the small cupboard
off the ward
where she was staying

while trying to kick
the drug habit
she spread out

amongst brooms and boxes
and you there gazing at her
wondering if some domestic

would find you there
well? do you think
Christ really came?

she asked
yes
you said

he split history in two
he made people
either love him

or hate him
and want to destroy him
and what he stood for

she laughed and said
you certainly got him
under your skin

I don’t think he came at all
she said
before inhaling

her cigarette smoke
I think it was all
a big joke played out

on the Jews
to get them riled
she inhaled

her cigarette smoke
and was silent
as you walked on

down the Street  
it was no joke
being crucified

no joke hanging there
on that cross
you said

she pulled you
into a shop doorway
and kissed you

and said
oh forget about him
and his crucifixion

I’ve had enough
of the parents
ramming him

into my brain
over the years
and she kissed you again

and you looked
into her dark eyes
where you thought

many a dream comes
and drowns
and dies.

Oslo that summer
having left the base camp
and the tent
with the Australian guy

(he was with the Yank girl)
you walked about
looking at the sights
Moira beside you

in her denims
and white tee shirt
and her hair frizzed
after a shower

(which she had taken alone
worse luck)
and she was talking
about the Yank girl

with whom she shared
her tent
O the perfume she wears
I’d rather sleep

in a tent
with a camel
than with her
and her voice

***** my head
and do you know
I've heard about
her love life

from the very beginning
I’d rather spend the night
listening to a duck quack
you nodded

and listened
taking in her fire talk
her four letters words
filling the air

floating there
like black
angry birds
you can share with me

any time
well you could
if I didn't have
the Australian guy there

smelling of beer
and talking about Sheilas
and how he did this
and that

you said
no
Moira said
and have them

talk about me too
no I’m not that
kind of girl
besides

how would we work it
to allow that to be?  
don't get so angry
about things

why do you Scots
get so moody?
it's not just us
she said

it's the ******* world's
view of us
as wee tight *******
when we're not

anyway
she went on
giving you the stare
what do you

know of Scots?
lived in Edinburgh
for a while
you said

nice place
so much history
well there you go
she said

anyway what’s that
got to do
with the Yank *****
and her perfume

and the love life
of a ******* rabbit
nothing I guess
you said

I think she's over here
studying art
O then
that explains it

the way she has
the I-couldn’t-go-a-day
-without- a man's- ****
-in-me

kind of talk
and philosophy
Moira said
spitting out words

like broken teeth
what about a beer?
you said
chill out

and take in a view
and have a smoke
and I can tell you
of my love life?

the beer's a good idea
but I’m not so keen
on the tales
of your **** life

she said
so you found a bar
off a street
and sat outside

with two beers
and a couple of smokes
and you wondering
how she bedded

and how indeed
to get her into your tent
and what to do
with the Australian guy

and the Yank dame
and off she went again
moaning about
the Southend

teacher guy
did you see him
at the from
of the mini bus

giving it all
that talk of history
and that Lancaster *****
all ears and ******* teeth ?

you sat and smiled
listening to her
talking of herself
and the world's grief.

Miss Pinkie (she dropped
the title Mrs from
her name ages ago)
lay on the sofa

and said
take me if you want
spank me if you will
and he stood

looking at her
a glass of scotch
in his hand
the music of Mahler’s

symphony number 4
coming through the door
from an outer room
she lay **** naked

her amble flesh
spread out
her hands resting
on her *******

who’s the orchestra
on the Mahler piece?
he asked
can’t remember

she said shifting slightly
her blue eyes searching him
aren’t you going to oblige?
she said

he drank back
the scotch
and put the glass down
on the small coffee table

can I sit first?
sure
she said and sat up
and moved over

to allow him room
beside her
he gazed at her
at her dyed blonde hair

at her eyes deep
like oceans of blueness
knowing she had
19 years upward on him

and all she wanted
was a few hours
of talk and laughter
and a leisurely *****

one of the old guys
died at the home today
he said
out of the blue

oh which one?
she asked
the one who sat
in his room each day

and looked out
the window
and said next to nothing
oh him

she said
think he was
broken hearted
she added

he took in
the beauty spot
on her cheek
like Marilyn used

to have years ago
so how about it?
she asked
are you ready for it?

the Mahler piece softened
some moving movement
well?
she said placing

a hand on his thigh
maybe you could put
on Brahms for a change
he said

sensing her hands
move upwards
maybe
she said softly

if you’re a good boy
the lights were low
the lights from the street
added a different shade

of glow
ok
he said
and her hands moved

and did their work
and so did his
bit by bit
time over time

the music playing on
in the background
that and flesh slapping
and the sofa squeaking

was the symphony
of a ****** sound.

Goats milk? The woman said,
yes, I think I know a man who
can get you some, he keeps
goats you see. I nodded my

head. Our daughter can't drink
cow's milk brings her out in a
rash and gives her a funny
tummy. How old's your daughter?

The woman asked. About two
years or so, I replied. Yes, goat's
milk'll be best. She walked down
the path and off and I shut the door.

My daughters were playing some
game upon the floor, my wife
upstairs with our year born son.
We're getting you some goat's milk,

I said to Chan our second daughter.
Won't the goat mind me having its milk?
She asked. No,I said, it likes to share;
some for you and some for her.

And me? Danni said, I like goat's
milk, too, as I’m only three, and
three a small number next to two.
Yes, I suppose you both can, I said.

But not baby, Ole, she said, he's too
small, he has mummy's milk all to
himself. The girls carried on with
their game. I got ready to go to work

and the long walk there at a school
for boys a few miles away. I smoked
a quick cigarette watching our girls at play.

People are too concerned
with self, said Father Higgs.
His aged face as if hewn from
Rock, sat before you on broad

shoulders, the lips labouring
with the words.  Too much
worried how self will feel,
how self will benefit. He

hunched forward, his large
eyes moving over you like
tired slugs. The symbol of
the cross, he said with a

movement of his head, is to
cut through the I, the sign
of the self. You noticed one
high brow, grey, larger than

the other, hair in nose like
insects in hiding. He breathed
out deeply. Self denial is
the essence of the message

of Christ, he said, a left
inclination of his head, his
teeth (not his own) large
and discoloured. You wanted

to ask questions, but he raised
a hand. The word I is stated
too often in conversations,
he said, or self too much

brought in as myself or herself
or himself or such as may be
used in talk. You understood
this was his way of lecturing.

His black monastic habit was
stained about the neck by food
or dribble or dried up phlegm.
We ought to be concerned with

others, he stated, wheezing, face
reddening, eyes enlarging. Where
is my inhaler? he wheezed, I really
must be off, this smoker’s cough,

my poor old lungs, must get myself
a stronger inhaler and he was off,
out of the common room he had
caught you in some hour back.

All you saw was his hand and inhaler
and departing monastic habit of black.

Sister Elizabeth looks
out of window. No mirror.
Self unseen. Image only

Imagined.  Pushes window
Outward, breathes air,
morning fresh, birdsong

From mulberry tree, old
still there. The cloister
Below, the red brick, arches,

Walls, no nun in sight.
At Matins eyes hard to
keep open, stifled yawns,

Chanted from memory, Latin
Words on page a dull blur.
Wonder how father is?

Aged now, pains most days.
She sniffs the air, breathes
in, tastes fresh air on tongue.

She places a hand behind
the pane of glass of window.
Her refection seen there.

Sin of sin. Vanity of vanities.
She looks at her refection.
Seen. Takes her hand away.

Makes sign of the cross.  
Bell tolls. Bell tower across
the way. Who rings? Which

Sister? Lauds soon. Chants
And prayers. She fingers her
cowl, brushes nose, eyelids.

She looks away from window.
Cell tidy. Books put in shelves.
Crucifix on wall above bed.

Wooden and aged. Plaster
Christ, pinned by small nails
through hands. Mother bought

Her her first rosary. White, small,
silver cross and Christ. Mother
taught to say rosary. Word for

Word. Mother cancer eaten.
Prayers offered. She moves to
the door, goes out. Passageway

Clear. None is there. She closes
her cell door. Puts hands away
In her black habit. Walks, muses,

Silent prayers. Down the stairs,
as taught, slow but careful, not
to rush, no running.  Into the

Cloister, morning sunlight touches
cloister wall and floor. Flowers
in flower bed by cloister wall,

Well tended, watered. Fingers
Rosary, thumb over the body
of Christ, rubs, smooth with

Rubbing. Goes by the refectory
door, smells of coffee, warm
Bread. On by the stairs to upper

Landings. Sister Francis by cloister
wall eyes closed, lips moving,
hands together. passes by, notes

White hands, fingers touching.
Smell of incense from church,
enters, fingers stoup, holy water,

Touches forehead, makes sign
Of Christ, moves into church,
genuflects, enters choir stalls,

Takes place. Stands till closes
Eyes, sees the image of herself
In window mirror reflected face.

Lara sat
beside him

in the old
city of

Dubrovnik
sipping wine

better than
that coffee

you're drinking
is that so

he replied
gazing at

her beauty
in morning's

bright sunlight
yes it's so

and what's more
healthier

I'm ok
he boasted

even though
you kept me

from my sleep
with demands

for more ***
she sipped wine

small finger
sticking out

kind of posh
can't keep up?

he liked her
long red hair

the dark eyes
the red lips

sipping wine
the milky

coloured ****
yes I can

he replied
but she knew

that he lied
she had to

drag him from
his slumbers

wake up his
slack member

ease it in
to harbour

like a wrecked
old schooner

how's your dreams?
about me?

he sipped slow
his coffee

maybe so
he replied

maybe not
but she knew

that they were
he called out

in his sleep
no more ***

Lara dear
as he lay

on his back
his eyes closed

his member
once more slack

he knew it
knew he had

dreamed of her
her parted

fleshy thighs
and the lips

of her fruit
wanting him

one more time
more coffee?

she asked him
to keep you

from slumber?
I'm ok

he replied
want more wine?

she sipped slow
finger raised

not just now
I am fine

but she lied
he knew it

another night
coming up

more wine drunk
more *** talk

more kisses
but his mind

and member
just ready

just waiting
for slumber.

This grief
has teeth

my son
it bites through

skin and bone
tearing at heart

and mind
(the deeper

the love
the harder

the pain
I find)

this grief
with its pearly whites

gnaws at me
through dull days

and dark nights
trying to drag me

to dark depths
shaking me

like a dog with bone
bringing me

to deep hurts
and aching moan

this grief
holds hard

bites deep
taking me

to dark dawns
and black dogs

of sunset red
and echoing memories

in numb
and hurting head

this grief has teeth
my son

biting through
bone and skin

tearing me within
but memories remain

strong and clear
and bright

which will
sustain me

through many
a deep dark night.

You followed Julie
in and out
of book shops
along Charing Cross Road

watching
as she picked out
a book to view
a few pages

or run a thin finger
down the book’s spine
studying her face
as she took out

a Sartre or Wittgenstein
her eyes running
along the lines
mouthing the big words

she talking
of her parents
the doctors
how they were pretty much

shot out of the sky
when they discovered
she was stabled up
in some hospital wing

for drug plunging
or pill popping
and you should have seen
my mother’s face

she said
like daddy
had ****** her ****
she picked out

a book by Schopenhauer
the old philosopher’s face
on the cover
staring out

you searched her eyes
the depth of them
the colour
the changing hue

from what appeared
green to blue
and green again
or so it seemed

when have you got
to be back
in the hospital?
you asked

6pm or so
she muttered
pushing the book back
on the shelf

wiping her hands
on her jeans
her small ****
indicating their presence

as she moved
toward you
what are your parents
going do about you?

you asked
keep out of sight
of their posh friends
say I’m abroad

or someplace else
you noticed her lips
as she spoke
her tongue

moving over them
like some waking snake
then she moved on and out
of the shop

and along the road
you kept up beside her
sensing her hand
seeking yours

taking one
of your fingers
she put it
to her mouth

and gave a ****
and eyed you
sideways on
with that grin

she sometimes wore
that young middle class
English  girl
playing the *****.

Mrs Dryden
met Benedict
by the train station;
she’d told her husband

she was off
the weekend
seeing friends,
in London

take in a show,
which one
she didn’t know.  
Benedict saw her coming,

dressed to the nines,
hair done, new shoes
and coat and scarf,
to keep the cold out,

about her throat.
They boarded the train,
took seats together,
aware of others,

but none they knew.
They conversed,
held hands, kissed
now and then

when none was looking.
London was all bright lights
and noise and rush
and they booked a room

in a back street hotel
where they made love,
took a bath, and then went out.
The show was good.

The meal in the restaurant
was fine and they spent time
wandering the streets
looking in shop windows

on the back
to the cheap hotel.
She talked of her husband,
her kids, and how

her husband ******* girls
behind her back,
how he lied,
gave ******* talk,

imagined himself
some Casanova.
Benedict listened,
spoke of his art,

talked of books,
ideas of philosophy.
She put her hand
over his abdomen,

rubbed, rose higher
to his chest, then lower.
In the dark room,
neon lights

flashed off and on,
her face came
and went, her *******
captured coloured

in the flashing lights.
They made love again
and again. Outside was
a gun shot quite near.

Voices calling. Some
one laughed. After the ***
and conversation,
after putting coins

in the heater,
they bathed.

You used to sit
on the cross beams
drilling holes through
for the wiring

circa 1965
on some building site
where Clifton
had left you

with the tools
for the jobs
he wanted done
hand drill

screwdrivers
hammer
chisel
and enough electric cable

to reach
the North pole
in the background
transistor radios

were blasting out
pop music
Bob Dylan
the Beatles

The Rolling Stones
and here and there
other guys
plasterers and painters

and bricklayers
all doing their job
when and where
they could

and you wondered if Clifton
would remember
to pick you up
after work or if

you'd have to get
the bus home spending
your own money
which he seldom repaid

(the tight ***)
but sometimes
you thought of Judith
and what

she was doing
and whom
she was seeing now
thinking back

to the  days
when she was yours
the bright days
the days you spent

by the pond
(which she
called the lake)
the kissing

the loving
the sun over
the pond
making shadows

and bright places
or the days at school
on the sports field
after recess

her words
her wisdom
her bright eyes
and smile lingering

as you bored the hole
in another cross beam
yours hands aching
from the constant turning

and Dylan singing
Blowing in the Wind
from some transistor
across the way

another hole to bore
another boring day.

Well
said Henry
that would kind
of bring out the worst in me

I mean seeing her there
in our bed
with that fat excuse
of a guy

with that flat nose
and gut like a hippo
sure I tried to see
her point of view

even sat down for a while
while she came out
with all the excuses
under the sun

while he
the fat guy
put his **** clothes back on
saying nothing

but sort of squeaky sounds
and she got out of bed
**** naked
her eyes on me

all the time
her **** hanging there
as she moved
off the bed

and began putting
her clothes back on
all the time yakking
about why this happened

and why that happened
and I sat there wondering
what I was doing
just sitting there watching

them dress
saying nothing
just thinking of her
and the fat guy doing it

on our bed
wondering what
they were thinking of
as they were at it

and what went through their minds
when I came into the apartment
and saw them there
in the bed

Henry sighed
his girl dressed quickly
and the fat guy
had problems

getting his pants
over his big ***
and so
Henry said

I saw it saw them at it
and they kind of broke apart
when I opened the door
he big eyes

mouth open
his hairy arms
wrapped about her
and she tried to cover

her **** with the bedsheets
so I just sat down
not knowing what to say
knowing it ought

to bring the worst
out of me
seeing all that
but it didn't

I just sat noticing
the fat guy's ***
how he was struggling there
I almost got to helping him

on with his pants
but no I didn't
I looked at my girl
the girl who

less than a week ago
was making out with me
making all the I love you sounds
and promises of forever

Henry took out a smoke
and lit up
his eyes focusing
on the girl

taking in her shaky hands
her mouth speaking
almost screaming at him
the fat guy managed

to get in his pants on
and then began
to put on his shirt
and Henry inhaled

and watched
and his girl finishing dressing
pushed her fingers
through her hair

and still Henry sat there
and like I said
Henry uttered
between inhalations

it should have made me wild
ought to have stirred me
into action
but all I could think of

was how comes
she was wearing those earrings
while ******* the guy
why those

she could have worn others
I mean there was those
blue ones her mother gave her
the ones like blue ***** hanging

from her ears
but no
she had to wear the ones
I bought her

and that began to get me angry
and I glared at her and him
and blew smoke at them
then I put the cigarette

in the saucer
by the lipsticked stained cup
got up and rammed
my fist into his fat gut

and he went down
moaning about his hernia
or something
and she stood there

open mouthed
hands behind her head
her body stiff
as she watched the fat guy

hit the floor
Henry rubbed his fist
gazing at his girl
as she sat down

on the edge of the bed
looking at him
her big eyes
like dark pools

where only the brave go
or **** fools.

She can etch with
her finger the place
he lay on the bed;
see the indentations

where his head was
on the pillow. She can
smell his hair oil, his
body sweat mixed with

the lavender water.
She can close her eyes
and see him still lying
there, can sense his

presence, feel his finger
(ghostly) run along
her spine as she bends
over the bed, to sniff the

pillowcase. With eyes
closed she can pretend
so much, can imagine all
sorts of things, him doing

what he did best, and she
liking, wanting it all again,
just the once, just one more
lovely time. She opens her

eyes, just the indentation,
the smell, the faint stain of
hair oil. She lays on the bed
where he once lay, shuts

her eyes again, puts her
hands down by her sides,
imagines him kissing her
lips, wet and warm, his

tongue protruding her
mouth, touching her teeth,
moving within. She pretends
he is running his hands along

her thighs, lifting her dress,
moving between her legs, his
lips pressing hers, the bed
moving, her body alive again,

him there, she holding on to
him, wanting him to stay, not
go and away. She opens her
eyes and he’s gone, just her

alone, lying still, motionless.
The spider on the ceiling of
her room, black and plump
as a pudding, hanging there,

suspended. All thoughts of her
lost love momentarily ended.