Judy sat
in one of the seats
in the pub garden
and spoke

of the university course
she was going for
in the late summer
and you sat opposite her

watching her as she spoke
taking in her blue eyes
and her little quaint nose
and her dark hair

held back
with blue ribbons
and you remembered
the kisses

of the evening before
while she waited with you
while you waited
for the bus back to town

and how that last kiss
was held by you
all the way home
and packed away

in the mind
in that part
you keep
for good moments

and she stopped talking
and sipped her Coke
and you said
you want to be a lawyer?

yes
she said
I’ve always wanted
to be lawyer

even as a little girl
and you tried
to imagine her
in wig and gown

in some high court
cross examining
some criminal
or maybe defending one

and she said
I got that parcel
you sent me
that Mahler 6th symphony

in the box
you smiled
you shouldn’t
waste your money

on me  
she said
I’m not worth it
of course you are

you replied
no I’m not
she said
but I love you

you said
I know
but although
I like you

I can’t  say
I love you
as easy as you
say you love me

and she sipped her drink
and you sipped your beer
and you wondered
if you would ever hear

her say the words to you
but she never did
and so at the end
of the year

after the Christmas gift
she gave you
and the farewell kiss
you never saw her anymore

some things you want
you can’t have
no matter how much
you adore.

Dotty lies in Willie’s bed,
he’s gone to fetch Sammy
his poet friend and will return
in a few days. She sniffs
her brother’s pillow, smells
his hair oil and aftershave.

She snuggles into the bed
for warmth, pulling his duvet
tight around her, imagining
it’s him holding her, his arms
about her. She has a headache,
a coming near the edge, migraine.

Feels sick, light leaking through
the curtains makes it worse.

She puts her head under the
duvet, shuts out the bright light.

She smells him better here, his
love of scent, his personal choice.

She hears birdsong from the garden,
a blue ***, great ***, unsure which.

Willie’d know. She squeezes her
eyes tight keep out whatever light
might intrude. Willie’s left her some
of his poems to type up and file away.

Later in the day, she muses, once
the sickness and migraine’s gone.

He had a good day yesterday with
the poems, she recalls, him reciting
over and over as they walked, her
scribbling down, pencil and pad,
her finger and thumb holding the
pencil tight until they felt numb.

After they returned home and sat
by the fire and he spoke them out
one by one. She loved the one about
winter dawn. She turns over, faces
the wall, her head buried into Willie’s
warm indentation. In the darkness
she recites the poems one by one,
the words pouring from her lips,
following each other like children
out to play. She shuts out the dawn
chorus of birds that celebrate the day.

All undone,
as he does,

Ingrid knows,
every time

picks on her,
punishes,

nothing new,
but she knows

afterwards
even when

the wounds go
and pain stops,

it will come
like seasons

once again.
Her mother

is too weak
to stop him,

too frightened
to say boo

or say no,
and as she

walks over
the bombsites

with her friend
Benedict,

listening
to his talk

of brave knight
fighting bad

with sharp sword
or strong bow,

or share his
bag of sweets

or soft drinks,
in London’s

50’s streets,
being his

high lady
in distress,

or be there
by her side,

9 years old
as she is

but seeming
much older,

his friendship
and sharing

and boyhood
Robin Hood

sort of love
and sharing,

makes the days
of darkness

of wounding
punishments

easier
and her mind

much bolder.

Gigi hopes Madame
Mouton won’t mind her
Trying on her new

Clothes after all when
Will she ever get
To buy such garments

And Madame has so
Many anyway
Surely, she would not

Care, but nonetheless
Gigi knows she must
Be careful not to

Leave any of her
Rather cheap perfume
All over the clothes

And not leave hairs
Or red smudges of
Lipstick. She puts on

The underwear and
Feels on her flesh the
Silky softness, the

Touch next to her skin,
The smoothness which is
So sensual. She

Parades around her
Mistress’s bedroom
Posing in front of

The mirror, trying
Not to imagine
Old Monsieur Mouton

Finding her there, she
Dismisses the thought
Like a naughty child

From a room. She pulls
On the dress and does
Up the buttons at

The back. Easier
Said than done; fingers
Fiddle, too many

Thumbs. Done it. She looks
Back at her new found
Reflection, does a

Turn around. Looks at
Her behind. She stands
Admiring the

Dress. Madame has so
Many; Gigi says,
I have so few. She

Listens. Is that her
Back home already?
Gigi undoes the

Buttons and pulls off
The dress over her
Head and takes off the

Silky underwear
And stuffs both items
Under the bed and

Climbs under herself.
The door opens and
Footsteps enter the

Room. Gigi? Madame
Mouton calls out loud.
Gigi? Where this that

Girl? You can never
Find her anywhere.
Maids, what can one do

With them? They are so
Lazy. Then Madame
Mouton leaves the room

And closes the door
Behind her, calling
Gigi’s name louder

And louder. Gigi
Breathes out and watches
A large black spider

Crawl across her thigh
And holds back with great
Effort the loud cry.

Glug glug glug goes Daddy’s bottle the beer going down his Adam’s apple rising and falling his eyes closed as if in some kind of prayer his lips over the end like a baby’s lips over its mother’s dug glug glug glug as he lifts the bottle higher and Mother saying nothing loud enough for him to hear but muttering by the sink her voice low pitched but angry and she casting him the over the shoulder look now and then but looking away as soon as she thinks he might see her but he doesn’t his eyes are still closed and you watch Daddy from the big chair opposite taking in his unshaven chin the closed eyes the wet lips the hairy hand holding the bottle his shirt open showing his hairy chest and the faded jeans stained and torn and Mother says Ain’t you got nothing else to do than stare at your daddy Molly ain’t there some chores you could do? She eyes you now her liquidy eyes focusing on you fixing you like some butterfly on a board her words catching your ears and pulling Bad enough him sitting there drinking without you just watching him and knowing there’s work to be done Mother adds spitting the words now so that phlegm sits on her lower lip and Daddy opens his eyes and looks around moving the bottle away from his lips and holding it in mid air his mouth open the tongue lingering there and he says What you looking at child ain’t you seen a man drinking before and as your Mommy says you must have chores waiting to be done and don’t gaze at me with those small beady eyes of yours get going before I take my belt to your little *** and you lift yourself from the chair and look at Mother standing there her hands wet from the sink wiping them on her apron giving Daddy the stare her eyes damp with soon to flow tears and Daddy goes as if to swipe you as you pass his large hand just inches from your *** and you run out into the porch and into the sunlight with the smells of the yard and hens and sounds and sensations and raised voices from within and you go sit over by the barn and let them get on with it breathing in the air letting your head feel freshness sense old and new smells and thinking what chores to do if any and besides they’ll not come looking for you or worry where you’ve got to and the chores can wait and you sit and watch the house listening to the voices waiting for the smashing of cups and plates and pans flying and cries and shouts but they don’t come just that odd silence and the house just standing there like some mausoleum and you watch a while longer your *** numbing as you sit there remembering that last stinging hand to hit your *** and redden and after a quarter of an hour you get up and walk slowly to the back door and peep in to see where they are to catch sight of them but they’re not there the room is empty the bottle on the table lying on its side and so you go to the stairs and listen for any sounds but hear nothing and so you take one step at a time holding your hands together fearing Daddy might appear at the top his big eyes gazing at you but he doesn’t appear and so you reach the top and wander along the passage almost on tiptoe not wanting for them to hear and then you hear sounds voices muffled and Mother moaning and Daddy grunting and you stand by the door with your ear to the wood wondering if Mother’s ok or if Daddy’s beating into her some as he does now and then wondering what Daddy’s doing to Mother and why she doesn’t cry just moans and groans and then you get unsettled and walk away and go down the stairs and sit in the porch and keep your ears open to sounds and sensing fear creep up your spine like Daddy’s fingers do some night under the covers and he pretends they’re spiders and tickle and tickle tickle and touch and touch and touch.

The walk
from Peckham Rye
train station
to my aunt's
is quite a trek,
but Lydia and I
set off along
Rye lane.

Never been here before,
Lydia says.

I been here tons of times;
I was born up the road.

What this road?

No, at the hospital
nearby.

She has a thinness
about her,
her lank hair is caught
by the sunshine.

We pass by shops
and cross side streets;
pass people shopping.

Dad hates shopping,
Lydia says,
he says it's a ****
of a game,
worse than kissing
his boss's backside.

She laughs;
a link of light
brightens up
her eyes;
there's a hint
of beauty
about her.

Your mum
wasn't too keen
on you going with me,
I say.

Anything that hints
of spending money
and she's up in arms;
she wouldn't care
if I went
with the milkman
as long as he paid.

We walk on
and down a street
that leads
to my aunt's place;
the shops have gone now,
just houses and flats.

I heard your old man
singing in the Square
the other night,
I say,
drunk as a lord.

I know, I heard him, too,
Mum wasn't none
too pleased;
she dragged him in
and gave him her tongue;
I couldn't marry
a man like that;
does your father drink?

No, only the odd pint
or port at special times.

We pass a dog peeing
against a wall;
it wags its tail
as it runs off
down the road
leaving a pyramid shape
of wetness behind.

My brother Hem does that,
Lydia says,
***** ***.

There is an aspect
of light
when she's angry,
like a birth
of a new world.

Is your dad Irish?
he seemed to be singing
an Irish song
the other night?

No, he always sounds Irish
when he's drunk,
like he sounds Welsh
when he's sober.

She holds my hand
as we cross a busy road;
it's thin and bony;
I feel it
with my thumb
as we walk along,
her bony knuckles;
I squeeze it gently
and she softly
chuckles.

Lisa dresses for school,
buttons up the blouse
with fumbling fingers.
She stares down at her

bed where she and Mona
had lain the day before.
The same sheets, pillows
having no doubt her hair,

her smell. She puts on her
school tie, loops it through,
her fingers sensing the
smoothness of the cloth.

She remembers how they
had made love on that bed,
how they had lain naked and
hot and kissing. Best Sunday

ever, she muses, looking away,
stepping into her school skirt,
pulling it over her waist.
Her mother had called out

to her some minutes before.
Breakfast ready, not in the
mood for food. She looks out
the window at the farmyard

across the way, cows heading
out to the fields, her father
following, bellowing, a stick
in his hand, his arms raised

to move them on. She sits on
the bed and takes a pillow
and holds it to her nose
and sniffs. Mona’s scent,

borrowed from her mother,
she had said. She feels along
the sheet with her hand.
They had laid there, their

bodies, their lips kissing,
their hands holding. No one
had known they were
making love. Her parents

and family had thought them
drying after getting drench
in the Sunday downpour.
She closes her eyes, imagines

Mona is still there, thinks
she feels her hands around
her waist. Her mother’s voice
calls from downstairs. She sighs,

stands up and slips on her
socks and shoes. Leans down
and puts a kiss on her top
pillow where Mona had

laid her head, now she has only
images and memories instead.

Snow drifted by. Snow drifted by the large window of the locked ward of the hospital. Yiska watched from the black sofa in the main lounge. White and pure. Cold and white. White as her wedding dress she wore to the church, but he never showed, and she stood at the altar alone. She watched the snowflakes drift. His best man brought a message: he couldn't go through with it. She refused to removed the wedding dress. She wore to bed that night and next day and only after someone injected her to sedate her was it removed and she woke up in the locked ward of the hospital. She wrapped the dressing gown about her. The snow seemed to be getting heavier. The hour was unknown to Yiska, but the night nurse was in her small office, writing notes. Other patients still slept in the dormitory; men in theirs and women in theirs. She could hear their snores or moans. Her wrist was bandaged where she'd slit it a few days before with a knife liberated from the meals wagon which came twice a day with meals. The nurse who stitched her up said it was just as well it was vein and not an artery as it would have been worse. The wound was sore. She sensed it still each time she moved her hand. Benny walked from the men's dormitory across by the night nurse's office and into main lounge. He walked to the window and peered out. How long has it been snowing? He asked. It was already coming down when I came in here a little while ago, she replied, looking at him standing in his nightgown and slippers. Peaceful looking, he said. He turned and gazed at her on the sofa. How's your wrist? She looked at her bandaged wrist. Sore. He looked past her. No one else up yet then. No, thank God. He sat down next to her and pulled the nightgown tight about him, tucking in the ends as he had no belt. Cigarette? He asked. She nodded. He took a packet from his nightgown pocket and offered her one and took one himself and lit both with a plastic lighter. She inhaled deeply; he inhaled half heartedly. Where'd you get the lighter? Same place I got the ciggies: one of the day nurses left them behind by error I assume. Why the slit wrist? Mistake. He raised his eye brows. Only a vein, not artery, apparently. Bit like your hanging attempt, she said, eyeing him through the released smoke from her cigarette. Second attempt, he said, exhaling slowly through his nose. How's your *** life? He smiled at her words. Same as yours, I expect. She inhaled and looked at the drifting snow. I ought to have been on my honeymoon a few months ago, she said, not looking at him, but at the snow flakes drifting by. Had the ******* showed that is. Benny looked at her beside him. She smelt of apples. He caught a glimpse of thigh as she moved her leg and moved the dressing gown. Why'd he not show? Because he's a cowardly *******. Did you notice he wasn't keen? He seemed up for it. But wasn't? No I guess not, she said turning her head and staring at Benny. She sighed and inhaled the cigarette smoke. He smoked deeply and sat and gazed at the snow. She put a hand on his leg. You're the only one here to ask apart from the quacks. He turned and gazed at her. He placed a hand over her hand. Two lonely people drifting in an open boat, he said. On a rough sea, she added. They sat and held hands and looked at the snowflakes passing the window as they smoked. Once the cigarettes had been smoked, they stubbed out the butts in an ashtray. She kissed him on his cheek. He kissed her lips. They parted and sat gazing around the lounge of the locked ward. No where to be alone, she said. Unless, she added, looking at him, we go in the shower room. He looked at her. It can't be locked. No room here locks apart from the doors leading into the ward itself. Who cares, she said, no one will be up yet. He looked towards the passage. What about Florence Nightingale? She won't know or care. She seldom leaves her office, Yiska said. Do we dare? He asked. To eat a peach? Or walk tiptoe on the beach? She said.  She took his hand and led him along through the long corridor to the shower room silently as they could walk. He sensed her hand in his. Warm and soft. They reached the door of the shower room and entered in and closed the door after them. It wasn't very big, but it seemed sufficient room if they set down just right. Turn off the light, she said. He pulled the cord. Dimness surrounded them, light from the corridor let in a vague light to part the darkness. She kissed him and held him close. He embraced her to him tightly. She lay down on the floor of the available space and lifted her legs and pulled him down between her. She kissed him before he could say anything. The space was cramped. He felt hemmed in; he couldn't stretch out his legs, but knelt there, hands on her hips. Pressing on her lips. She sensed the sore wrist, an ache in her back, a cramp in a thigh. Can't do it, he said, too ****** cramped. She nodded and said, we might if we're quick. She wanted to kiss again, but her thigh stiffened and she said, I got to get up, cramp. He tried to lift himself in the small space. Treading by her hip and one foot hovering over her visible ******. He placed the foot on the small space of floor and stood up against the shower door. She pulled herself up by dragging herself up by his arm, her wrist sore as hell, blood seeping through the bandage. She rubbed her thigh vigorously with her other hand. Shall I do that for you? He asked, peeping out at the corridor. No, you'll turn me on more and there's no room, she said, rubbing the thigh, biting her lip. Blood seeped more through the bandage and he lifted her arm up. They kissed. They heard a voice coming down the corridor, the pitter-patter of shoes on the floor. They parted and held their breath. The night nurse walked by to the toilets next door and closed the door behind her.  They stood in the dimness kissing, she rubbing her thigh, he holding her ****** wrist right up high.

When Helen heard
that Pete Badam
had poked your guts
she said

why’d he do that?
I scored
a home goal
you replied

so? what’s that
got to do
with anything?
she said

he caught me
off guard
you said
I’ll get him back

no
she said
don’t go down
to his level

she gave her doll
Battered Betty
a hug
I don‘t want

our children
to have a father
who’s fighting
all the time

she added
gazing at you
through her
thick lens glasses

no worry
you said
Dave Walker
got Badam

in the guts afterwards
Helen looked at you
horrified
what is it with boys?

fight fight fight
she put Battered Betty
over her shoulder
and patted her back

and walked along
the pavement outside
the ABC cinema
you watched her go

back and forth
the doll moving
over her shoulder
Helen’s blue

cardigan and dress
was lit up
by the lights
from the cinema

and reflected
in her glasses
I didn’t ask Walker
to hit him

you said
he just poked him
in the guts
and walked off

Helen paused her pacing
and looked at you
the doll brought down
into her arms

I don’t want
a violent husband
she said softly
I want you

as you are
that’s fine
you said
but that’s

another time
and tomorrow
as we’re only just nine
and she walked

with you
to the chip shop
in the New Kent Road
to buy six penny’s

worth of chips
and a kiss
on your cheek
from her lips.

The boy John
had gone

he'd been there
for about an hour
sitting on the settee
then briefly
-with her mother's
permission-
out in the garden
where they looked
for birds and butterflies

Elaine had seen him off
from the front garden gate
-her mother peering
through net curtains-
and watched until
he disappeared
around a bend

did you know
he was coming?
her mother asked

no I had no idea
Elaine replied
looking at
the empty place
on the settee
where he'd sat

he does know
you're 14
I suppose?

he's in my class at school
he's 14 too
Elaine said
sensing the place
where he'd sat
beside her and the kiss
on the lips
so sudden so gentle
yet Mum had been
in the kitchen
what if she had seen?

he might have
asked first
her mother said
not just turn up
on the doorstep

I didn't know
Elaine said
then licked her lips
where his lips
had been

can I trust you?
her mother asked

trust me
to do what?
Elaine said

do nothing
her mother said

do nothing?
Elaine said
looking unsure
what her mother meant

do things with him
her mother said

do things?
Elaine repeated
what things?

her mother frowned
and said
nothing just nothing

Elaine nonplus
nodded her head

her mother smiled
now what
was I doing?
she said
o yes the washing
and went off
to the wash room
and left Elaine frowning
at her mother's
departing figure

do nothing?
Elaine muttered
to herself
and patted the space
where the boy John
had sat
then touched her lips
and that was that.

She parked her bike
by the stone bridge
and stared down at the river
waiting for Naaman

he said to meet her there(
he finished
his half day of work
just before)

and go for a ride
and see a few things
she'd not seen him
since the Sunday before

a short walk through the woods
by the farmhouse
out of sight
of her parent's gaze

hand in hand
flesh on flesh
she watched
as the river flowed onwards

the ever flowing water
then Milka heard him call
as he rode near the bridge
waving a hand

she looked at him riding
with his Elvis style hair
and jeans and open neck shirt
he dismounted his bike

next to hers
and walked to her
she stood expectantly
nerves tingling

her whole insides
butterflying
he kissed her cheek
she held his hands

kissed again
got here as fast as I could
Naaman said
your brothers have gone

into town
so won't be this way
in a while
she smiled

I wondered
if they'd be with you
she said
you look pretty

he said shyly
do I?
she said
course you do

he said
nice of you to say
where are we going?
she asked

bike ride
he said
where to?
a place I used to live

he said
is it far?
Milka asked
not that far

we can go through
the back lanes mostly
he said
ok

she said
so they got on their bikes
and rode off up the hill
he in front she behind

along country lanes
up hills down hills
through narrower lanes
along a main road

keeping to the side
of the grass verge
and 20 minutes later
they were there

and he rode into a narrow path
and got off his bike
by some trees
and she followed

and did likewise
she bent over
getting her breath back
he leaned against a tree

some ride
he said
longer than I thought
she blew out breath

and inhaled
leaning by Naaman
you lived here?
yes up the road a bit

second cottage in
she looked around her
quiet here
yes is it

he said
come I'll show where it is
and he took her hand
and walked her

through the woods
and narrow path
she sensed his hand
in hers

ran her thumb
on the back
of his hand
there

he said
through that gate
they stood looking at a gate
at the back of a cottage

who lives there now?
she asked
don't know
he said sadly

I'll show you the pond
where I used to fish
and where I'd sit
and think things through

so she walked with him
through a wooded path
the area darker
because of denseness of trees

then they came to a fence
and they climbed over
and through a field
and then he showed her

the large pond
where he used to fish
they walked to the edge
and stood looking

at the water's skin
her hand still in his
sunlight filtering
through the trees above

they sat down on the grass
did you catch any fish here?
she asked
no but I tried

he said
she kissed him
he smelt apples
fresh picked

her flush of skin
her eyes bright
her short cropped hair
she leaned against him

he sensed her nearness
her beat of heart
her small **** pressing
against the yellow top

least I won't hear
my mother call from here
she said
or my brothers teasing

guess not
he said  
they worry about you
you're only 14

she looked away
you're only 16
she countered
besides I'm with you

they trust you
she added
do they?
he said

course they do
she said
turning her head
taking in

his hazel eyed stare
do they know
you're with me today?
she shook her head

they didn't ask
and I didn't say
she said
Yaakov knows

Naaman said
I told him
you did?
she said

what did he say?
said he felt sorry for me
but that I'd soon recover
she looked at him

what a cheek
she said
is that all he said?
yes then he talked

of the new Elvis film
at the flicks
and was I going
is that all?

he nodded
he'll tell my mother
she said
don't think so

he replied
he said he'll leave that
for you to do
and she lay her head

against his shoulder
and he kissed her head
and they sat there
in the quietness

kissing now
and again
then ran for cover
from a downpour of rain.

She doesn't know
what time
his school bus arrives
but she waits

by the school gates
nervously
biting her nails
looking at the place

the buses come
other kids arrive on foot
to school
but no bus

as yet
and Sheila starts
to wonder
what she'll say

when the bus arrives
and the boy John
descends
and she there

facing him
and he'll look at her
and will he remember
the day before

and her asking
if she could hang
around with him?
the sky looks overcast

dark clouds
she hopes it will not rain
or she'll not be
on the playing field

to see him lunchtime
or anytime
she hopes it will
stay fine

what's the matter
with you this morning?
her mother had asked
over breakfast

you look like you've
found sixpence
and lost a pound
nothing she had said

trying not
to be too anxious
about meeting
the boy John

even as she washed
and dressed that morning
he was there
in her thoughts

and now as she waits
by the gates
kids pass her by
gawking at her

standing there
with her thin wire glasses
and metal grip
at the side

of her hair
then a school bus comes
towards the school
and her nerves take hold

and she stares and looks
for the boy John
and what she thinks
are his good looks.

And Christina
hadn't seen Benedict
on the sports field
the day before

and school without
seeing him
was a long haul
of boredom

and frustration
and even
to go down
school passageways

between lessons
and not get
a peek of him
was stomach churning

with other girls
on about this
and that
and she only

wanting a peek
of him
to carry home with her
to hug and hold

in her bedroom
dreams
but today
in lunch recess

he was there
on the sports field
with that fiend of his
and she thought

he hadn't seen her
and he was wandering
the field with his friend
and they were laughing

and she so wanted
for him to turn
and see her
sitting there

on the grass
with a bunch of girls
and them laughing
and giggling

about matters
when he turned
and saw her
and she felt

her whole being
explode inside
and a rush
of feelings

flooded her
so that she was sure
she'd peed herself
with it all

and he came over
and said
didn't see you there
come let's go

for a walk and
so she got up
unsure if her legs
would hold her

what with the body
having exploded
like it had
and she went with him

and he lingered
near her
and their hands
were near

and she didn't want
to seem forward
and hold his hand
but deep inside

she wanted
to hold his hand
and kiss it
and squeeze it

and take it home
with her
but she just
let it hang there

near his
and he spoke
of being off
the day before

through illness
and that
he was ok today
and he laughed

and said
did you miss me?
and she said no
and laughed too

but god the words
clung to the roof
of her mouth
and she had to

push them out
and he said
he thought of her
laying there

unwell in his bed
and she thought
how she'd have
hugged him

had she been there
how she would have
sweated the illness
out of him

but she didn't say it
but smiled
and felt her insides
turning and turning

and he said
he dreamed of her
and she said
what did we do?

and he said
sure I cant' say
and blushed
and she touched

his hand as they
came to the fence
around the field
and it was electrifying

and her heart
seemed to thump itself
against her ***
and O how hot

it felt being there
she feeling all
so in love
and a slight wind

moved his quiff
of brown hair.

I wait until
Enid's old man
has left the flats

feeling a bit brave
I walk up stairs
to their flat
and knock at the door

her mother answers
and she has a black eye
and says
what you want?

I need to see Enid

what for?

it's Saturday
I want to go with her
to the flicks

flicks?
she says frowning

yes cinema
see the morning matinee

she looks past me
as if she's seen
an angel behind me

is her father around still?
she asks me

no I saw him go
just now

make sure he's not
doubling back
he does sometimes
just to be a cuss
she says

so I look over
the balcony
look into the Square

well?
she murmurs

no he's gone
he looked in a hurry
when I saw him
I say

Enid!
her mother says
in a harsh call

she turns
and gazes at me
her eyes dull
the black eye closing

what's he do  
for a side show
I say

what?
she says

your old man
what's he do
for a side show
apart from hitting
you and Enid?

ENID
she bellows

I look back at her
as cool as
a young boy can
brushing my
brown quiff of hair
and glazing over
my hazel eyes

Enid creeps out
and stares out
from beneath
her mother's arm

what is it?
Enid asks
looking at me
then up at her mother

the boy wants
to take you
to the cinema
her mother says

I can pay
I say

Enid says
can I go?

her mother sighs
don't tell your father
you've been
you know
what he's like
she says

do I have to lie
if he asks me
where I've been today?

her mother bites
her lip
slightly swollen

sure you do
I say
lie your head off
tell the schmuck anything
but the truth
I tell her
the truth
he isn't worthy of it

her mother
opens her mouth
to speak but it
remains as
a mouthed O

her mother looks
past me again
you sure he isn't
coming back?
she asks

I look over
the balcony again
no he's not
coming back
I say

ok ok
she says
and she says Enid
can go

so I wait
a few minutes outside
while Enid gets ready
and her mother
stares at me
then the sky
as she brushes her lip
and rubs her eye
closing up
like a dark plum

then Enid comes out
dressed in a blue dress  
and her hair brushed
and we walk off
down the stairs
of the flats

she's silent
but excited
and I look down
the stairs ahead
hoping her old man
isn't coming back
as he does sometimes
to catch them out
and commit more crimes.

Summer recess had come
and she sat with you
out in the field
over looking her house

and the railway
was not far off
where the occasional train
puffed by sending

a sprouting of white smoke
as it went by
and she looked at it passing
and spoke of after school days

when she would begin
her adult life and settle down
and have children
but you were thinking

of a train trip with your parents
years before
to some seaside place
and you watched

the scenery go by
and the steam go by
the window
and the smell

and the sight excited you
and stuck itself
inside your head
and Judith said

what do you think?
and you said
about what?
and she said

about children's names?
what names
would you choose?
your brain struggled

to the surface
and whirled through
a list of names
that came to mind

boy or girl?
you asked
she sighed
either

haven't you been
listening to me?
sorry got distracted
by the train smoke

had a Proustian moment
you said
a what?
she said

a Proustian moment
you replied
what the heck is that?
she said

pulling her skirt
over her knees
where it had risen up
as she moved  

Marcel Proust wrote
that eating a certain cake
took him back
to a certain moment

of his life
but you
haven't been eating cake
Judith said

her hand rested
on her knees
her eyes focusing on you
no it's just an example

you said
about how things
can remind you
of other things

or places or times
do you recall
the first time we kissed?
she asked

yes
you said
of course I do
it was near Christmas

and we were carol singing
and it was dark
and the moon was out
and the stars were bright

and your lips pressed
onto mine
ok ok
she said laughing

at least you remember
and as she moved forward
the buttons
of her white blouse

parted briefly
to reveal a hint
of fleshy *******
so what names

do you like?
she asked
none come to mind
you said

she shook her head
what about Rachel or David?
she said
fine

you said
nice religious names
although David
brings to mind

a kid with a catapult
and a girl I once knew
with buckteeth who smelt
of old socks

she looked skywards
and sighed
and lay back
on to the grass

and you lay beside her
both of you  
gazing up
at the expanse

of blue and white
her hand reaching out
for yours
in that one moment

of life
in the great
out of doors.

Miss Cleaves says,
come over,
bring a bottle,

I’ll put on some music
we can smooch to( Mahler?)
so he goes over,

picks up a bottle on the way,
medium priced,
not the top shelf,

and rings her bell.
Glad you could come,
she says,

her voice silkier
than silk,
warmer than hell.

He follows her
to the lounge,
takes off his jacket,

undoes his tie,
slips off his shoes
(new carpet).

Take a seat,
she says ,
I’ll get us some glasses,

he watches her move,
the best of all *****,
he decides, glancing,

taking in,
******* in air,
sitting there.

On goes the Mahler,
the 1st, the Titan,
she said it was, last time,

the time he had
a *******
before the 2nd movement,

had his hand
up her skirt,
feeling around.

In she comes,
swaying, smiling,
carrying the *****,

big eyes,
blue like lakes,
her bust,

busting to get out,
and flop about.
She talks of work,

business doing ok,
could be better,
if only and so on...

He senses her hand
on his thigh,
rubbing back and forth,

fingers walking,
her voice yakking on,
and the music

piping through,
he thinking
of that time

she had him
do her good,
eyes shut,

seemingly blind,
taking her
from behind.

Then the doorbell chimed,
in mid game,
who the heck is that?

she said,
getting off the bed,
walking to the door,

leaving him
buck naked on the floor.
There was laughter;

about to take a bath,
she said,
to whoever.

A painting on her wall,
foxhounds, chasing a fox,
horse riders on a hunt.

He thought, laying back,
relaxing, thinking of her,
wanting her, her lovely

buttocks and ****.
More laughter, more talk,
the whoever was still there,

while he lay **** naked
as mother nature
intended, bare.

That was then,
she never came back
for 15 minutes or so

and he had gone to sleep
on her bed, pillow
holding his head,

seemingly dead.  
Now she's on the ball,
getting him fired up,

getting his pecker going,
smiling, music piping,
but outside there's snow.

Rochester, public market,
New York, and you see
The woman standing there

With her bags full of shopping
Waiting for her husband to come
And return with the car, with a face

That tells of annoyance and speaks
Volumes. Where the **** is he,
She mutters unaware you can

Hear her as you pack away your
Shopping in the back of your old
Ford. Won’t be long he said,

Be just a moment, she says, her
Voice rising like the fat dame in
The opera house before the curtains

Fall, and here I am waiting and my
Feet aching, my migraine returning
And all he can think about is laying

A bet and going for a drink with that
Logan loon and me here standing like
Some worn out ***** desperate for

A final pickup. She turns around and
Gives you the stare, takes in your skimpy
Skirt, your dyed blond hair, then turns

Away and scratches her *** and moves
Her feet and looks up and down for her
Husband’s returning car. You close

Down the lid of the old Ford and get
Inside and sit and watch the woman
And wonder if she has kids and grand

Kids, or maybe a secret lover, some
Poor schmuck down on his life’s luck.
She swings one of the bags of shopping

In front of her legs, her agitation increasing,
Her face deepening with lines of her frustration.
He knows I don’t like him drinking while he

Drives, I told him if you’re going to drink,
Then I will drive, I don’t want the *******
Cops breathing through the car window on

Me just because of the your drunk reckless
Driving and what does he do? Goes off in the
Car to meet the Logan guy and bet and drink

And me here like some ****** waiting and
My feet aching and the piles giving me hell.
She stops as her husband’s car returns and

He pulls up and gets out real slow and puts
The bags in the back and says nothing, passing
Her by and getting back in his seat and she

Climbing in her side of the car says, Hi Honey,
Did you have a nice drink and bet with Logan?
Yeah, he says, but the horse fell and the beer

Was warm and Logan didn’t show and so I
Drank the warm beer and bet the one horse
And then came here. You? Had a good

Shopping trip? Sure, she says, her voice
Now mellow, a smile on her lips, just got
What we needed and they did my hair.

You watch as off they drive, and as they
Go off the woman gives you the middle
Digit up you sign and a dark black glare.

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

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

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

Lydia said
her mother wiped
another plate
why there?

and why with him?
Lydia played
with her fingers
nervously

trains
steam trains
she said
we like to see them

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

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

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

how are you
getting there?
bus I guess
Lydia said

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

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

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

and stared
at her daughter
thin
weedy looking

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

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

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

the sitting room
Lydia looked
at the coins
in the palm

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

the front door
to see
if Benny was coming
the baker

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

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

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

She's outside
the nurse said
getting
some sunshine

doctor's orders
so I went out
through the double doors
into the grassy area

outside the ward
Julie was sitting
in a chair
smoking

in a dressing gown
her hair pulled tight
in ponytail
getting some sunshine

I said
yes
got to be
a good girl

she said
get some sun
to my skin
I sat in a chair

beside her
took out
a cigarette
and lit up

how's it going?
I asked
cold and fed up
and wanting a fix

she said
but all I get
is a cigarette
and all this

get some sun
and fresh air stuff
she crossed her legs
her feet were naked

she'd painted
her nails red
I brought you
some cigarettes

and chocolate
I said
and laid them
on the small

white table
by her legs
thanks
she said

wish we could meet
at that cheap
hotel again
I fancy some ***

she inhaled deeply
and looked back
at the doors
of the ward

maybe next month
if they let you out
I said
they say I can't

go out
until I’ve kicked
the fix habit
she said

turning round
and gazing at me
hope they've fixed
the taps this time

she said
confused me
to turn on
the cold tap

to get hot
I smiled
she uncrossed her legs
and I saw

a glimpse of thigh
which hung and stayed
in the camera
of my eye.

Claudia knows Potslam
fancies her. She knows
he would like to. She
knows other men watch
her pass. Knows they’d like
to touch her ***. Claudia
wants just to be loved.

Wants the kind of love in
those magazines she reads.
Potslam says he loves her
but it’s all cheap talk. His
eyes and mouth say otherwise.

She sees it in his eyes. That
first date as she waited
other men wolf whistled.

Eyed her. If eyes could undress
he’d be **** catching the cold
air standing there. Mother
said men were all the same.

Father misunderstood the
essence of woman. His history
of failures hammered and
impinged on bone and skin.

Claudia sits and lights her smoke.

Potslam talks and relates a joke.

She eyes him. Takes in his pitted
skin. Wants another to love not
**** her. Needs the loving arms
and warm caresses. The gentle
kisses placed on lips or cheek.

She watches Potslam smoke
and exhale. Sees his thick lips
give birth to smoke. His yellowed
fingers hold the cigarette. He
smiles that smile. Shallow as
a puddle. He moves in and out
of shadow. If only love were there
she says inwardly noting him ****.

She feels no love or such no aching
or piercing of her delicate heart.

I wanted to meet you
outside the National
Gallery, Julie says, but
the doctors weren't keen,

said I ****** up my drug
medication, and not let
me out for days. She
was a drug dependent,

on the cure, or so she said.
And waiting you went
to Dobells's record shop,
listened to few jazz LPs,

had a beer, sat and smoked,
thought about ***, the having
and not so. Then she shows,
her dark hair neat, pony-tailed,

her tight figure in the clothes
she wears, **** almost touchable.
Let's skip the old stuff, she says,
let's keep to the modern ****,

save time, energy, then after
a drink and chat. So you go
in the Gallery, take in all those
moderns, the stuff she likes,

the portraits, the brush skills
involved, who painted whom,
buy a few postcards, look
at books. Then off for a coffee

and chat, you go to some place
in Leicester Square, sit at a table,
take out the cigarettes, wait
for the order, take in her features

as she speaks, her eyes, her lips,
the way her hair is brushed
and kept, her tight top, those
pressing out of ****. I liked

the Picasso, she says, his stuff
really gets to me, makes other
works boring as last year's *****.
You notice how she holds her

cigarette, the fingers not yet
browny yellow, hold it just so,
not tight or loose, but gently,
like it was some baby kid instead

of tobacco filled paper deadly drug.
The coffees come, neat small cups,
tiny handles, froth and such. I feel
the need, she says,all the time that

need to hit the veins or tongue. You
hear her words, out there, fragile things,
taking flight, like doomed black birds.

I want you
to wash my back
Skinny Kid
Anne said

she was standing
on her one leg
in the bathroom
of the nursing home

at Fishbourne
but what if someone comes
and sees me here?
you asked anxiously

we'll tell them to *******
she said pushing
the door shut
with a hand almost

falling over
in the process
you looked at her there
in a white towelling gown

the one leg showing
where the gown ended
Sister Paul
ran the bathwater

but left me
to get in and out
but what if she comes back?
you said

she won't
she gone off to prayers
in the chapel
Anne said

now come on Kid
let's to action
and she stripped off
the gown and holding

on your arm eased
herself into the water
with a slight splash
you stood there

trying not to notice
her *******
gazing at the white tiles
with ducks on each one

at the curtains
white and flowered
she began to wash herself
with a pink sponge

oozing soapsuds
her hand moving swiftly
over her parts
here and there

her stump visible
just under
the water's skin
does your leg hurt?

you asked
she looked up at you
now and then
she said

some nights
it hurts like ****
and when I go to rub it
it isn't there

now stop gawking
and start to rub my back
you took the sponge
from her hand

and began to push
the sponge over
her back nervously
her dark hair

over her shoulders
her head downward
her hands pushed
between her thighs

you felt embarrassed
moving over her flesh
seeing the curves
of her waist

sensing the sponge
wash over her
under her arms
you moved

OK OK that's enough
she said who do you think
you are
some ****** explorer?

I got carried away
you said
you will get carried away
in a fecking coffin

she said
right listen out
for the *** starved nuns
you gave her back

the sponge and wiped
your hands on the towel
by the bath
your ears strained

to hear any footsteps
of nuns
you lowered your arm
so Anne could pull

herself up and out
of the bath
and you wrapped
the big towel about her

shall I go now?
you asked
no
she said

stay until I’m done
in case if fall
so you stayed
looking at the walls

and ceiling
and the bath
with the ***** water
seeing out

of the corner
of your young boy's eyes
her rubbing herself dry
with one hand

while with the other
holding on to wall
just in case she slipped
or began to fall

then just as she turned around
you heard footsteps
and voices
out in the hall.

Some feller reckons he
Saw that Bonnie Parker
Girl in some diner in

Arkansas with some
Feller in a black suit
With a hat pushed to

The back of his head
And she sat there and
Smoked and said nothing

But looked around the
Place while the feller
Ordered fries & burgers

With two small side salads
And two white coffees
And no one else in the

**** diner place kind
Of recognized her face
Even though she was

Clothed in some old
Dress his grandma would
Have worn in her youth

With a beret stuck on her
Head and he felt like he
Ought to call the cops

And such but his mind
Kept telling him that that
There Parker girl was

Killed in an ambush
Back in 1934 so maybe
He got it wrong and she

Was just some girl who
Looked just like her and
So he didn't call the cops

But just sat there watching
Her eat and drink and smoke
Hanging in with his flapping

Ears in case she spoke but
She never did she just sat
And stared around the place

With a small half-moon
Smile on her ghostly face.

Lydia
watches through
a thin gap
in the dark

brown curtains
her sister
much older
in the bed

holding tight
to her tall
spiv boyfriend
and kissing

his thick lips
then his ears
which even
nine year old

Lydia
finds quite gross
it takes all
her childish

innocence
not to know
what the show
is about

she looking
through the gap
sees the spiv
put his hand

on the ****
buttocks of
her sister
Lydia

looks away
looks out at
the green grass
and the flats

and windows
opposite
ignoring
the giggles

and snorty
sounds she hears
from the bed
behind her

behind dark
brown curtains
how the heck
she got trapped

behind there
in her games
pretending
the window

was a stage
and she a
child actress
awaiting

to begin
when her big
sister came
tiptoeing in

with the spiv
while hiding
unseen there
Lydia

silently
hid her feet
and stealthily
had her peek

now she sees
pigeons walk
or kids play
with skip rope

or football
or cowboys
and Injuns
but behind

the curtains
on the bed
another
game is played

two actors
in combat
by the sounds
her sister

breathlessly
makes beyond
but innocent
Lydia

puts her hands
to cover
her small ears
watching kids

play their games
and joyfully
run about
ignoring

whatever makes
her sister
giggle soft
then loudly
laughing shout.

She crosses fields to find him,
passing cows, over low fences,
along dust tracks. He's probably
at the farm, his mother said, he

works there after school some
days and at week ends if he has
time to spare, so she goes there,
her bike parked by the cottage

wall, on foot, treading her way,
warm morning, Saturday. He
sees her coming through the farm,
dressed in jeans, blouse and boots,

her red hair tied in a bunch, hands
in her pockets, mouth chewing gum.
Farm hands view her a she passes,
their eyes feeding on her swaying

behind, her tiny ****, not knowing
13 years had scarcely gone, then
turn away, back to their work of
milking cows or weighing milk

or cleaning cow sheds of **** and
straw. Your mother said I'd find
you here, Lizbeth says, eyeing
him, his face and eyes and the

way he stands. He views her,
sensing her non-countryside ways,
a towny, others'd say. Just doing
a bit, he says, got hay bales to

stack, tidy and lay. Can I help?
she says, I’ve nothing much to do?
If you like, he says, and walks
along to the barn and she follows,

swaying her hips, holding her
head to one side. He shows her
the hay bales, where they need
to be and how to stack. It smells

in here, she says, heat of hay,
he says, gets stuffy. She runs a hand
over the nearest bales. Soft enough,
she says, looking at him, her eyes

focusing, sniffing the air. Soft enough
for what? He says. To lay on, cuddle
on, she say softly. Best not, he says,
others may come. Not up there, she

says, pointing to a higher place above
their heads, there we'd not been seen.
Best not, he says, they want me for
work not to laze or shirk. She pouts

her lips, walks about the barn, touching
with her fingers, running palms over
the bales. Just a little while, she says,
unbuttoning her blouse, needn't be long,

fingers slowly working the buttons.
There's mice and rats about, he says,
could be anywhere in here. She pauses,
her fingers still, her eyes enlarging.

Here? she asks. He nods, seen them
about, a few hours ago. She buttons
up her blouse, gazing around. Shame,
she says, wanted to, you know, here

in the quiet, us alone. He stands and
gazes, takes in her slim frame, her eyes,
her hands holding each other and
squeezing. Another time maybe, she

says, some other place, somewhere
that's quiet, where we'd not be disturbed.
He nods, viewing her small *******
tidied away, at least for the day, like

small babes put to bed, and tucked
up safe and sound. She kisses his cheek,
touches his arm, see you, she says softly,
see you around, and she walks way,

her swaying behind, tight in her jeans,
walking through dust and hay, see you,
she says, blowing a kiss, another day.

These lanes are very narrow
you said
walking with Jane

from the parsonage
where she lived
to where the farm road began

Are they?
she replied
I’ve never thought about it

just that the hedges are high
and the birds chock full
in them and their songs

Yes
you said
They are

and in London
there are no hedges
or narrow lanes

and the only birds
are sparrows
and pigeons

and you wanted
to take hold
of her hand

and squeeze gently
the flesh
and sense her pulse

but you didn’t
you put your hands
in your jean pockets

and gazed sideways on
at her and her dark hair
and her profile

and the scent of her
like lavender
as if she’d dived

into a wide field of it
and embraced
the flowers and stalks

What bird song is that?
she asked
No idea

you replied
moving closer to her
the scent getting stronger

the desire to be closer
taking hold but still at bay
It’s a blackbird

she said
You’ll learn them all
the birdsongs

and where and how
they nest and in what months
and you nodded

and saw how
the summery dress
moved and swayed

as she walked
the flowered pattern
like a field moved

by a soft breeze
and her sandaled feet
touching the gravelled lane

and you thinking
how it would be
for them to be held

and kissed by you
if she were beside you
lying in a field

or in one
of those tall woods
and you pursed your lips

and she looked up at the sky
her eyes gathering
the blueness

and whiteness of clouds
and she said
Monet would have captured that so well

and You
you muttered
He would capture you well

each aspect
of your face
and hair and eyes

and she smiled
and looked at you and said
I’d want to be captured by Renoir

have his arthritic fingers
clutching brush
and capture me

and maybe secretly
lust after me
and she blushed

and turned away
and you thought  
Oh yes yes yes

but said nothing
just gazed
and breathed in

her being
her beauty
all there

for you to view
the eyes
the hair

the profile
the way her lips smiled
and sway of walk

and the tall hedges
seemed to explode
with the wild bird’s talk.

Sonia closed
the door
behind her
and leaned

against it
you go out
with me?
she asked

her Polish/English
grated on your ears
look I can’t
I have other

things to do
you said
running a hand
to smooth

Mr Dubbin’s bed
she looked around
the room
and said

what if someone
come in
and see you
here with me?

what if they think
you been having me?
but it wouldn’t
be true

you said
standing up
and moving away
from the bed

you know that
and I know it
but others
they do not

she said
her voice
crisp and cool
what if I undo

my uniform
and show my *******
and say you did it?
you blushed

at the thought
look
just leave me be
you said

she stood firm
against the door
her hands
on the lapels

of her uniform
you could say yes
she said
you could take me

out to cinema
and then
it would be good
huh?

you watched
as she undid
one button
at a time

you watched
her fingers undo
each button
with deliberate

slowness
if I say yes
you’ll stop this folly?
you asked

if you mean it
I will walk
from the door
and we can leave

and I do up
the buttons
before others see
she stared at you

her pale blue eyes
on you
her lips parted
just so

you could see
her small white teeth
where do you want to go?
you asked

cinema is good
she said
in the dark
we can kiss yes?

the buttons
were undone
to reveal
her compacted ****

ok ok
you said
the cinema
it is promise?

she said coolly
you make promise
and keep?
yes I make promise

and keep
you repeated
she began to do up
the buttons

her eyes
looking at you
and she smiled
and said

good boy
we have fun no?
you breathed out
the held in breath

sweat dampened
the back
of your shirt
and trouser legs

but if
you do not
show up
she said

brushing her uniform
I’ll say you make love
to me on this
Mr Dubbin’s bed

and I make bed
look all untidy
and they believe
me yes?  

I’ll be there
trust me
you said
just let me go

I need to get
the other beds
made before lunch
she moved aside

and opened the door
her perfume
filtering your nose
off you go

she said
and be good
you went off
to make the beds

and show up
that night
as she knew
you would.

Much too late
for thoughts
of what her father
might say

Fay went with you
to the Globe cinema
in Camberwell Green
a right fleapit of a place

but the film
you wanted to see
was on there
Daniel Boone

all about the Old West
and after it was over
and you came out
into the bright sunlight

your eyes felt
over whelmed
after the darkness
of the cinema

what did you think?
you asked
Fay said
yes it was good

not the sort of film
Daddy would have let me see
well he won't know
you've seen it

will he
you said
unless he asks me
then I'll have to

tell him the truth
she said
why would he ask?
you looked at her

standing there
with her fair hair
and lovely blue eyes
he might ask me

what I have done today
she said
her eyes beginning
to show signs of fear

maybe he won't
you said
just tell him
you've been studying

American history
she looked at her hands
he doesn't like America
or Americans

she said
well you don't have to
like something to study it
I have to do it all week

at school
you said
maybe he won't ask
she said softly

looking at you
fiddling with her fingers
distract him
tell him something else

talk about a butterfly
you saw on the bombsite
she looked at you
and smiled

you don't know him
he'll ask me
what sort of butterfly
and I won't know

and he'll know
I've been lying
and that will mean
being punished

she looked up the street
toward the bus stop
we had better be getting back
she said

he'll be home soon
ok
you said
and took her hand

and walked toward
the bus stop and waited
for the bus
if I told my mother

the truth all the time
she'd have a nervous breakdown
it's more kinder
to keep her happy

in innocent bliss
of what I get up to
Fay looked haunted
and was silent

she still held your hand
a fading bruise just visible
on her upper arm
where her dresses sleeve

moved
how about some ice-cream
when we get back
I've got a Shilling

given to me
by my old man yesterday?
she hesitated
ok I’d like that

she said
and when the bus
came along
you both got on

and sat next
to each other
downstairs near
the conductor

watching the scenes
of passing people
and traffic go by
but a special place

in your mind and heart
of Fay
next to you
quiet and shy.

It was off Harper Road
on some bombsite
houses half standing
half rubble
you and Jim
and some other kids
were climbing
amongst the ruin

the holidays just begun
the sun shining
on your heads

Coppers!
one kid shouted
and you all began
to climb out
of the ruined house
and onto the rubble

a police car had parked
on the edge
of the road
and two policemen got out

what you lot doing in there?
one of the coppers said
come on line up
the other said

so you all lined up
against the wall
surrounding the bombsite

what were you doing in there?
the copper asked

playing
Jim said
having fun
another kid said

don’t you know it’s illegal
to play
on theses condemned houses?
he said

didn’t know
a fat kid said
at the end

the copper
walked along the line
studying each boy in turn
asking each one
their name and address

you listened
sweating
your nerves on edge
your ears pricked
the answers the boys gave
were lies you knew
because Jim had said
Barny Broadbridge
and his address
was not were he lived

you
the copper said
what’s you name?

your mind went a blank
don’t know
you said

the copper smacked you
around the face
your name kid what is it?

your cheek stung
tears welled in your eyes
Brian Tolling
you muttered
saying whatever came
into your head

where do you live?
you made up a number
to a block of flats nearby

the other kids glared
at the coppers
as they walked
along the line

you saw a watery blur
of colours

right get off home
and if we see you
on here again
we’ll come and see your parents
get it?
he closed
his black note book
and they climbed back
in the car and drove off

up you copper
the fat kid said
lifting a finger
to the far away car

you all right?
Jim asked

you rubbed your cheek
blinked tears
out of your eyes
he came in to focus
yes
you said
didn’t hurt
frigging flatfoot

the other kids laughed
and the fat kid
patted your back
see you around
they said

and you and Jim
walked down
Rockingham Street
the sun peering over
the flats where
you did not live

back to Jim’s place
to look at his knives
and get on
with your schoolboy lives.

The ECTs
were performed

in a small room
off the locked ward

where the patient
would be strapped down

on a bed
injected

then wired up
then they turned on

the juice
and it was

in that room
you came round

to find Christine
lying on another bed

her head
slightly turned

clothed in a white
nightgown

her hair in disarray
you felt heavy

as if someone
had hammered

your head
light leaked

at the sides
of the black shutters

over the window
Christine opened her eyes

and saw you there
I feel ******

she said
me too

you replied
I feel as if I’m a ghost

and no one’s
told me I died

she looked around
the room

in the half light
then at her bare feet

no sign of nails
she said

but I feel as if crucified
as if my brain’s

been fried
her words hung

in the air
like young birds

on their first flight
lingering

momentarily there
it’s meant

to help you forget
you said

meant to wipe out
that aspect

that causes the pain
like being jilted

at the altar?
she said

like standing in front
of all those people

like some dressed up ****?
yes like that

you said
well it hasn’t worked

she said
looking at you

her eyes fixed
with that stare

as if she’d been emptied
and wasn’t really there

love’s a cruel disease
you uttered

your lips barely moving
your eyes drinking her in

her hair
her pale features

her white gown
her legs

and feet
naked

why did he jilt me?
she asked

no idea
you replied

he lied
she said

he’s a fool
you stated

I’d not have left you
but he did

she breathed out
that’s the rub

you said
that the nail

that enters deepest
her eyes watered

and she put out a hand
and touched yours

hanging at the side
of your bed

where you were  
strapped down

two ****** people
she muttered

both half dead
outside the room

a radio played
voices talked

someone sang
out of tune

they’ll be coming
to unfetter us

she said
quite soon.

Christina walked home
from school
in a strop
she'd not seen

Benedict all day
not on the sports field
(too wet
the prefect said)

nor in the corridors
despite searching
wide eyed
high and low

and in double maths
she'd doodled his name
in the inside cover
of her exercise book

to feel close to him
at least in mind
he was there
his sister said

he was some place
or other
she'd said
in a classroom

or gym
(oh to be there
Christina mused
to be close to him)

and once home
she strode
through the house
(ignoring

her mother's complaints
of this being left undone
or unwashed linen
left on the floor

of her room)
and up the stairs
and into her room
shutting the door

on her mother's tirade
(in one of her
blue moods no doubt)
and putting a chair

against the door
to keep her mother out
she lay on her bed
and took out

the photo of him
from beneath her pillow
and lay it
on her breast

and let him rest
all day and not
one sight
not a glimpse

not a passing shadow
just the teachers
and their talk
and other girls

and their chat
and giggles of boys
or such
oh it was all too much

she mused
rubbing the photo
against her breast
(nearer to her heart

symbolically)
closing her eyes
imagining him there
kissing her lips

******* her hair
talking like he did
of this or that
of some book he liked

or some place
he'd been or liked
to go
but in her mind

at least
he was there
having placed
his clothes

on the chair
being quite bare
(as was she of course
in her mind's eye)

just he and she
laying alone
he saying yea
and she making moan

but disturbed
by her mother's knock
at the door
(the imagining dispersed

he but vapour
in her mind)
and her mother's voice
much calmer

just asking
about some tea and toast
(all sins forgiven)
yes OK

Christina said
tucking his photo
beneath the pillow
and rising

from the bed
carrying his image
and her dreaming
inside her head.

Janette Richie
didn’t like you much  
as was shown

that time
in Mr Finn’s class
when she slapped

your face
for something you’d said
leaving you

with a spinning head
and a red cheek
but that aside

and her rather
plump frame
and maybe spectacles

you kind of like
her motherliness
the bossiness

around the class
the way she walked
the wiggly ***

but whatever it was
you’d said to her
to invite the slap

it was just a string
of words carrying
no malice or meaning

to hurt and the sensation
of her hand of flesh
touching your

young boy’s cheek
a nearness
she hadn’t thought on

or given any deeper
probe than the desire
to swipe an annoying boy

not realizing
that the gesture
and the plump hand

landing had more
than a momentary
feel or touch

you there after kind of
liked her in your
secret way

never repeating
the words said
about her plumpish

frame or swaying ***
or the spectacles
of thick glass

and maybe the other
boys laughed
and thought it some

joke of misjudgement
on your part  
but you found

a secret place for her
in your nine year old
heart.

She was one of the vaudeville dancers
he supposed. He had drawn back the
curtain and she was sitting there on
the stall one leg crossed over the other,
in that skimpy dress, white lace up shoes.

He had apologised, blushed, was about
to draw back the curtain when she said:
Oh, no leave it be. And he had and stood
there, slightly open mouthed, mind ticking
over, eyes stuck on her fine legs crossed.

They were nice legs he thought. Her dark
hair, parted in the middle was not well
brushed; it seemed as if she’d just got up
from a bed. Maybe she had. She gazed at
him, her eyes looked foreign. Odd to think
that, he thought. He wanted to drink her in.

Take in each aspect of her just sitting there.
I’m on soon, she said. Yes, definitely an
accent, he thought nodding. I’m a dancer,
she said. O right, he said. He thought as
much; the dress and shoes, the way she
had about her. White ankle shoes. Lace ups.

Not the sort to wear out in the street, he
supposed. Are you to watch the show?
She asked. Yes, I am, he said, looking at
her lips, the way they spread under her
nose, held in place by her cheeks, he
thought. What would his mother say about
her short dress? Far too short, shows her
backside almost, she’d have said scornfully.

Yet he still gawped at her. Her ankles, knees,
thighs. What a feast for the eyes, he mused,
trying to look away, but held bound, fixed
as if by some glue. The tassels on the end of
the short dress moved as she stood up. She
stretched her arms. Shook her legs back into
life as if they had died. Must be ready, she said.

Warm ups. Yes, of course, he murmured, and
turned away, walking off, carrying the image
of her and her shoes and dress and her dark
hair into his mind. Fixed there. Captured each
aspect of her being, placed in some room of
memory, for later viewing, in his secret seeing.

On Yehudit’s
first weekend off
from work
she met you

by the field
near the stables
arriving in her
cotton dress of green

and that raincoat
left over from school
and she said
been waiting long?

no not long
you said
although you’d been there
ten minutes or more

feeling the cold
bite into your skin
couldn’t get away
Mum wanted

this done and that
she said
leaning against
the fence

thought you might
have changed your mind
you said
why would I ?

she rubbed her hands together
to warm off the cold
said I’d be here
and I keep my word

she said
you sensed her uncertainty
the words sticking
in your mouth

we used to be closer
she said
none of this distance
between us

she knew about
you and Yiska
knew what there was
to know

the fact that Yiska had gone
made no difference
betrayal had been done  
she sat on the fence

and looked out
at the frost covered grass
you sat on the fence
beside her

her knees showed
where her dress
had risen
she had a laddered stocking

what was she like?
Yehudit asked
I mean did
she kiss good?

you looked
at the laddered stocking
flesh showed
yes she was good

you said
did she let you?
she asked
let me what?

you said
looking away
from the stocking
your eyes

meeting hers
you know let you do it?
she said
pushing the words out stiffly

as if the frost
had got to them
does it matter?
it’s history now

you said
it matters to me
she said
her voice

getting tighter
she looked
at the field
green and white

I guess it does
you said
we didn’t anyway
there wasn’t the place

or opportunity
you added
watching rooks
in the grey sky

their calls
filling the air
Yehudit looked at you
her eyes glassy

but you wanted to
she said
even if you didn’t
you breathed in

the icy air
you remembered
that you and she
had made love

in some woods
back behind you
the evening
had been warm then

flesh to flesh
heart sensing heart
I’ve met someone at work
she said

breaking through
your thoughts
I wanted you to know
not discover

and feel betrayed
you sensed a loss
bite you
a falling away

beneath your feet
I’m pleased for you
you lied
she climbed off

the fence
her feet sinking
into the frosted grass
see you around

she said
and walked off
across the field
you watched her go

sensing the cold
and the falling of snow.

Outside school by the steps
leading down
I wait for Helen
I'd seen her in class

but I want to walk home
with her
as she said
Cogan pulls her hair

if I’m not there
it's dampish
the sky is grey
the sun is weak

I watch other kids
go by down the steps
and off to their homes
then she comes

sees me and smiles
her hair in two plaits
and her thick lens glasses
slightly smeared

thank you
for waiting for me
she says
Cogan said

he was going to pull
my hair and put worms
down my back
well I’m here

so he won't
I say
she looks around her
and we walk off

and down St George's Road
why is he
so horrible to me?
she asks

because he can
or thinks he can
I say
bullies are like that

he said I was a fish face
she says
as we go onward
you're pretty

I say
don't take notice
of him
am I?

she says
really pretty?
of course you are
I say

she smiles
we go under the subway
and I sing so
that my voice

echoes along the walls
she seems happier
join in
I say

I can't I’m too shy
she says
I like her simplicity
her innocent being

we come up
the other side
onto the New Kent Road
and walk by

the Trocadero cinema
what are you doing
after tea?
I ask her

have to see
what Mum says
she says
she may want me

to help her bath
the baby
ok
I say

if you can get out
I’ll be on the bomb site
off Meadow Row
she nods

and I walk her
to her home
and then walk along
Rockingham Street

to Banks house
for some tea
and see Mum
and change

and then off I go
to Meadow Row.

If only he hadn’t phoned,
If only you could have
Remembered him as he was
And not the person who rang
And said those things.

If only you’d been out,
If only he’d been delayed
And missed you being home
And never the said the words,
Never got through, never
Even thought to ring and say
The awful things he said.

You wanted to keep
The special time with him,
Pack it away in that part
Of your mind for special
Things, for times
And people that made
You happy and fulfilled.

He’s spoilt that now,
Ruined it all with his
Clumsy lips and unthinking
Mind, spoilt the memories
With his crooked heart
And poison tongue, messed
Up the little tucked away
History of him and you,
The special nights, the kisses
And *******, the laughter
And smiles, the holding hand
Moments through parks and streets;
All undone, all so incomplete,
An utterly failed history.

Time to close the tome of him
And you and slam it shut, pushing
Out the memories like stake air
Between the pages of a musty book.

Your old man
came into the lounge
where you were watching
black and white TV

and your mother was standing
talking to an uncle
it’s the baker
your old man said

he wants his £50
what £50?
your mother asked
the £50 I owe him

well pay him
your mother said
I can’t
I don’t have it

you watched
the cowboy film
with half interest
you took a glance

at the debtor
well tell him
you’ll pay him
next week

your mother said
I told him that
last week
your old man said

what did you want
to borrow £50  
from the baker for?
your mother asked

her cheeks getting flushed
to buy my new suit
what new suit?
the one I’m having made

you noticed
your old man’s
moustache flicker
and he stroked it

as he did
when cornered
your mother
breathed heavy

and you looked
at the uncle
ok
the uncle said

here’s the £50  
go pay him
what you owe
to get him off your back

but you better pay me back
or I’ll bust your head
sure I will
your old man said

going out of the room
clutching the money
in his palm
your mother sighed

and the uncle
put away his wallet
into an inside pocket
and you saw that one

of the cowboys
on the black and white
TV screen
had been shot

and died
the other looked angry
and ugly
and mean.

Makemkov had a sudden
Thought while sitting on his bed,
Having a smoke, gazing out
Of the window at the new

Apartments across the way,
Where some young dame was slipping
Into something light and cool,
Unknowing that he gazed like this

On other days, the thought he
Had disturbed the **** sight,
The image becoming blurred
Into another lustful

Smudge, he was going to be
Dead one day, the thought revealed,
Unclean or not so, he did
Not know, but die he would, he

Neither grand nor good, his death
Would come as all deaths came, each
With its owner’s borrowed name.

He couldn’t believe
How many gold teeth
Had been extracted

From the cold mouths of
The dead and piled up
Before him on his

Bench or in boxes
On the floor. Whose teeth?
What victims were they?

Jews? He guessed they were,
But whether he or
She or how they smiled

Once on some summer’s
Day or how they laughed
And at what, he did

Not know, and didn’t
Let his interest
Show, at least not to

Them, the guards and such,
It wouldn’t do to
Show too much spying

On these things not then.
Sixty tons of gold
From teeth, he later

Heard, from Auschwitz camp
Alone, what came from
Elsewhere he didn’t

Want to think or know
How far mankind had
Reach the brink of some

Dark abyss and put
Their human lips to
Such an evil kiss.

Look at that Tortoiseshell
Jane said
as you stood
in the churchyard

of Diddling Church
you watched
the butterfly
pass by

and took in
its beautiful
colouring
don’t you just love butterflies?

she said
holding her hands
together as if
she were about

to pray
she was wearing
a short sleeved
flowery dress

and her dark hair
had a pink slide in it
which you gazed at
as she turned her head

to follow the progress
of the Tortoiseshell
along the sky
Never saw many butterflies

in the part of London
I came from
you said
mostly white things

with patterned wings
well now you can see
many different kinds
she said

turning to look at you
her eyes settling on you
like the butterfly had
on the flowers

in the churchyard
sure I can
you said
maybe I’ll get a book

on them
you added
she smiled
and came to you

and took your hand
and you sensed
her warmness
in your hand

felt her skin
touching yours
and she led you
over the grass

and you both lay down
a little distance
from the nearest
gravestone

and she said
my daddy says
the sky above
our heads

is the promise of Heaven
and you gazed at her
as she studied
the blue sky and white clouds

moving above
and you sighed softly  
at her nearness
and an unfathomable love.

Helen walked down
the steps of St Jude’s school
her mum was waiting for her
with the big pram

you were by the school gates
are you coming back with us?
Helen said
ok

you said
and so you
and Helen
and her mum

walked along
St George’s Road
her mother talking
about the shopping

she’d done
and what she’d bought
Helen walking alongside
you thinking of Cogan

and him saying
he was going to
smash your face
but he didn’t of course

he was all mouth
but even if you had to
fight him you had to
be careful of his glasses

never hit someone
with glasses your mother
used to say
but if you had to

you would of course
can you come to tea?
Helen asked
you looked at her mum

pushing the pram
if it’s all right
with your mum
you said

it’s fine
her mother said
as long as you
don’t expect caviar

and she laughed
and you wondered
what caviar was
but smiled anyway

and once you got
to Helen’s house
you said
will my mum know

where I am?
yes I told her
you’d come with us
for tea this morning

Helen’s mum said
that’s good isn’t it
Helen said
and she took you

into the sitting room
and you sat
on the big brown settee
and she sat beside you

and told you
about the boy
in her class
who said she looked

like a toad with glasses
I don’t do I?
she said
not at all

you said
you’re pretty
you added
beginning to blush

do I?
she said
yes
you said

and she kissed
your cheek
and you patted her
on the back

and she went off
to the kitchen
where her mum
was getting tea

and you heard her say
Benedict said I was pretty
that’s nice
her mother said

now ask Benedict
if he wants bread and jam
or bread and dripping
and you saw Helen’s

old doll Battered Betty
on an armchair
by the fireplace
staring at you

with that smile
on its face.

Fenola
*******

to Chopin
for Eileen

who lies spread
on the bed

concerto number 2
that would do

Eileen said
watching sweet

Fenola
removing

her clothing
first the blouse

the pink one
she had bought

that first date
next the skirt

the jet black
with matching

underwear
then the bra

removing
her fingers

holding up
before she

lets it drop
now she stands

gazing down
taking in

the spread of
the two thighs

the two soft
melon *******

the button
of her birth

and below
the *****

dark forest
covering

her queendom
of Eve land

she pauses
as Chopin

number 2
plays softer

and Eileen
hot moistens

Fenola
like some cat

stealthily
on all fours

her tongue out
licking up

the two thighs
her two paws

and soft claws
slow engage

the *******
as her lips

move in there
to that hot

queendom spot
to the cries

do not stop
do not stop.

She pretends
he's not there,

but he is,
over her,

making love
the third time

for that night,
she just there

legs apart,
empty heart,

he keen to,
making sounds

like a pig
in a trough,

his backside
rising up

and then down,
captured in

the moonlight,
she seeing

over his
broad shoulders.

Not his fault,
her husband,

dumb Brian,
she wishes

it was her
lover there,

dear Una,
from Dublin,

*******
softly her

******,
planting those

hot kisses
on places

Brian misses,
as she moves

over her,
******* her

not licking
as Brian

clumsy does.
O to be

with Una
in her bed

warm and close,
not with him,

dumb Brian
having ***,

getting there
once again

that sticky
***** dose.

Oh don’t worry about me
said Anne

as you pushed her
in the wheelchair

along the avenue
of trees

towards the small
summer house

I can give as good
as I get

you stopped outside
the summer house

I guess you can
you said

Just because
I’ve only the one

******* leg
doesn’t mean

I can’t stand
on my own foot

and she laughed
and rocked the wheelchair

and you watched
her shoulders rise

and fall
and then she said

Open the doors
of the summer house then

Skinny Boy
I don’t want to hang

around out here
like a ****** outside

a *****’s door
so you opened the doors

of the summer house
and wheeled her in

and closed the doors
behind you

and she breathed in
the warm air

Here will do
Anne said

and you set her
by the back

and waited
by her side

and looked down
at her black hair

and the pink blouse
and the way her head

tilted to one side
Well sit down

beside me then
don’t stand there

like a limp thingamabob
on a wedding night

Ok
you said

and pulled a small chair
next to her

and she put her hand
on your knee

and gave it a squeeze
and said

Just me and you Skinny Boy
you in your short trousers

and me in my pink blouse
and flowery dress

they insist I wear
so as not to show

off my stump
and you felt

her fingers ride
along your thigh

and you put your hand
over hers to stop

the journey
of her fingers

and she said
Getting romantic Skinny Boy?

want to have a grab
of my stump?

and she took hold
of your wrist

and placed your hand
on her leg

There you go
she said

have a feel
and there was a sudden

burst of sunlight
through the glass

of the summer house
and she kissed your cheek

and somewhere outside
in the grounds

children played
and some kid laughed

but her hand
held you fast

and so there getting hot
you stayed.

He holds the tiller
of the boat with
his left hand, white
pants and tee shirt,

boater just so, and
the young dame there
reclining to one side
dressed to the nines,

yakking away, hat
plonked on her head,
him thinking of the
one that got away,

his arms stretched
out wide kind of fish,
the other guys so
impressed when he

said, but the dame,
all she yaks of is how
long it for took her
to chose what to wear

and what went with
what, and does my
*** look ok in this?
or she talks of what

one of her next-door
neighbours said or
did or didn’t do or
she yaks of shoes

how she saw this
pair to die for O,
she says, you should
have seen them,

my eyes were oozing
eyes of joy just to see
them, but he, letting
her words drift by,

thinks of the boat he
almost bought, the
one he saw in port
the other day, god

how he loved it, the
size and colour, the
way it was set out in
the water, floating

there, bobbing slowly,
like some beautiful
dame ready for the
off.  Sea breeze moves

the boat, wind shifts
the sails, she still sitting
yakking, her lips opening
and closing, fish out of

water kind of thing, he
wonders why he brought
her along, why he didn’t
set sail alone, the whole

horizon of sea and sail,
and not her constant
yak and miserable moan.

Miryam slept
most of the way
through Paris
that evening

her head
on your shoulder
her eyes closed
like pink shells

her mouth
slightly ajar
an innocent
sleeping child

kind of look
on the coach
as it travelled
through the bright lights

and sights of Paris
Beethoven's
5th Piano Concerto
pouring

from the coach's
loudspeakers
you gazed
at her tight

red haired head
sense of her
laying there
a soft sound

of breathing
a barely felt sense
of her pulse
and feeling

that the most
important thing
at that moment
that pulse

that sound
of breathing
that the whole world
would cease

if she did
neither again
you lay back
your head

on the headrest
taking in the sights
the lights
people passing

street scenes
bars and cafés open
couples walking
arm in arm

a kissing couple
here and there
the second movement
of the Beethoven concerto

easing through
the coach
and looking down
at her hands folded

in her lap
as if they too slept
fingers holding
thumbs touching

her knees visible
where her skirt
rode up as she sat
and as you lay there

taking in
her being there
that eternal moment
sinking in

the Proustian connection
of her sleeping so
and the Beethoven episode
the piano easing out

and her head there
on your shoulder
rested childlike
and all or most

of desires kept at bay
seeing her lay so
like untouched
untrodden snow.

Della holds
tightly in
her stubby

nail bitten
8 fingers
a buttered

slice of toast
taking bites
now and then

then dips it
in the boiled
egg yoke deep

her mother
watches her
Downs daughter

with those kind
Mongoloid
bright blue eyes

how'd you sleep?
My eyes closed
Della says

sleep all night?
Yes all night
did you dream?

Had nightmare
what about?
Froggy's touch

what about
Froggy's touch?
I pretend

I'm asleep
why pretend?
If he thinks

I'm asleep
he won't touch
over much

he touches?
Touches me
tickles you?

Not always
but sometimes?
Della nods

eats her toast
her mother
looks at her

the wide mouth
the broad tongue
touches me

secret place
secret place?
Where abouts?

Della dips
the soldier
of sliced toast

in the yoke
of yellow
prods it down

and then out
and licks it
where abouts

does he touch?
Mother asks
secret place

Froggy says
mustn't tell
where abouts

Loadingdoes he touch?
Froggy said
cousin's can

where abouts
did he touch?
Mother asks

once again
Della stares
at her plate

of boiled egg
and sliced toast
thinking of

Froggy's touch
and promise
she had made

not to blab
(Froggy's word)
about it

the secret
touching place
it's nowhere

Della says
dreamed of it
in my sleep

are you sure?
Mother asks
Della nods

and dips toast
in the yoke
of the egg

thinking on
Froggy's touch
up her leg.

YOU DID WHAT?
Janice's gran shouted
I fired a bow and arrow
Janice repeated

fired a bow and arrow?
Janice nodded
she wasn't going
to repeat it again

she knew her gran
would go off
the deep end
if she told her

but she couldn't
tell a lie
it was too complex
and required

a good memory
but when her gran
asked her where
she'd been and what

she'd been doing
she had to tell the truth
even if  it meant
a spanking

where about?
Gran asked
the bomb site
on Meadow Row

Janice said
doubling her chances
of punishment
what have I told you

about bomb sites?
not to go there
Janice said timidly
who were you with?

Gran asked
eyeing her grand-daughter
with her beady eyes
Benedict

Janice replied
Benedict?
and it was his
bow and arrow?

Janice nodded
and does his mother
know he has one?
yes she gave him

the money for it
Janice said
her gran sat down
on a chair

which indicated
that punishment
was coming
and where did you

fire the arrow?
at a wall
Janice said
what wall?

Gran asked
of a bomb out house
Janice informed
her gran looked

at the floor
then up at Janice again
and why a wall?
Janice hesitated

then said
Benedict drew a man
on the wall
with a head and heart

to aim at
drew a man?
her gran said
with chalk

Janice added
her gran sat back
in the chair
her hands on her knees

Janice knew now
punishment
was certain
and wished she could

stretch the truth
as Benedict was able
her gran sighed
and gazed at her

well you've told the truth
can't punish you for that
but don't do it again
or next time

you'll know
what to expect
Janice took in
a deep breath

and nodded her head
as Gran got up
off the chair
and gave her a sturdy stare.

Your mother stood talking
With Mrs Clark after school
And you were kicking your
Heels waiting to get home
To your toys and games and
You gazed at Mrs Clark’s young
Daughter who poked her head
Out from around her mother’s
Wide *** and stared at you
Through thin wired spectacles
Which made her eyes large as
Fish in glass bowls and her hair
Was ribboned up in two plaits
Either side of her head giving
Her a stern expression and Mrs
Clark said Helen here has a crush
On your son or so she told me
After school yesterday and Mrs
Clark gave you a big smile like
A hippo coming out of water
And your mother said he never
Talks of girls and such all too
Busy with his toys and games
And shooting from his imaginary
Horse around the house and
Mrs Clark said well boys will
Be boys and girls be girls each
Playing games with their own
Toys and Helen poked out her
Tongue and a boss-eyed stare
God was you glad when your
Mother took you out of there.

You used to watch your mother
boiling the washing
in the steel copper
then heave it out  

with the wooden copper stick
and into the ringer
where you'd help
to pull it through

as it pushed out
the water
into a bowl underneath
you took in

her red hands
the steam rising
from her fingers
the sweat on brow

the tired gaze
the tied around apron
flowered blue
and yellow and white

and the red patterned top
black skirt
then you watched
as she leant back

and put her hands
to the small of her back
to ease the ache
and some days

( if bored with cowboy games
or too wet to go out)
you watched her
make a cake

in a mixing bowl
adding the ingredients
one by one
( giving you a handful

of dried fruit
if you asked)
and put the mixture
in a large round tin

and then place in the oven
with a sigh and run
her fingers through her
dark hair

on other  days
you'd watch her
iron clothes
( using the old iron

which had been heated
on the stove)
on the ironing board
running it over carefully

each item in turn
taking care
not to burn
and you liked to watch

the steam rise
like incense
before your eyes
back in the old days

when you were a boy
in short trousers
and white shirt
with that curious stare

but now your mother
the lady who laboured hard
has passed away
and those washed

and ironed clothes
and cakes
are no longer there.