The tree still stands
Where he kissed May
Mitewing that summer.

Dead now or dying the
Tree, but stands like a
Landmark to that kiss

And time and all that
Followed. What had
Happened to May after

That summer he couldn’t
Say, she went east with her
Parents, her old man some

Big Wheel in the business
Circus of things, and she
Tainted by what they did

After the kiss, the hay barn
**** and she panicking
She’d missed a flood, but

It all came well after a few
Days later and he having
Sweated that out in his

Room, felt relief come like
******* *****. He looks
At the tree now, remembering

Where once green leaves were,
Broken fingers and arms of
Branches are. He places his

Hand on the bark, senses
Where her tight *** was
Pressed and how the lips met

And he putting his hand on
Her waist, loving her young
Girl tongue taste. He has no

Idea where May is now or
If she lives or is dead or if
She remembers him and

The tree and kiss or hay
Barn romp, just touching
The tree, feeling the rough

Bark and wood, brings it
All back, all memory now,
Where they’d once stood.

Father died that year. So did
Bob Kennedy, although that
Was a different death, planned
Right down to the last dark detail.
But your father’s was more personal,
More hurtful, getting right into your
Bones and heart. You were sitting
In the doctor’s surgery with your
Father where he’d come about pains
In the chest and back, when some guy
Came in and said, Bob Kennedy’s dead,
Some ******’s shot him (excuse my French,
He added, there women being present).
There was muttering amongst the throng,
Whispers, coughs, splutters, then a silence
Deeper than awaiting death by your father’s
Elbow, seemingly deeper than Nietzsche’s
Haunting eyes. Your father said nothing
That you recall, but no doubt he felt the
Same sadness that most felt that day,
The waste of a life, a fine brain blown out
Like some candle in a dark room, another
Organized ***** out by some rogue element
Of government backrooms. Father died
That year unbeknown by the world at large
(As if it cared), but death was just as certain
And thorough when it came, sweeping him
Silently from the hospital ward, his link to
Life cut like a bloodied umbilical cord.

Baruch likes
Marvel's wife
he likes being

with her
likes her near
Marvel said

come over
come play chess
have a few drinks

a smoke or so
and so he has
and Marvel's wife is there

and she's got the drinks
and made up
some sandwiches

and sits nearby
watching the TV
and he sees her there

wearing the red dress
her dark hair
and when she walks

across the room
he catches sight
of her swaying ***

the tightness of the dress
where it holds
and he looks

half knowingly
so as not
to arouse Marvel's

suspicions
but little
does Marvel know

that Baruch has seen her
when he was out
on his job

little did he know
his wife has brought
Baruch in

got him a drink
and relaxed him
on the white sofa

shut the mutt
in the other room
and said

how do you like your drink?
and he said
cool

and so she got him
a cool drink
and swayed back to him  

leaning down towards him
easing down
her fine *******

towards him
and that time
when she was

all over him
kissing his neck
coming on strong

and the sofa
where Marvel's wife
sits now

has been a place
of serious love making
but Marvel thinks only

of the next chess move
his stubby fingers
moving his piece

thinking of checkmate
not seeing Baruch's eyes
on his wife

as she sits
on the white sofa
and Baruch takes in

her knees
the legs crossing over
Marvel smoking

his cigarette
smiling as he moves
his bishop

his eyes on the board
and his wife sitting there
behind his back

on the sofa
lying back
pointing to Baruch

her lonely cleavage
and he smiling
one eye

on the board
and on his queen
and the other eye

seeking an opening
in her dress
some visual

to take home
some dream piece
to take to bed

and turn around
and around
inside his head.

Jupp liked
the Whitmarsh girl
or so he said
hand at the side

of his mouth
whispered
as she walked
the corridor

from Maths room
to biology class
her friend the girl
with the teeth

like a horse
(Greenfield’s cruel
Description made)
Jupp eyed her greedily

her grey skirt
swaying
as she moved
the white socks

knee high
her hair in two
ribbon tied
bunches

he looked too shy
too outclassed
to make a move
you thought

from his ****** pose
and pitted flesh
I see her in my dreams
Jupp said

she likes me then
and speaks
Miss Whitmarsh
entered

the bio class
with friend
as you and Jupp
followed close

behind
what else
in his dreams
he does you

do not know
nor care
taking seats
with him

three desks away
him ******* up
his visual love
or lust

the former
you hope
and trust  
she took out

her flowered
pencil case
and unzipped
taking pen

and pencils out
and laid
on the desk
in front  

Jupp love ******
or drunk
sat eyes stuck
tongue protruding

the bio teacher
speaking
and pointing
lecturing

on some plant
she had
her red painted nail
moving along

is this love?
Jupp asked
this pain in chest
and heart?

you wondered
spying Miss Whitmarsh
if she had clue
of her secret lovers’ pain

or if she did
whether cared
or no
her pale features

her skinny frame
her slightly
pointed nose
which part it was

he loved
her all
or part
or all

of those?
who cared
you thought
or knows.

Benedict
sitting next
to Ingrid
on the grass

outside
Banks House
remembered one
of his female

junior school teachers
who always wore
short sleeved
flowered dresses

in summer  
and imagined
the dark hair
under her armpits

were small pets
she had secreted
into school
but when she

leaned over him
to check out
his school work
he thought  

that maybe
one of the secreted pets
had either
dirtied itself

or had died there
and he had to
hold his nose
the best way

he could
without appearing
disrespectful
or rude

blushing slightly
as if he had gone
to school
in the ****.

You ran your finger
along the spine

of books on your bookshelf
and took down

Betting on the Muse
by Charles Bukowski

and opened it
at random

reading the stories
and poem after poem

then having
nothing better to do

you got to page 292  
and a poem titled

the good soul
and laughed out loud

like a dog barking
in dead of night

and your shoulders shook
and your wife said

What’s so funny?
and you said

Oh just words
and she turned over

and back to sleep
and you put down

the book
beside the bed

and turned out
the light

laughing at the poem
inside your head.

James Dean died that year and Mother was in the loony bin as Father termed it but he wouldn’t take you or Joey to see her because he said There’s no point kids she sits staring at walls and talking to herself or gets abusive and comes out with the most choicest of words which I wouldn’t want you to hear and besides it’s too far for you to go on a weekend and you’d only get upset especially you Lizzie you’d be in tears before they shut the **** door of the ward and all those other drooling fools there and that was it you didn’t get to see her not a peek just what he said she did or said or didn’t say or do but you wanted so much to see her and have her touch your cheek and be home again and tuck you up in bed and tell you the stories that she used to do all sat up on the end of the bed reading from some book she had or making up stories right out of her head and you remember the time she sneaked you and Joey up some supper when Father said no you’d been bad and that you had to go to bed without any supper and be careful Christ didn’t send you to Hell and damnation but Mother brought the supper anyway and listened out in case Father came up but he never did he was too busy drinking or playing cards with the Smiths from across the fields who stank of ***** and sweat and laughed too loud and swore and smoke cheap cigarettes and so Mother’d sit on the end of the bed watching you eat and having that bright eyed look about her and that small smile she had when she thought you were happy but then she became odd and out of it and talked to people who weren’t there or went for long walks and got lost and the cops had to bring her back again and again and once she sat in the bath fully clothed saying she didn’t want Christ seeing her in **** or James Dean to touch her up with his ghostly fingers and so Father took her to see some quack who examined her and talked to her as best he could until she tried to gouge out his eyes with his pen and Father had to retrain her and hold her down on the floor until some auxiliaries from down the hospital hall came bounding in and suited her up in a jacket that tied at the back and you never saw her again after that morning with her getting into Father’s car with her dark eyes staring and two of her fingers giving an up you sign to the passing neighbours who stood open mouthed and tut-tutted and you and Joey watching the car go off and over the horizon like a crazy ship going out to sea with one lone captain and a wild eyed woman as his only crew and she looking back waving her two finger in the air at Joey and you.

Just as Minnie gets in the mood
to play the Debussy Violin

Sonata her mother says the
photographer is waiting and

so she has to go along to the
lounge and pose and have her

picture taken and as she stands
there with her violin dressed

to the nines the photographer
says no do not smile it cheapens

the effect and so she stiffens
her lips and stares at the young

photographer’s moustache and
her mother says do has the man

wants dear and don’t pout so
and so she ceases to pout and  

gazes at the box camera and man
hidden behind the cloth his hand

visible and do not move he says
hold it do not fidget dear her

mother says and puts her hands
on her shoulders and places her

in the position her mother thinks
the photographer wants is that it?

her mother asks the photographer
smiling in that way she smiles that

gives the impression of an imbecile
yes yes he says that is it and so she

stands as placed the sensation of
wanting to urinate suddenly upon

her and so she squeezes her thighs
together her knees touching her

hands gripping the violin trying
silently to keep the ***** in.

The nurse said
she's outside on the lawn
don't take her out
to the pub though

she's been banned
ok
you said
and trotted out

to the lawn
through the double doors
of the hospital
to where Julie

was sitting in a chair
by a white table
smoking
she was clothed

in a white dressing gown
and slippers
she sat with one leg
over the other

with one of her elbows
resting on the knee
did you bring me
any more ciggies?

she asked
when she saw you
yes
you said

and passed her the packet
you'd bought
at the railway station
thanks I am getting desperate

she said
I was on the point
of offering myself up
for a smoke earlier

but one of the porters
gave me one for nothing
cigarette that is
she said smiling

she put the packet
in the pocket
of her dressing gown
the nurse said

you'd been banned
from the pub
along the road
you said

Julie looked towards
the ward doors
which were open
to let in

the afternoon sunlight
and warmth
someone gave me a joint
and the landlord saw

and chucked us both out
and said I was banned
she inhaled deeply
on the cigarette

you saw how thin
she had become
her wrists seemed too thin
to hold her hands

she exhaled
now I can't have a drink
or **** or blow
my ****** nose

she ranted
looking at the horizon
of hospital buildings
and trees and sky

sorry about that
you said
not your fault
she said

I should have been more careful
should have said no
to a smoke of that ****
but I couldn't

she inhaled again
and you saw her thigh
where her dressing gown rose
as she moved her leg

it too had become thinner
are you eating properly?
you asked
you're becoming

like my father now
she said puffing out smoke
when he turns up
that is

you're thinner
you said
the hospital food is crap
she said

I'd rather starve
than eat some of it
she stubbed out
the cigarette ****

in an ashtray
on the table
looks like you have
you said

have you come to talk
about how thin I've become?
or to cheer me up?
to cheer you up

you said
she looked towards
the open ward doors
they've locked that cupboard

we went in last time
she said
do they suspect anything?
you asked

I guess so
she said
some of the nurses
make hints about it

call it the love room
just because they have a life
they deny me of one
you took out a cigarette

from a packet you had
in your pocket
and offered her one
and take one yourself

she lights hers
with a red lighter
then lights yours
you both sit smoking

sitting in silence
watching the smoke rise
she thinking
of another place to ****

you wondering how far
she'd fallen
from her middle class home
through drugs at some party

and the long ride down
the slippery *****
she thinking of no ***
no ***** no dope.

Greenfield lights up a cigarette
behind the metal work room
during recess

want a drag?
he asks

no I don't
I say

I can hear the other kids
in the play area
over the building
voices loud
laughter
girl's screaming
and shouting
from the their area
a fair bit away

where did you get
the ciggie?
I ask

I liberated it
from my mother's bag
he says with a smile
she won't miss it

he's shorter than I
plump with brown eyes
like conkers
he puffs away frantically

hate school
he says
all the ****** lessons
and teachers

Miss D isn't bad
I suggest
young with nice legs

not that young
he says
holding his cigarette
between *******
old enough
to be your mother
he says

only if she had me
very young
I say

what's it matter?
he says
she's still a brain teaser
he puffs away again

P.E. next
I remind him
football
or maybe hockey

sweat buckets either way
he says
puffing at me
who's the bit of skirt
who hangs about for you
by the school van?
he asks

just a girl
I say

that's it isn't it
just a girl
he says

the cigarette stuck
between lips

they're all the same
all thinking about
who to pick to marry
and have ****** kids by
and O god
I feel sick thinking
about it
best avoid them
he says

the cigarette hangs limp
from his lips

now ****** P.E.
he says
I'll tell Friggit
I’ve got gut ache

he presses the cigarette
against the wall
of the metal work room

best go then
I say

and as we go
I think of Jane
across the roof of building
in the girls' area
her dark eyes and hair
driving me to distraction
but not despair.

That was the next thing
she hated: the bleed,
the mess, the inconvenience.

And that also told her that,
for this month at least,
she’d ****** up and would
not be a mother. And having
got that good looking guy
that night, and she being at,
what she thought, was the
right moment. Time was slowly
running out. Tick tock of her
body clock. All that *** over
all those years (often making
it impossible to conceive) she
had decided at last that she
wanted a baby, wanted a small
part of herself to live on in another,
she wanted to be a mother.

Looking back she saw those
long passages of time where
all she wanted was a good lay,
a good looking guy who could
perform the act and bring her
to the moment of explosion
without all the I love you kind
of stuff or emotion. Now she
had aged, the body not quite
as it was, the lines beginning to
show, the bones less supple, and
the energy on a different level.

And as that young punk had said
after the office party lay, not bad,
we sure got to one another, but
you’re old enough, lady, to be
my mother. That had brought it
home to her, the time going,
The body beginning to fall apart.

Little less chance now to get a guy
or break his heart. Still there was
the monthly bleed. That meant
something surely, in her hope to
her new found end. Not this month
though; that was it, another wasted
****. Those young girls, she thought,
watching them pass, have no idea
how little time they have, I wish them
well, I wish them love, I wish them luck.

Fay sat opposite Naaman on the bus
from outside the cinema
to London Bridge
her fair hair tied

in a ponytail at the back
wearing the lime coloured dress
that Naaman liked
the white open sandals

touching at the toes
she was quiet
and looked out
the window

as the bus moved off
Naaman studied her profile
the way her hair
was drawn back

and tied with a black ribbon
her ear
with the small ear ring
her pale cheek

the eye blue
and gazing out
one hand over
the other on her lap

the nails clean
and neatly clipped
the bus stopped
and started

and people got off
and on
talking
staring

some standing
most sitting
when the bus
came to London Bridge

they got off
and crossed the road
and down by the Thames
where they stood

looking at the passing water
you’re quiet today
Naaman said
looking at her

beside him
her elbows resting
on the low stone wall
I was almost

not allowed to come
she said
why?
he said

because the nuns said
I hadn’t performed as well
as they had expected
in my tests at school

she said
and so what happened?
he asked
my father was adamant

I was to stay home
and work at my school work
she said
but my mother said

I could do that
when I came back
and that it was only fair
that I have some time

of relaxation
and that caused a row
and then after fuming
and slamming around

the house he relented
and said I could go out
providing the visit
to London Bridge

had some historical merit
and I said it had
and that I was going
with you

she paused
and looked away
at a sailing boat
going by

and then what?
Naaman asked
he wasn’t happy about that
she replied

but I said you knew history
of the Bridge
and were going
to show me things

and he said do you
have to go
with the Jew boy?
I said I liked you

and he said
but his lot killed Jesus
and so on
Naaman gazed

at her lips as she spoke
he liked the way
her lips moved
as she talked

her eyes were bright
with an inner anger
then what did he do or say?
Naaman asked

he said I could go
but if he heard
any bad reports
there’d be trouble

and to know
what to expect
she sighed
he knew what was meant

but said nothing
how about something
to eat and drink?
he asked

I’ve only got 1/-6d
she said
which my mother gave me
on the quiet

I’ve got money
he said
my mum gave me
for chores I did

so they walked along
the embankment
to a cafe
and ordered two cokes

and shared sandwiches
and sat and talked
and watched boats
and ships pass by

on the river
she dreading going home
to her father’s possible
chastisement

but not saying
he thinking
of the Roman fort
across the water

centuries before
she looking at Naaman
thinking of the kiss last time
now wanting it more.

Over the hills of Lough,
The boys go now
With their pockets

Full of promises;
And their heels kicking
The dust from their feet,

Like fathers pushing away
The years shown in their greying hair.
Listen. The voices carry.

The boys have shouldered
The labours of centuries;
And now over the hills of Lough

They go now,
With their caps
On their heads

And over the brow;
Leaving the girls
To their maidenhood

And the old men
Who once climbed
The hills, but soon

Came back again.

Monica rode her bike
to Benedict’s house
and waited there
for him to come home

after his morning shift
at work
then they both
walked down

to the espresso bar
by the iron
railway bridge
and ordered two coffees

and listened to Elvis
belting from the jukebox
never told my mother
where I was going

Monica said
why not?
Benedict asked
because she'd not let me

come otherwise
Monica said
why not?
he said

because she thinks
you're too old
I’m  only16
she knows I am

I’m the same age
as Jim
I know
but she thinks

I’m too young for you
but I’m 14
not some kid
in nappies

Monica said
so where
does she think
you are then?

she thinks I’ve gone
for a bike ride
what if someone
sees you with me?

what then?
she won't find out
Monica said
but if she does?

he said
I’ll just say I met you
while bike riding
and we had a coffee

and chat
he smiled
and shook his head
no wonder

she gets annoyed with you
well a girl's got to find
her freedom sometime
she said

he looked at her
sitting there
in her white top
and blue jeans

and pink socks
and open toed shoes
she had applied lipstick
probably borrowed

from her mother
he thought
where now then?
she asked

she drained her coffee
someone had put on
a Beatles' song
on the jukebox

you should have told
your mum
you were coming with me
then we could have gone

somewhere else
he said
we still can
she said

then she'll wonder
where you've got to
she won't
Monica said

she didn't look convinced
let's go back to your place
and see her
and I can explain

he said
not now
Monica said
next time

he frowned
OK
he said
let's go back to my place

and we can go ride
some place
OK
she said moodily

and they walked back
to his house
and got their bikes
and rode to the bridge

down the lane
and set down
the bikes by the hedge
and walked through

the woods
he thinking
of the Elvis Presley film
he could have taken her

to see
and she
thinking
of the last time

in the woods
when they kissed
and she wanted
that moment

of thrill again
and over head
the sound
of thunder

and beginning
of rain.

They what?
said Gran
they said we weren’t

to run around the rain shelter
you replied
did they now?

Well if you want to run  
around the rain shelter
my dears you run around

and up Gran got
and trotted around
to the couple

on the other side
of the circular
rain shelter

and words were said
and niceties exchanged
and the couple

got up and left
but Granddad had sat
where he was

staring out at
the grey mist
over the sea

the exchanging
of niceties was not for him
he preferred the colour

of the seaside town flowers
in a nearby bed
or the smell of the salty sea

and when you
and your sister
and Gran returned

to where he was sitting
he said
Sorted it then

and Gran said
Of course
and Granddad said

Good and looked at
the white hair
of his wife

and the grey/blue eyes
that stared fixedly at him
and her plump short stature

and added
I knew you’d see them off
you’ve got more bite

than the bleeding dog at home
and Gran laughed
and you

and your sister
went off to run around
the rain shelter

the grey mist
distorting the sea
and deserted beach

but not the sound
of gulls or sea
rushing on the shore

or of Gran standing
in front of the couple
hands on hips

a string of words
and angry sounds
coming from her lips.

I used to be a dancer
during World War 1
your paternal grandmother said

as she sat next to you
on the seat in her
back garden in London

and your grandfather
would come and watch
with his army friends

and afterwards
he’d come
to the stage door

with flowers or chocolates
or just stand there
with that awestruck look

on his face
and she looked
at the flowers

that your grandfather grew
along both sides
of the garden

and she smiled and said
Look at him now
sits in the same room

and says nothing
or moans about the bills
or how the country is run

or the noise of the traffic
by the front gate
and you sat there

on the seat
in the back garden
in your new suit

and with your hair
cropped short
and that fifteen year old

I’m bored as hell look
on your face and you said
Why did you give up dancing

you must have been good at it?
and as you looked
at your grandmother  

with her white frizzy hair
and stocky build
you couldn’t imagine her

as a dancer on a stage
with men gawping at her
especially not your soft spoken

quiet grandfather
who sat in his armchair
by the fireside

in a silent mood
occasionally reading a book
or giving that

I’ve seen too much
of mankind’s foolery
kind of look

and your grandmother said
Well after we got married
I fell for your uncle Fred

and beside I wasn’t that good
a dancer and your
grandfather didn’t want

a wife of his
to be peered at
or have her legs

gawked at
by other men
and then she was silent

and watched
a white butterfly
go by

fluttering its wings
but
she said softly

getting up
from the seat
and doing a small

Can Can dance
the shows not over
until the fat lady sings.

Sutcliffe walked
in a kind of shuffling his heels
kind of way
with hands in his pockets

and school tie undone
and hanging loose
you’d walked home
from school with him

as O’Brien was off
with dysentery
I find that pottery teacher
a bit of a ****

he said
the way he held up
your work
in that dismissive way

to show you up
you shrugged your shoulders
I hate rolling out
the messing clay

and I’ve no idea
how to make a pissy ***
than how to make
a pie like my mother’s

he’s a pockmarked
****** anyway
Sutcliffe said
and the fecking car

he drives to school
that red sports job
you came to the road
where Sutcliffe lived

and waited
I’ll surprise him one day
you said
I’ll make him

the fecking ***
he wants
Sutcliffe laughed
and shuffled up

the stairs to his flat
with a wave of his hand
and nod of his
blonde haired head

you walked over
the crossing
and down Meadow Row
by the bombed out houses

Ingrid was sitting
on the kerb
with her face
in her hands

she looked up
at the sound
of your approach
what’s a matter

with you sitting there
all glum?
you said
no one’s indoors

I’m locked out
she said
where’s your parents?
you asked

no idea
I knocked and knocked
but no one answered
she said

have to wait now
until they come back
when will that be?
you asked

God knows
she said
last time it was late
as they went to the races

and mum forgot
to leave me
the front door key
and I had to wait

out in the cold
on the stairs
until they got back
you should have knocked

at our door
Mum’d got you
something to eat
and you would

have been warm
by our fire
you said
didn’t want to disturb anyone

she said
she looked at the road
and closed her eyes
well come home

with me now
Mum won’t mind
and she’ll tell
your parents

where you are
when they get back
you said
he won’t like it

she said
tough *****
you said
she laughed

and got out
of the kerb
and stood
next to you

are you sure
your mum won’t mind?
of course she won’t
ok

she said
and you both walked down
Meadow Row
and crossed over

to the flats
through the Square
you knew your mum
wouldn’t mind

she knew Ingrid’s parents
and knew their ways
and faults
and his drunken voice

and pushed back hat
but as you walked
with Ingrid up the stairs
you never told her that.

She stood with you
under the trees

the rain falling hard
the Sunday church service

had been a wet affair
the walk home together

then the bus
to the end of the road

and she said
Is it ever going to stop?

her hair was limp
and hung over

her forehead
her eyes bright

her complexion white
Sure

you said
But I’ve built an ark

in the woods behind
just in case

and she laughed
and took your hand

and said
How any animals

have you got so far?
Couple of woodlice

and beetles
and the odd worm or so

and you smelt
the scent on her

the warmth
of her hand

in yours and you both
under the trees

out of the rain
but the drops fell through

You remember that time
we went to the hay barn

to keep out of the rain
and we were wet through

and took of our clothes
and lay in the hay?

she said
snuggling closer to you

No can’t say I do
you said

and she smack your arm
and said

Oh yes you do
and there was a break out

from the sun
through the branches

as if you say
I’ still here

I’m trying to get through
and she looked at you

and you smiled
and said

I can still smell the hay
and you lying there

beside me
and the damp clothes

hanging over the hay bale
and you and I close

and warmth
and then she put

her finger to her lips
and shushed you

and drops of rain
came onto her head

Let’s keep it kind of holy
she said

and kissed your damp ear
her lips like a blessing

soft skin on soft skin
and she moved away

and the rain eased
and you both moved out

into the woods
pleased.

Sorry about
your granddad’s death
Judith said
as you stood

beside her
by the pond
at the back
of the house

in the woods
the autumn sun
lighting up patches
of the water’s skin

it was sudden
you said
my uncle told me
she took

your hand
in hers
and squeezed
her soft skin

on yours
her thumb
rubbing
the back

of your hand
best remember him
as he was
she said

living and smiling
not some place
lying dead
you nodded

trying
to conjure up
when you’d
seen him last

sitting in
the back garden
of his house
months earlier

talking
of his flowers
he’d grown
from seed

his white hair
moved slightly
by the breeze
he liked my new suit

you said
thought it looked smart
she kissed your cheek
and said

hold on
to things
like that
your memories

place them
in a drawer
inside your head  
a jackdaw flew

across the skin
of the pond
the black and white
of wings and tail

reflected
in the water
below
what comes

from God
she whispered
whether
nature’s beauty

or ones
we love
will one day
sadly go.

After lessons at junior school
coming down the bricks stairs

Helen said
can I walk home with you?

Sure
you replied

and she set off with you
along St George’s Road

the traffic and smoke fumes
setting the scene

she in her school frock
and cardigan

and white ankle socks
beside you in your grey jacket

and grey short trousers
and she said

I don’t usually walk home alone
but mum said I can walk home

with you save her coming along
to the school with the other kids

and pram with baby
you took in

her two plaits of hair
and thin framed glasses

with large lens
which made her eyes

larger than they were
her small hands

by her side
a small school bag

over her shoulder
and did you know

Janice likes you?
Her grandmother

told my mother
the other day

after school
but I like you better

do you like me?
she asked

you noticed
she had small white teeth

with a thin brace
along the top

sure I do
you replied

I like Janice too
but you I like more

and she smiled
and put her right hand

in yours and squeezed it
and you smiled

but hoped none
of the other boys around

noticed the hand holding
after all a tough boy

has a reputation to maintain
and as you squeezed

her hand back
clouds darkened

and it started
to **** with rain.

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

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

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

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

I liked the shaking
of his tonsured head.

Miss Graham put on
the record player
a black LP

of some Beethoven stuff
and you and Reynard
sat at the back

of the class
writing down
other kids’ names

backward
or guessing
which girl

had the biggest ****
or had had their first kiss
and with whom

and Miss Snoot
down at the front
thin and gaunt

sat with her head
laying on
her folded arms

taking in
the music
her right finger

conducting
an invisible orchestra
her dark hair

brought tight
in a bunch
by a ribbon of green

and Reynard said
who'd kiss
her lips or cheek?

she's a titless wonder
he added
you wondered

how the music
had taken her
to some other place

how her finger moved
how her closed eyes
might one day

open on
an unexpected
husband

who would kiss
and do whatever
but Reynard had

undressed her
in his mind
describing each

and every article
of clothing he'd removed
and the music

had darkened
and grown heavier
and Miss Graham

scanned you all
through thin
framed spectacles

her eyes focusing
on Reynard
then you

then away again
and Miss Snoot
whose finger had retired

just lay there
seemingly asleep
like one too tired

whose thin frame
like one half starved
lay slightly in motion

to the music's drug
and despite
Reynard's rude words

beside in your ear
stirred in you
the odd desire

upon her cheek
and frame
to kiss and hug.

Women kissing each other
on cheeks the friends
meeting for coffee kind

not the passionate
let’s get to bed
and kiss

and indulge kind
but Henry wishes
the women at the coffee bar

were of that kind
just to break the boringness
of the day

just so he can get through
the hour without
the boring chitchat

of others around
on who was doing
what to whom

and who has just had
their kids in the right
kind of school

or whose husband
has made the grade
for body climbing

back stabbing promotion
oh if only
Henry thinks

that the dames
could embrace
and undress

and get down
to the woman to woman thing
right here

in the coffee bar
and he’d promise
he’d not spill a drop

of his latte
or faint
or look away.

Feel right here
Lizbeth says
pointing her

sensual
finger there
and she dreams

she's lying
on a beach
and he's there

Benedict
beside her
and she takes

his finger
and lets it
feel the place

she wants felt
like spreading
special cheese

and watching
it warming
slowly melt.

Ole would have loved
New York
he often said
he’d like to go

before untimely death
intervened
and stopped the show
I can see him now

treading at his own
casual pace
walking the sidewalks
taking in the streets

block by block
glancing down alleys
seeking out
the dives or clubs

hearing the music
in the smoky air
visiting a bar or two
having a beer

or Jameson whiskey
sitting on a bar stool
alone in his quiet manner
dressed in his black

overcoat
dark glasses
and black hat
(even in summer

he felt the cold)
maybe then
he was getting old
not saying

as was per norm
what troubled him
no one telling him
what to do

I can see him
go in the stores
and walk
in his usual

laid back tread
taking in a show
on Broadway
and being in spirit

not flesh and blood
getting in to see
for free
and that

would have brought on
his Mutley chuckle
that infamous Ole grin
or smile

but I guess
he may not
have gone alone
but have gone

with some other
in their ghostly shade
a Hendrix
or Jim Morrison

walking side by side
and I wish
it could have been me
there by his side

drinking in
his gentle quietness
and deep breath
if he hadn’t had

that sudden
out of the blue
untimely
29 year old death.

Chocolates and cigarettes?
Julie says

as you sit in a chair
opposite her

in the rest room
of the hospital

in the psychiatric ward
I thought you’d prefer them

to flowers
you reply

yes
she says

flowers tend to lie
heavy in my gut

and she smiles
and you look at her there

with her dark hair
long but dishevelled

I haven’t brushed my hair
or bathed yet

she says
seeing you look at her

but you can scrub my back
if you want

she says
watching you blush

best not
you say looking away

seeing out the window
a small garden

with summer flowers
but sensing

a slight movement
in your groin

at the mere thought
of her suggestion

how did you find me?
she asks

of all the hospitals
and all the wards

in this area
you managed to walk

into mine
she adds

you make me sound
like Bogart to Bacall

you say shyly
how about a drink later

down the road to the bar?
she says

You’re permitted to drink
while on drugs?

you ask
studying her eyes

and her lips slightly parted
only cola

she says pulling a face
but at least it gets me

out of this place
for an hour or so

you look at her
a small stirring

still taking place
between your thighs

there’s a small room
where they keep brooms

and brushes and such
where we can go

for a quickie
she says

looking at you
studiously

then breaking
into a laugh

at the sight
of your shocked face

some other time
you say

some other place
cigarette?

she asks
opening up

the pack you’d brought
you nod

and she hands you one
between her slim fingers

and you place it
between your lips

and she lights it
with a small red

plastic lighter
and you heave in

and feel the smoke
hit the back

of your throat
she inhales deep

and says
I prefer the ones

that make me float
and you see hollowness

open up in her
and her eyes

become wide open spaces
like cold winter skies.

You have his letters still,
you have tied the bundles
with string not ribbons as

he supposed. You have
read them many times,
sometimes in order of

composition, sometimes
in order of picking from
the bundle, randomly,

taking carefully from its
envelope and opening up
to scan the page or pages.

You keep his letters at the
back of your underwear
draw, kept in neat bundles,

hidden from view. His script
is small, neatly drawn across
the page, his words slant to

the left, as if they are tired
words unable to stand upright
as most words can or do.

Sometimes you read them
by your bedside lamp, your
eyes feasting themselves like

greedy children over candy.
Now and then you stop at a
word or phrase and drink it in

and swirl it around your mind
like an intoxicating mixture to
make drunk your thoughts.

He writes no more, his letters
are all that you have of him, the
ink fading with the age and time.

Since the last letter you write
others from him in your head,
ones he never sent, never wrote.
His hand is silent now, no more is said.

We were on the bomb site
off Meadow Row
Helen was re clothing
her doll Battered Betty

I was looking for small stones
for my catapult

over the way
by the coal wharf
coal men were loading up
the trucks
and horse drawn wagons

these clothes
have just about had it
she said
buttoning up
Betty's dress
at the back

Mum said she'd look for more
at the jumble sale
but Dad's not earning
as much at present
as he was off sick
she added  
sitting Betty
in an upright position

Helen was wearing
a dull grey dress
and white ankle socks
her thick lens glasses
made her eyes appear
larger than a were

I’ll ask my mother
if she can knit some
she's good at knitting
I said

maybe if I show her
she will know the size
Helen said

I picked up a handful
of small stones
and put them
in my trouser pocket

hope you're not
going to fire them at birds?
she said

no tin cans or bottles
I said
sometimes I stand tins
on top of each other
then shoot them off
one by one if I can

a boy near where I live
shoots birds
with his catapult
she said

I shot at a rat
on our balcony
the other week
I said
missed it
but it took off afterwards

she picked up Betty
and said
where we going?

let's go to the herbalist
and get some sarsaparilla
I said

and a liquorice stick too?
she asked

sure we will
I said
showing her the 1/-
my mother gave me
for doing chores

so we walked off
the bomb site
and across the New Kent Road
and down by
the railway station
towards the herbalist shop

she with her doll

and me with my catapult
sticking out
of my back pocket
and a pocketful
of small stones

she with her brown hair
in plaits

and me with my hair
plastered with Brylcreem

me thinking of seeing
a new cowboy film

she with her own
dolls house dream.

Lydia walked back
from the baker's shop
through the Square
carrying in her thin hands

the loaf of white bread
and half a dozen bread rolls
the 1/- change
from her mother's money

in her green dress pocket
her arms feeling
the chill of the morning air
the greying sky

the pigeons in flight
and she sensing
her stomach rumble
and her big sister

had just crept home
after a night out
(doing what
Lydia didn't know)

and her mother calling her
a *****( whatever that was)
and her father sleeping off
his beer

his snores vibrated
around the flat
and as she approached
her front door

Benedict came over
his cowboy hat
pushed back
his 6 shooter gun

tucked into the belt
of his blue jeans
been to the shop?
he asked

she stopped and nodded
early bird
catching the worm?
he added

bread not worm
she said smiling
she liked it
when he spoke to her

made her feel
kind of wanted
as if she were
of some worth

she liked it
when his hazel eyes
lit up
at the sight of her

how's your mother?
he asked
ok
she said

Benedict stood
and studied her
taking in
her plain green dress

the grey ankle socks
the black plimsolls
her skinny arms
and frame

are you allowed out later?
he asked
should think so
she said

where are you going?
she asked
thought we could catch a bus
to the West End

she frowned
where's that?
he smiled
up West

he said
you know Piccadilly
and Leicester Square
and such

she clutched
the bag of rolls
and the loaf of bread
tightly to her chest

isn't that far away?
a mere bus ride
he said
she looked doubtful

haven't money
she said
no problem
he said

I've enough for both of us
she looked
at her front door
best go in

or Mum'll wonder
where I've got to
he nodded
she moved towards the door

then stopped
and turned to him
see what they say
she said

Ok he said
look forward
to seeing you
she looked at him

that look
in his hazel eyes
that smile lingering
on his lips

like some show girl
waiting to come
on stage and perform
can I have a drink of cola

when we're out?
she asked
sure
he said

maybe ice cream too
they do that
soft oozy kind
up West

he said
her eyes lit up
and she smiled
Ok

she said
and just as she entered
the front door
he blew her

a young boy kiss
from his palm
and then turned
and rode off

across the Square
on his invisible horse
the coal black one
without saddle of course.

Moonbeams in your eyes
Revealing your labyrinth
I am lost there too.

And we used to go there
and it would be
evening time
and the train seemed

so slow
and the darkness
wrapped itself
about us

and the coast was wild
when we arrived
the sea rough
a wind tearing

into us
yet we stood gazing
out at the dark sea
and snuggled

into each other
against the wind
and you said
this is our place

this is where
we will always
remember
and your words

were carried away
by the wind's storm
and I recall
your hand in mine

your thumb rubbing
against the back
of my hand's skin
a thousand years

it seems
like the material
of dry
and wet dreams.

Bring him home
don't leave him

out in the cold
wrap him warm

clothe him
in his favourite

Man U
tee shirt

and blue
creased jeans

bring our son home
bring him back

from the far lands
the places

of failure
and disappointments

and flat lining heart
bring him

back home
let the bugler play

let him play alone
to reach

our broken hearts
and stir

our tired minds
lift up the blinds

let in the sun
let it warm

his cold hands
and ease

the closed lids
of his eyes

bring him back
bring back

our son
let him

be with us
once more

back
from the dark place

home
from the distant land

bring him home
as fast as you can

bring back our son
and special man.

Hornbridge likes to see girls undress.
But slowly. Their thin fingers and thumbs
Holding the cloth and taking off. Especially
The black negligee held just so. He fully
Dressed waits until the final article of
Clothing is removed and she stands gazing
At him with her bright expectant eyes.
He likes to have music in the background
Playing. Jazz or classic. Gerry Mulligan for
Some types or Mozart for others depending
On their breeding or class. Occasionally a Rock
Chick makes it through his defences and he
Puts on the Stones or something of their ilk.
He likes it when the girls place their hands on
Their hips as they wait for him to undress.
Yet there is always some disappointment.
Some flaw in either ******* or waist or legs
Or ***. Gloria spoilt him. Hard act to follow.
Those eyes. How he could swim there in that
Blue liquid of the two eyes. Those *******.
How could he ever forget them? His dear friends.
The way they would be waiting. Her hands soft
And warm and gentle touching him. And how
She loved to disrobe to the tones of a turned
Down Vivaldi from the hifi. Sad she left. Final
Curtain. Big cancer. No fond slow goodbye.

Anne put her crutches
by the table
on the lawn
and sat next to me

how's it going Kid?
ok
I said
what's for breakfast?

porridge or cereal
or toast
I said
no egg and bacon

and sausages?
she said
no
I said

**** me
she said
who eats toast
or porridge

or  cereals?
pass me a glass
and pour me
some of that

orange muck
I poured her
a glass of orange juice
and put it

by her hand
she sipped it
I've tasted better
she said

I want you
to push me
down to the beach
later Kid

can't stick
being stuck
with these other kids
they drive me

up the wall
with their
goody-two-shoes
nonsense with the nuns

especially Sister Paul
the stuck up *****
I looked back
towards the nursing home

other kids
were sitting about
other tables
and here and there

a nun was attending
to them
got any more wine gums
from your mother?

she asked me
no they've gone
Sister Bridget took them
to share

amongst the others
****** communist
she said
I looked at her

sitting in the chair
her one leg visible
the stump
of the other leg

hidden beneath
her blue dress
the dress had little
anchors and boats

on it
had your look Kid?
she said
you're always trying

to look at my stump
aren't you?
I can't help it
my eyes are drawn

to the missing leg
I said
she lifted her dress
and showed

the stump of leg
have a good look Kid
I looked at the stump
then looked away

towards the windows
of the nursing home
when do you want
to go to the beach?

I asked
as soon as I’ve had breakfast
she said
she pulled down

her dress to cover her stump
and sipped the juice
the red ribbon
in her dark

straight hair
had come loose.

The tattoo dame
on the tube train

young
skirted

tee-shirted
and those tattoos

all over her
(least where

you could see)
and the pressed up

people to you
the motion

of the train
bodies colliding

smells
odours

perfume
human sweat

and she swaying
holding a bag

between her legs
and you

wanting to snap her
on your

camera phone
but unable

to get
to your pocket

pressed in
from both sides

trying
to remember her

and the tattoos
and where

they were
and what of

and colours
and such

and she
looking down

not up
and the small ****

pressed in
the small cups.

If you were good and they thought
You’d be safe to walk along to the drugs
Hatch and pick up your own batch of mind
Snatchers, then that was ok, because
It meant they trusted you (fools) and you
Could wander along the corridors and gaze

At others who were on their own way to Hell
And back and sometimes not back at all,
But in some perpetual purgatory where
They were poked and tormented and maybe,
If lucky, purged and delivered sane
(What that meant no one said

Or maybe knew) but if they thought
You bad and unsafe, you’d not be
Allowed out of the locked ward,
But have to sit or wander around
And around the ward or adjoining
Rooms pulling faces at yourself in

Mirrors or windows, or arguing with
Others, nurses, or the quacks with
Their dark eyes and foreign accents,
Until the day’s light crept off,
And the night and lights out call,
And strange bedfellows came in

With the mutters and cries along
The watchtower where the night
Staff peered, sighed and smoked
And cursed and drugged you
And others (not themselves),
And too often joked amongst

Themselves like hyenas picking
Over some corpse; except these
Were alive, if living is what it was
They did, behind the tall walls
And high windows, with the endless
Hum of human voices, of the asylum.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One legged Anne
stormed across the lawn
on her crutches
and threw herself down

into a white chair
and tossed
her crutches aside
and said

**** the missing leg
the other children
put hands over
their ears

or hurried away
to a safer distance
or went play
on the swing

or slide across the way
you sat opposite
your mouth open
and your eyes

studying her face
her mouth still uttering
expletives frightening birds
in nearby trees

what’s a matter?
you asked
her words
still vibrating

in your ears
your brain trying to sort them
into correct departments
but failing

pain
she said
******* pain
in the leg

that isn’t there
I see
you said
watching her face

go from pale pink
to bright red
I doubt it
she said

and what
does Sister Paul say to me?
you are sharing
in the agony of Christ she said

you have been chosen
to share in his pains
you spotted dribble
escape her lips

her blue skirt
had ridden up
revealing a glimpse
of naked stump

where her leg had been
I’ve enough
of my own pain
Anne said

let him share his pain
with others who might welcome it
she exclaimed
muttering more expletives

sending a butterfly
in a different direction  
some say a pain shared
is a pain halved

you uttered
noticing how the stump
had been neatly sewn
leaving only

the smallest scar
had your eyeful?
she said
want to see more

of my stump?
and she yanked her skirt upward
revealing
her navy-blue underwear

there
she said
there have a good nose
why does it still hurt?

you asked
looking away
watching your sister
on the climbing frame

with the girl with burn scars
nerve endings
Anne muttered
or some such nonsense

so they say
you turned around
as she pulled down
her skirt

and stared you out
and you noticed
how beautiful
her eyes were

set in that angry face
like angel’s eyes
set in features
of one fallen from grace.

You think more
of Mr Eddington
her father said
than almost

anything else
and she knew she did  
but her father drew the line
at her having him in her bed

and her mother
wasn’t so keen either
I don’t want cat’s hairs
on the pillowcases

or on those sheets
or blankets
and so Mr Eddington
had to stay out

of her bed
and be content
to sit by the window
or on the window ledge

or on the small carpet
by the chest of drawers
and don’t feed
the **** cat

at the table
her father said
it isn’t polite
to have cat’s spittle

on your hands
while eating
and so she sat
on the chair

with one foot
on the stool
in that
I don’t give

a **** pose
and Mr Eddington
sat himself
comfortably

by the stool
and she sang him
one of those
Rock and Roll songs

she liked or recited
an Ezra Pound poem
which her father disliked
or she put her hands

behind her head
and whistled part
of an Elvis Presley song
which her mother said

wasn’t ladylike at all
and to sit like that
her father said
with your leg up

with underclothes showing
is just not on at all
now sit like a lady
would sit

he said
and there were times
Jezebel thought
she wished them

both dead
so long as Mr Eddington
was there
she just didn’t care.

In dark dreams
I walk again
those empty
hospital corridors

with their dull lights
and smell of disinfect
and death
in those dreams

I look for you again
my son
passing by
the blanks faces

of others
looking at
their eyes
for glimpses of life

or concern
or such  
as humans
sometimes have

I go by
room after room
pass porters
pushing

the occasional trolley
by the various
side wards
passing by

the bright lights
of hospital shops
in the dream
I am hoping

to find you once more
sitting there
on the bed
your back turned

your head lowered
but this time
I am hoping
for a healthier you

my son
not one so ill
so lost
in this dream

sunlight shines
through the window
of the small ward
a bird sings

not that dull curtain
the murmur
of voices
the usual limbo like

air about the place
this time my son
I wish to find you well
looking at me

with your own
familiar smile
not that haunted
expression

and tired eyes
that draw from me
a steam
of deep felt cries.

So I told her
Anne said
stomping around
on her crutches

like a demented Amazon
I told her
to go **** herself
Baruch blushed

at the word
his ears tingled
as if they’d been slapped
what did she say?

he asked
she said I’d go to Hell
for using words like that
Anne said

crutching herself down
by the children’s slide
and shooed away
the children playing there

I told her
I’d see her there
she added
Baruch scratched his head

what did Sister Paul
say to that?
she said
if she were my mother

she’d put me
over her knee
Anne laughed
and stomped over

to the children’s swing
where little Miss Sad
was sitting but who fled
as Anne approached

so you aren’t allowed
to go to the beach then?
Baruch asked
no Skinny Kid

or so she said
not to go
without a member of staff
he nodded his head

she pulled a face
he fiddled
with his fingers
she scratched

the stump of her leg
so what do we do?
he asked
his eyes caught

by the exposed
remaining part
of her leg
go to the beach

of course
she said
and stop gawking
at my stump

will you Kid
unless you want
to kiss it
he looked away

back at
the nursing home
behind them
what if she sees us?

she won’t
she couldn’t see a fly
on her nose
Anne retorted

but what if we get caught
down there?
he asked
think positive Kid

we won’t
they won’t miss us
no more than Sister Paul
misses ***

she said
Baruch hesitated
he hated getting
into trouble

felt uneasy
about the deed
shall I get
your wheelchair?

no then they will know
if you go wheeling that
across the grass
no we’ll walk out

the back gate stealthily
she said
he looked at her
and smiled

she stared back
towards the nursing home
he stared
where her stump hung

just beneath
the short skirt
then looked away quick
as she gazed at him

let’s go Kid
and she crutched herself
forward between
the avenue of trees  

and he followed
looking back
at the windows
of the home

wondering how many
eyes were there
but she was going on
at a determined rate

not caring a fig
leaving all things
to some unknown god
or fate.

She missed him
in her bed

missed the smell of him
the indentation

in the pillow
where his head lay

the silly
romantic things

he used to say
the kisses

on her body
every place

ending
on her face

but it wasn't
just the kisses

or the *** she missed
or the way

he fired her up
on entering her

the way
he did each time

no
she missed of all things

the deep joy
he brought

the kind
that only

happiness brings
she turned over

and gazed at the pillow
where his head

once lay
the missing indentation

the dark hair or two
the sight of him

smiling back
after having ***

another time
(he was never slack)

she felt
his absence

more so then
no ghostly smiles

or gazes
just the white

dumb pillow
laying there

smooth and silent
like a sleeping sheep

she ran her finger
along the bed

where once
his body lay

that is where
his **** would be

and there
is where

we made love
that last day

before his death
took him away

she sighed
the echo of it

filling the room
spreading out

each bit of space
sometimes

she thinks
he's still kissing her

first her body
then her face.

You met her in a field
beyond her house
during summer recess
that last one

before you both left
school for good
you'd walked
from the big wooden gate

by hedgerows
where birds sang
and flew out
pass you

sky blue
as if Monet
had been at work
my mother thinks

we've been doing things
she said
things?
you said

you know what I mean
she said
a steam train
passed by

over by the far hedge
we have
you said
I know and you know

but I don't want her
thinking we have
Judy said
you frowned

the white
and grey smoke
from the train
puffed

into the sky
so it's a kind of
knowledge thing?
you said

who's to know
and who isn't?
some people matter
she said

especially her
I’ll never hear
the last of it
if she thinks

we have
the grass was dry
and the earth hard
your shoes had seen better days

so we're here
in a field
where she could
possibly see us

and you're worrying
that she thinks
we have done things?
Judy sighed

and looked back
at the house
surrounded by fields
she's probably watching now

she said
following our movement
you looked back too
hands in the pockets

of your blue jeans
has she binoculars?
you said
not that I know

Judy said
doesn't matter
she has eyes
like a hawk

how are you
going to convince
we haven’t
done things?

you asked
she looked away
from the house
and sat on the grass

with you following
she sat cross legged
pulling the skirt
over her knees

spoilsport
you said
shouldn't look
didn't get a chance

too slow
she said
getting old
you smiled

I’m 14 like you
if that's too old
I'm Monet's aunt
she laughed

this isn't
solving the problem
she said
there isn't a problem

you said
just a matter
of perception
or not

as the case
is meant to be
what do you mean?
she said

your mother thinks
we have
and we have
yet you want her

not to think that
you replied
yes that's right
Judy said

maybe she wants
to think that
you said
why should she?

Judy asked
maybe she doesn't trust me
you said
she doesn't

Judy said
but she should trust me
you nodded
I see what you mean

so she should trust you
not to do such things
even when you have?
you said

it's the thought
that counts
she said
she put her hands

each side of her
on the grass
you could see
her cleavage

where her
blouse buttons
gave a little
yes

you said
it's the thought
that counts
and the thoughts

hung around
your head
wishing it
had not been

a hay barn
but a cosy
warm bed
instead.

Granddad had a front room
full of treasures

to your child’s eyes
from paintings of Madonnas

or other holies
to bowls of fruit

filling the room
with that applely smell

and vases
of all colours

and shapes
and only opened up

when Gran opened
the door on the way through

to the lounge
where your granddad sat

or when you managed
to steal a moment alone

while the elders
where busy

you opened the door
and gazed around

the room like
an Aladdin’s cave

the statues of spaniel dogs
or wiry cats

your ears listening
for the voices of the others

from the lower part
of the house

waiting in the doorway
your eyes wide

taking it all in
right down

to the smell of fruit
that filled the room

the half light
the dark shade

where another world
seemed to begin or end

until on hearing
your parent’s voice

or Granddad’s call
echoing along the hall.

You stood with Ingrid
on the grounds
at the back
of the bombed out

butcher’s shop
on Harper Road
she looked anxiously
about her

her eyes large
behind her
wire framed glasses
are we allowed to be here?

she said
I don’t suppose so
you replied
but who’s to know?

and you walked along
the broken up pathway
to the back
where there was a huge

refrigerator with the door open
she looked in
her hands holding
each other nervously

what if someone got locked in?
she said
the lock’s busted
you said

you can’t be locked in
she looked at the lock handle
which had been
broken off at the end

you peered
in the back door
of the shop
smelling the staleness

and damp and ****
where some old *****
had probably slept the night
or used it as a ******

what’s that smell?
she said
holding her nose
between finger

and thumb
some tramps
****** in here
I suspect

you said
he’s not still here is he?
she whispered
no he’s long gone

they don’t hang around
in daylight
you said
she didn’t look

convinced
and leaned close to you
taking your arm
don't worry

you said
I've got my six shooter
in my pocket
and you patted

your jacket pocket
she looked through the door
you moved inside
and took her with you

her hand clutching
your arm tighter
Holy Mary Mother God
you heard her whisper

you entered the shop
and looked around
at the empty shelves
and the discoloured slab

where they used
to cut up the meat
her hand gripped
you tightly

as you moved into
the passageway
she whispered more
holy words

her eyes large
her small fingers
almost white
on your arm

don’t worry
you said
I’ll not let anything
happen to you

she looked up the stairs
that led up
from the passageway
what’s up there?

she asked
bedrooms and living room
I expect
you said

you climbed the stairs slowly
she held your hand
following behind
you listened for any sounds

her breathing laboured
her hand tight in yours
at the top of the landing
there were three doors

and an open space
where there was a lavatory
and a broken sink
you took her in

through one of the doors
into a room
where the roof
had a huge hole

showing the sky
in the corner
was a discarded bed
with broken springs

and a wardrobe
with the doors hanging off
you took her
to the window

and looked out
onto Harper Road
you smelt her near you
that mixture

of peppermint
and dampness
like one not quite dried out
after rainfall

you both watched
the traffic go by
her hand rubbing
against yours

her 9year old skin
against your
9 year old skin
Innocent as daisies

no sense of trespass
or grasp of sin.

Jane opened her hands
and the butterfly
fluttered off

across the grass
and you watched
and she told you

what its name was
and its colouring
but you

were more focused
on her hands
the fingers held so

as if Michaelangelo
might have
painted them

in a creative urge
to pin down
an example

of beauty
and as her voice
spoke on

you saw the hands
come together
and embrace

and caress
each other
as you both walked

along the lane
between
high hedges

first this finger pointed
then that
gesturing towards

this flower
then that
names came

and colouring
and her voice sang
as she talked

the words
being flung
in the air

like a juggler's *****
and you reached out
to catch each word

and place
its meaning
but her eyes

caught you
the colour
the brightness

and fires flamed there
and they grow
only here

she said
so I’ve read
her words said

and the lips parted
just to allow
words to go

like busy bees
to work
and the glimpse

of teeth and tongue
and what do you think?
she said

beautiful stuff
you replied
not quite

the words
you wished for
but which came

like lazy boy's
to school
they are

she said smiling
her hands parting
one reaching

for yours
O that
may have been Heaven

for all you knew
a bright
sun-blessed smile
out of the blue.

We sat in Victoria Train Station
watching the steam trains
coming and going
on the platforms

and watching passengers
getting on and off the trains
and wondered where
they had been or where

they were going
I'd liked to go to Scotland
Lydia said
see men in kilts

and eat haggis
and see Edinburgh Castle
maybe you will one day
I said

get a train
and off you'll go
can I go from here?
she asked

no Kings Cross train station
I said
can we go there next time?
she asked

sure we can
I said
I watched a man
in a bowler hat

rush past us
as we sat
on one of the seats
on the platform

he looks in a hurry
I said
wonder where
he's off to

to his office I expect
Lydia said
come from the country
maybe up here to London

the man had a brief case
black as soot
and he was rushing
like he had the squirts

I love the smell
of the trains
Lydia said
the sound of the steam

pushing out everywhere
me too
I said
I breathed it in

like it was perfume
I was sniffing
what did your mum say
when you said

you were going
to Victoria with me
this morning?
she said what are you

going there for?
to watch the trains
I said
and she said

what a queer couple
we were
she didn't know other
9 year olds who'd want

to watch trains all day
and my brother Hemmy
said we were queer
and went off laughing

then Mum said
you be careful of the trains
and don't fall off the platform
I wondered why she

gave me a funny look
this morning when
I called for you
I said

she nodded
and we watched more
trains coming and going
and she talked

of her sister
and her sister's boyfriend
sleeping in her room
and she being stuck

in the cot bed
which was
too small for her
and how her sister

and her boyfriend
made giggling noises
in the dark
and other sounds

let's go get a glass of milk
and share some sandwiches
I said
so we walked along

to the main part
of the station
and bought two
glasses of milk

and ate the sandwiches
my mother had made
and sat on one
of the seats

and watched the trains
coming and going
and saw one woman rushing past
with her white slip showing.

As you sit down
Poised to write a
Poem on your

Sister’s old black
Typewriter, a
Ghostly Mr

Bukowski comes
And puts his hand
On your shoulder;

He’s puffing hard
On a phantom
Cigarette and

Leaning, scanning
The page and what
You’ve written so

Far. You’ve written
Nothing about
*****, broads or cats,

He says, dropping
Ghostly ash on
The new carpet,

Not a word here
About *** or
Bets or getting

Drunk, he adds, then
Inhaling deep,
Coughing, wheezing,

Squeezing your thin
Shoulder, letting
Off a puffy

Phantom ****. You
Need to tell the
Reader things to

Get them to turn
The page, get them
To want to drink

Or ****, he says.
It’s my poem,
Bukowski, you

Reply, but he
Has gone now, the
Room is chilly,

The carpet has
Ghostly ash and
Your glass of white

Wine is empty.
You sit there poised
Over the old

Typewriter, the
Poem half done,
Half waiting to

Be written, the
Fingers itching
To be done. If

Bukowski comes
Again, he can
Write the next new

Poem, he can
Write the next one.

There was fresh flowers
on the grave
that Jane showed you
outside the small church  

the sun was warm
and cows
were just over
the hedge surrounding

you could hear them
munching the grass
and trotting by
unconcerned by death

or the symbols
of death
and Jane said
the tractor fell

on top of him
the other month
you stared
at the flowers laid there

colourful
bright in the sunlight
a small glass vase
holding a smaller bunch

child picked maybe
they'll have to
move out now
that he's dead

it being
a tied cottage
she said
and you could see

the sadness
in her features
the tearful eyes
mouth slightly open

words like
broken china pieces
where will they go
the mother and children?

you asked
the local council
will house them
I expect

she said
she gazed at the grave
and bent
and picked up

a small flower
from the nearby grass
and laid it
by the other flowers

God bless him
in His peace
she said softly
the cows

stilled munch
over the hedge
a bird called
from the hedgerow

you looked at her
standing there
a blue ribbon
in her dark hair

her green top
and black skirt
knee length
sad end

you said
yes
one of the dangers
of farming

she said quietly
she moved away
and you followed
and she held out a hand

and you took it
and went
into the small church
and sat

in one of the pews
inside and stared
at the stained glass windows
sunlight pouring in

like liquid gold
touching
the flagstone floor
and pew end

at the front
and her hand
still held yours
warm

alive
blood pumping
along arteries
life and living

and she and you
and outside
he sleeping
in his God's peace

and the cows
munching the grass
and birds calling
from hedgerows

and sky
and always
with you
the eternal why.

Sunlight settles on the
table where Dottie writes.

Her journal records the days
since Willie left, the effects
it has had, her migraines,
the sickness, the stomach
pains, the blood loss.

She writes slowly, neat
and lucid, the pen tight
between finger and thumb.

She pauses, looks at the sunlight,
how the beams seem to dance
upon the cloth, she ***** the end
of the pen, her tongue sensing
the smoothness and plasticness.

She will write of the roses,
how they have grown, the red
like blood, the blood like that
on the sheet before the wash.

She misses her brother, his
departure to fetch Sammy
has pained her, causes her
loss of sleep, despite sleeping
in his bed, caressing his pillow.

She writes again, the pen nib
moving over the journal’s page,
her eyes watching the flow,
the words settling on the paper,
the words holding the images,
the images for him, for Willie
to read and have on his return.

A bird song, she ***** an ear,
outside nearby, a robin, she
closes her eyes, grasps the sound,
turns it around in her mind.

She will write that down,
he likes birdsong, loves the
songs, the call of the wild.

She opens her eyes, begins
to write once more, she wants
to cry, pushes her eyes tight
to stop tears hitting the page.

Through teary eyes sees
the sunbeams dance on
what seems like water on
the patterned cloth, she
remembers Willie laying
his head down there once
side ways on and gazing at
her as deep fond lovers may.

She puts down her black pen,
she will write no more today.