You saw Christina
and a few

of her giggling
school friends

in one
of the school corridors

in between
maths and biology

she
looked at you

her eyes shy
and yet searching

and her friends
unnoticing

how feelings moved
or what

was inwardly touched  
some electric shock

pulsed through you
stood hair on end

or so it seemed
she in her green skirt

and white blouse
and ankle socks

with sight of flesh
as she moved

and you
in your dull grey

and black shoes
seeking to take

what image
of her

you could
to your dreams

to hold at night
and not a word

there was spent
or exchanged

or feelings unloaded
or spread

except whatever raced
like some runner

in your head
and she

in hers no doubt
wondering afterwards

what this love
bringing together

and separating
was all about.

Miriam stands
by the camel

an Arab stands nearby
unimpressed
he holds a rope
tied to the camel

she smiles at me
with my camera

her red bikini
showing more legs
and arms
than the Arab guy
feels comfortable with

I aim
to get her central
her explosion
of red hair
matching that
of the bikini

she fiddles
with her shoulder strap

I wait
eyeing her
through the viewer
focusing
on her *******
as the centrepiece
everything else
to match around

avoiding to get
the Arab in the picture
but it's hard
as he seems to move
closer to her
as I aim once more
he says something
in Arabic
nods to her

I shrug my shoulders

she smiles at him

he moves in closer
his head leaning
to one side
as if someone
has broken his neck

she adjusts the bra
of the bikini
gets it comfortable

I look away from her
hold the camera
by my chest

when you're ready
I say

she does a twirl
in the sand
and back again
facing me

the sands hot
she says
burning my feet

well wear your slip-ons
I say

she goes to her bag
by the camel's back
and takes out
her slip-ons
and puts them on
the Arab watches her
with a dull eyed stare

she comes to the spot
on the sand
where she had been standing
and poses again

the camel seems bored
and looks
at the Arab
then at Miriam
then out to sea

I focus on her again
through the viewer
of the camera
she pouts her lips
puts her hands
on her hips  

I put the camera
by my chest

need to focus
no silly faces
or whorish gestures
I say

another Arab
a companion
to the other
passes by
gawking at Miriam
then stands by
the other Arab
then they both
look towards me

hope these to guys
don't want paying
she says

they usually do
I say
now settle
and pose

she poses her face
a weak smile
her eyes gazing
straight at me

where shall I put
my hands?
she asks

that's what you asked
last night
I say

she giggles
and stands
on one leg
the other trying
to balance her

pose now
I say

she puts both feet
on the sand
and becomes still
her hands in front
of her groin
as if she were praying

the Arab guys
were jabbering away
God knows what
they were saying.

And she likes to ride
on the swing and rise
higher and higher and
see beyond the hedges

and see houses and trees
and people passing
and wonders if it’s always
so and as she rises higher

her hands gripping the
ropes of the swing she
feels her stomach turn
and turn and remembers

when her mother’s new
boyfriend pushed her
on the swing a few years
ago how he would say

how high you want to
go Celia? and he’d push
her higher and higher
and she called out I’m

frightened slow me down
but he just stood there
laughing and waving his
hands and gawking at her

legs as she went up and
down and she tried to slow
herself down but he just
pushed her high again and

she said I’ll tell on you
pushing me too high but
he just shook his head
and pushed her instead

and then once he felt he
wanted to he pulled on
her ropes and slowed her
down and put his hands

on her thighs and squeezed
and held her there for a
moment or two staring
into her eyes and said that

wasn’t too bad was it?
And he grinned and she
wanted to say something
to her mother but never did

and when she got home
she said nothing and just
went to her room and stared
out at the park with its swings

and slides and the innocent
children laughing and smiling
and full of joy unaware as
she was then and knows now

how touches and suggestions  
can end the innocence of
childhood in a single moment
once and for all and to no good.

Milka wanted Benedict
to take her across
old Tom Dubbin’s bed,
(the old boy was down stairs

in the lounge
waiting for death);
she’d put aside
her mop and bucket,

unbuttoned
her light blue
overalls,
but Benedict

had refused,
said it wasn’t
the time or place.  
But still she lay,

her blouse undone,
her skirt hitched up,
pouting her lips.
They won’t miss you

for a short while,
she said, besides
who will know?
Benedict tidied

the sink, washed
away the spit
from the old boy’s mug,
straightened the towels.

I could always scream
and say you wanted
to take me here,
she said.

He pulled back
the yellow curtains,
opened up
the windows.

For everything
there’s a season,
he said,
this is not it.

What if I say
you pushed me
on the bed?
she said.

They know you,
Benedict said,
they think you’re a
***** anyway;

they know me,
know what I’m like
and will say, no way.
Milka got off the bed,

pulled down
her skirt
and buttoned up
her blouse,

tidied her
blonde hair.
One day you will,
she said,

one day.
Maybe, he said,
one day, yet in
his mind or in sleep

at night, he often had,
taken her,
as she called it,
across some

old boy’s bed,
but so far not
for real, just inside
his young man’s head.

It was mid term break
from school and she met you
at the back of your house

down by the small pond
you both called the pool
where you could sit

and watch ducks swim
and birds sing
in nearby bushes

and she said
I’ve just read about some nuns
who wear clothing

when they bath
so that God
can’t see them naked

a magpie flew by
and you noticed
how difficult it was

to tell
its wing from tail
and you said

Would God be interested
in seeing naked nuns?
she gazed over

at the trees
on the other side
of the pool

her blue eyes
catching sunlight
Well they obviously thought so

she said
and she lay back
on the grassy bank

and you lay beside her
and she put out a hand
and her fingers

touched yours
and you lifted up
her hand and kissed it

and it tasted of soap
as if you’d dived
into her bathwater

and swam
between her thighs
How sweet you are

she said as you let
her hand go
and she held it

and looked at it
then a blackbird
swooped across the pool

noisily and broke
the momentarily magic
and she said laughing

You don’t know
where my hand
may have been

and you taking in
the sunlight dancing
in her big blue eyes

Maybe not
you replied
not telling her

what
in your dream
you’d seen.

Even when Jodrig
fails to show

for the promised date
or comes

on the wrong day
or comes too late

Tibbles never
lets her down

he comforts
with his rough tongue

on her smooth thigh
or gazes at her

with his one good
and one closed eye

or purrs her
to happiness

even if her life’s a mess
or she depressed

he seems to know
the time to snuggle

his head against
her breast

or simply lay his paw
upon her open jaw

but when Jodrig
gets it right

and stays the night
for nightcap

or night love
then snores to sleep

Tibbles moves between
he and she

and snuggles down
where he’s meant to be.

Hadasa
deflowered
lay smiling

on the floor
of the gym
amongst ropes

P.E. mats
skipping ropes
behind thick

black curtains
we listen
for voices

coming near
the gym door
or anyone

entering
from outside
no one comes

in recess
she tells me
the teacher

of P.E.
never comes
she goes home

I am glad
this moment
would be spoilt

if someone
came in now
I reply

she puts her
underclothes
back on slow

savouring
the moment
of freedom

I pull up
and zip up
then we lay

looking up
at the gym
what would we

have done if
they'd come in?
she asks me

I don't know
I reply
but I do

imagine
us frozen
laying there

you beneath
my body
me on top

backside bare.

You sit in the Common Room
of the guest house
in the abbey.

The room is silent
except for the chime
of the clock
in the clock tower
every seven and a half minutes.

You look about the room
at the old battered sofas
and the odd chair here and there
and the bookcases stuffed
with Catholic books written
by abbots and priests
about prayer or God
or words of Christ.

You had read one
about the Lord’s Prayer.
Line by line. The meaning.
There’s a knock at the door.

Father Joe enters
and puts his head around
the door and smiles.

He enters the room
and closes the door
after him quietly.

He says
Father Abbot says
you can come
next September
to try your vocation
and he hugs you
and you almost drown
in the black serge
of his stained habit
and you mutter
Thank you thank God
and Oh that’s good news
and he holds you back
to get a good look at you.

Yes he says it’s the will of God.
I knew you had that something
the first time I saw you.

And you smile and feel
as if your feet are off the ground
as if you’d grown wings and could fly.

Well says Father Joe
I must be off
I have others to see
and talk to but I‘ll see you
tomorrow after mass.

And he’s gone
and the room is silent again.

You sit and feel the history
of the room embrace you.

The clock chimes the hour.

The ghosts have gone now.

The monk’s cemetery
is full of them.

You’d seen their graves
and tombstones earlier
in the day. The familiar names.

And amongst them
beneath the leaf
covered ground
Father Joe
lays silent and still now
making no sound.

She invited Joey
to her apartment
on the second floor

and as she opened the door
her dog came
barking along the hall

Shut up Bonaparte
she said
Go away

and the mutt walked back
with its tail
between its legs

to its basket
under the table
and she ushered Joey in

and closed the door behind her
and said
What would you like to drink?

tea coffee coke beer?
Coke will be fine
he said

and she told him
to go sit in the lounge
and once he sat down

he looked around the room
and on the small table
by the sofa where he sat

was a photograph of her
and her husband
taken on their wedding day

she dressed in white
and smiling
and he in a black suit

like a hit man
in a mobster movie
and she came in

with his coke
and set it on the table
by the sofa

and then went out again
swaying her behind
which made him smile

then she was back
with a tall glass
of white wine

and she set it down
on the table beside him
and sat down

and began talking
about the night
he had met her

and her husband
in the bar in town
and how she had invited

him over to meet her husband
and he had bought them
both a drink

and while her husband
talked to his friend
she had flirted with him

and made him laugh
and how after that
they’d all meet

on Friday evenings
in the same bar
and her husband

had invited him
to their place
to play chess

and he remembered
how he used to play chess
holding off letting

her husband win
so he could stay longer
and see her more often

and then she leaned over
to get her drink
and she put one hand

on his thigh
and reached over
for her wine

and he smelt her scent
and the brush of her hair
as she leaned over him

and having her glass
she leaned back
her hand still resting

on his thigh
and that look of mischief
burning in her eye.

You don’t want to go
With that kind of woman,
Henry’s mother said.
What kind of woman

is that? Henry asked.
The kind that offer
themselves to men
who are not their

husbands, his mother
replied, sitting back
in the soft chair by
the fireplace, joining

her fingers, forming
what she used to call
her church. Henry watched
her church form of finger

forming, his eyes sliding
over his mother’s dyed
hair, the grey streaks,
the nose, the thin red

painted lips. But isn’t
that kind of women
providing a service?
Henry asked, walking

to the window, watching
his father mowing the
lawn, sweat on the brow,
the eyes dead looking.

Service? His mother said,
her tone icy, Service?
She repeated, that’s not
service, Henry that’s sin.

S.I.N. Henry raised his
eyebrows, there was in
the pocket of his pants,
a pack of fives, unused

as yet. Oh, Henry said,
Duncan Smold had this
woman in the back of
his car, he called it hard

smooching or some such
word. Henry’s mother
eyed him closely, her eyes
narrowing. Then he sinned,

Henry, he sinned, she said,
pushing a hand through
her hair, her features going
red. Oh, right, Henry said,

I’ll tell Duncan next time
he’s in his car with some
woman in the back, that
he’s sinning, Henry turned

away, he didn’t want his
mother to see him grinning.

It was Saturday morning
and Fay stood beside you

on the balcony of the flats
looking over the Square

she pointed at the baker
and his horse drawn cart

down by the wall below
my daddy says he’s Jewish

she said
those who asked

for the death of Christ
you followed the baker

as he made his way to the stairs
carrying his bread basket

I don’t think he was involved
you said watching the baker

until he disappeared up the stairs
she looked right over the balcony

gripping the brick wall
with her hands

I don’t think he’s Jewish at all
she said letting her feet

drop back on the floor
and it doesn’t matter if he is

I think he’s a nice man
she added

looking at you
with her bright blue eyes

and you gazed at her
standing there

her flowered dress
colourful and coming

just below her knees
her battered sandals

having seen
better days

and her fair hair
tied into a ponytail

at the back
she looked over

the balcony again
I like to feed his horse

with sugar cubes
I get from home

she said thoughtfully
you lean over the balcony

beside her
your elbow touching hers

the pulse of her being
vibrating into your arm

you imagine
don’t your parents mind

you taking their sugar?
you asked

she looked guiltily away
they don’t know

she said softly
daddy would punish

if he knew
she paused and then said

you won’t tell them will you?
the baker came along

the balcony behind you both
whistling happily

of course not
you said

taking in her
trembling jaw line

her blue eyes
and her lips slightly open

her words gone
it’s a nice day  

the baker called
yes

you both replied
I don’t think he’s Jewish

she said
anyway.

Christina sat next to you
on the school playing fields
the summer day was hot

and she sat there
cross-legged
her school skirt

touching on her knees
and you looked beyond her
wondering if the girl

who had kissed you
at Christmas
while carol singing

was looking over at you
from a group of girls
across the way

I wish I had
my bathing costume on
Christina said

so do I
you said looking back
at her taking in

her white knees
catching the summer sun
she giggled and looked away

did Cedric tell you about me
and what I told him?
she asked

her profile
like some Renoir girl
yes

you said
remembering Cedric’s words
and his blushing face

he seemed put out
you added
you don’t want to worry

about Cedric
she said
he hates me getting into boys

as she said this
you looked over
at the girl who kissed you

and she was staring
over at you and Christina
and seemed annoyed

and as you gazed at her
you still felt that kiss
on your lips

and that embrace
in the moonlight
and Christina touched

your knee
and said
if you want privacy

we can always go up
into the woods by the fence
and you said

did you hear about Brilton
the teacher of English?
No

she said
what?
he’s been sacked

why? she asked
running her hand
along your thigh

for taking boys home
in the lunch period
you said

oh
she said
removing her hand

what for?
You looked
at her knees

in the sunlight
how the light
seemed to warm them

no idea
you said
and you looked away

with a picture
of her knees
carried in your head.

He loved you,
Bronwen; he
Said you came
Into his
Life like a
Brass band down
A parade

With your bold
Buxom fine
Figure, your
Big bright eyes
Shining at
Him like large
Lamps breaking

Into the
Darkness of
His dreary
Life. He loved
You, Bronwen,
When you kissed
His bearded

Cheek and you
Giggled like
Some silly
Schoolgirl who’d
Been tickled
Until a
Torrent of

Tears flooded
Your blue blouse,
And he loved
The way you
Took his hand
In yours and
Held it to

Your lovely
Big *****
And blessed it
With the touch
Of your lips
And sent a
Wow making

Wave of touch
Tingling
Electric
Along his
Arm right to
His broken
Heart and head.

He misses
You, Bronwen;
He misses
Your kisses
And love, now
That you are
Lost and dead.

She sits beside Finbar, he
knows she’s there, sitting
there staring into air. That
silly hat perched on the top

of her head of hair, white,
seen better days, he thinks,
not says. He puffs his pipe,
bitter tongue taste, smoke

hitting lungs, head light, he
exhales the smoke. Had he
been younger, fitter maybe,
he might have given her a try,

been romantic, said the things
one says to the fair ***. But
he’s past that now, going to
seed as his old father would

have said. He can smell her
cheap perfume, wonders how
she moves, what her talents
are, what makes her brain tick.

Her silence is unnatural for a
female, never short of a word,
seldom rest the tongue, but she
just sits and stares, her silence

like a cloak. Her glass is there
untouched, the wine near the
rim, no lipstick marks, no spittle.
Had he been younger, in his

youth, he’d have made a play
for her, given it a try, seen how
she spread herself on the bed,
but not now, he’d lost the know

how. He inhales, bitter tongue
touch, smoke in the throat. She
sips from the wine, her pink lips
touching the glasses’ rim, her

fingers holding the glass. He
wonders what lies beneath that
dull coloured dress, what her
underwear, the colour, the shape

and size, how soft she was to feel
and touch, how she’d return his
want of feeling, his fires that burn.
Hush hush man, his inner voice

says, ******* on the pipe, exhaling
the smoke in the air and she just
sitting sipping, staring into air.

And would that be it?
would that be how
it was with him?

And to think
it was as if
nothing was wrong

and that maybe
there would be
another day
to follow

and he'd
be there still
and rain would fall
and clear
and the sun
would come out
and shine
as it often did

and the people
on the ward
would be kinder
to each other
or not
as the case turned out

but I thought things
would be fine
and that he'd be
there all

sitting upright
and happy
and that I'd
bring him home

but it was not
that way at all
he sat there
kind of hunched over
catching his breath
puffed and bluey dark

and I asked
the questions
he said
and seemed so calm
and not uptight

as if it was
always like this
the hands and arms
the skin
the eyes looking
but not doing so

and looking back
there was lingering
unknown to us
over his shoulder maybe
pushing out
his breath
silently
that sinister
unseen
slippery death.

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

for me
I look
at the new shoes
brown like new

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

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

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

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

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

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

matinee yesterday
and that boy
attacking you
with that knife

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and guess what?
she says
I have two
shiny pennies

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

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

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

of the day
and she smiles
and that smile
blows me

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

Floptin sits outside
the cafe on the mall

and watches the three
plump dames sitting nearby

one slightly plumper
than the others

and as he stares
it reminds him

of his first lady
the one who showed him

the ropes of sexuality
who ****** away

his innocence one night
and he recalls

how liberated
he felt back then

how her plump flesh
flapped against him

and the sound was like
nothing he had heard before

and she said to him
sweet boy

you’re a man now
you can tell your friends

you have made the grade
and now sitting at the cafe

on the mall
watching the plump dames

feeding her mouths
their chins moving

their eyes excited
their voices booming

and their laughter
****** and loud

and looking at
the plumpest dame

how her hair
was pulled back

so and so
he smiles to himself

and wonders how
she’d make him feel

with her flesh flapping
and her eyes aglow.

There is
the open book

her inquisitive look
the way

with one stockinged leg
hanging over

the arm
of the chair

the centre parted
wavy dark hair

and he sitting
across from her

at the writing desk
writing to his mother

saying how good
he was being

all alone in Paris
reading the books

she’d sent
paying his way

paying the rent
eating out

working in
getting

the studying done
leaving the girls alone

no late nights
no *****

no cigarettes
no sadness

or regrets
and looking up

from the letter paper
seeing her opposite

with his book
open on her lap

her black
laddered stockings

the way she sits
invitingly

him smiling
dotting the i’s

and crossing
the t’s

periods at the end
whispering

to the dame
be there soon

kisses on the bottom
of the letter

for mother
and the dame’s

(bottom)
maybe later

letting the ink dry
imaging what

beneath
the dame’s dress

and underclothes
may wait

and his
deep sigh.

Lydia was glad
to be out
of the flat
her big sister

was rowing
with her mother
her father sleeping off
the night before

her brother Hem
teasing her
beyond tolerance
she crossed

the Square
going by the milkman
and his horse
drawn cart

the horse
with its feeding bag
over its nose
the morning sun weak

but coming
through above
she walked up
and through

heading towards the top
to go to the shops
for her mother
with the scribbled

list of wares
and a handful of coins
she crossed
Rockingham Street

and along by the shops
I was behind her
going to the same shops
(my mother's list

neatly scribed
in my hand)
Lydia seemed
in deep thought

her head down
I tried to catch up
but she was going
too fast

like a gazelle
but once she stopped
by a shop window
I said

you're up early?
she looked
back at me
Mum wanted me

to get these
she said
showing me
the list

plus the flat
is in turmoil
what with my big sister
rowing and Hem

teasing me
I showed her
my list
how about going

to Jail Park after?
I said
see who can swing
highest?

she looked uncertain
if I'm allowed
she said
or maybe

get a bus
to Westminster Bridge
and see
the Houses of Parliament?

I suggested
haven’t got
the fare money
she said

I’ll get some
I said
my old man
is always ok

for a few coins
she nodded
I'll try
she said

we walked to the shops
we needed
and bought the items
on our lists

and I treated her
to a penny drink
at Penny Shop
and as we stood outside

the morning sun
got warmer
and bright
and she said

she would come to Westminster
if she could
or if her mother
said she might.

I sat opposite Sophia
in the staff room

she crossed her legs
looked at me
smiled
her eyes twinkling

O I know
I thought
I know what this
is all about

but the others
in the staff room
didn't know
(thank God)
they chatted
amongst themselves
as women do
(I was the only male
in the nursing home)

but Sophia had that look
that look that said
I nearly had you
in that old guy's
bed upstairs
just now
nearly kurwa
as she
would have said

I sipped my tea
and ate the cake
cook had left

it had been
a near thing
the way Sophia
had thrown me
on the bed
with all her
Polish determination

I had to struggle
(yes struggle-
what was wrong
with me?)
off the bed

you not like me?
she said

course I do
but not here
not now
I had said

she uncrossed
her legs
then crossed
them again slowly
wanting me to look

but I looked
at the teapot
cheap
battered
steam pouring
from the spout

you want more?
Sophia said
across the room
more tea?

I shook my head
and all looked
at her
then at me.

We looked down
at the Thames
from the Embankment

the river was dull
the day overcast

Fay peered down
at the water
people have drowned
in that water
she said
sometimes by accident
but mostly by choice
you know suicide

I peered
at the flowing water
one of Dickens' novels
begins on the Thames
I said
I think they used
to pull dead bodies
out of the water
and claim the *****
if there was any

I can't imagine
wanting to drown
in that ***** water
she said

I don't suppose
the water matters
if you're going
to ***** it
I said

Daddy says
that people
who are suicides
go to hell
Fay said

I guess people
who take their lives
think they're
in Hell already
I said

I pray for souls
in Purgatory
she said
the nuns at school
say we must
do you pray
at your school?
she asked

only for lessons
to be over quickly
I said

she frowned at me
I mean real prayers?

not real prayers
the boys repeat
what they're told to
but it don't
mean much
I said

I hope people
pray for me
if I go
to Purgatory
she said anxiously

what makes you think
you'll go to this
Purgatory place?
I asked

Daddy says I will
because I’m not good
she said

you're OK
you'll go to Heaven
if there is
a place like that
I said

of course there is
she said
gazing at me
don't you believe
there is?

I haven't thought
about it
but if you say
there is
I guess so
I said

she looked
at the river again
her fair hair moving
in the mild wind
her blue eyes fixed
on the water

if you go to Heaven
then I want
to be there too
I said
or Purgatory
or wherever you are
she looked at me

why?
she asked
why with me?

how I feel
I guess ought

you to feel like that?
we're only 12 years old
and you're
a non-Catholic
and my daddy
doesn't like me
to be with that type

you're with me now
I said

but I shouldn't be
she said

why are you?
I asked

the water looks cold
she said
and so filthy too

I nodded my head
I wanted to kiss her
but didn't
and thought
what is a boy
(Catholic or not)
to do?

Sonya talks
endlessly
her Danish

stark beauty
saves her from
boring me

to no end
the Wagner
opera

in London
had gone well
a good meal

and fine *****
then back home
to her place

a ****** of
Delius
then it's bed

lying there
after ***
she talking

of the art
of being
what we make

of ourselves
from our birth
to our graves

I'm thinking
of the dame
singing loud

in Wagner's
Das Rheingold
how her *******

stole the show
as they say
the show's not

over till
the fat dame
sings her last

ending note
then Sonya
talks no more

and we lay
down in bed
to make love

with Wagner's
opera
going round
in my head.

Your father and other men
Play cards and smoke around the

Table in the other room.
Your mother sits knitting by

The fire listening to
The radio low. You sit

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

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

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

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

Head and knits on, the battered
Radio playing Country.

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

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

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

Studying hard in his room
Sitting digesting the books.

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

Laughter from being tickled
Or bed springs moving, but all

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

Your father talking and low
County music playing on

The radio. You picture
Merle on his bed keeping the

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

Window the full moon’s all glow.

Dylan Thomas boozed
the great belly of his muse
drowned after Milkwood.

Yehudit looked back
at Benedict-
at the back
of the classroom

more with
that boy Rolland-
but he looked elsewhere.
Something the boy showed.

Titter of laughter.
Miss G, the teacher,
looked at them.
Clapped her hands.

Her bespectacled stare
silenced them.
Yehudit looked back
to the front, the blackboard,

something written
on Beethoven's life and music.
Miss G walked in front
of the class

talking of the last
string quartets.
Yehudit thought
of Benedict and her

by the pond
the previous day.
Sun warm upon them
as they sat on the grass.

She talked of the ducks
and swan and the heron
that landed nearby.
He listened,

but thought of kissing
and holding or so
he later said.
Miss G put on a record

of a string quartet.
Yehudit looked back
and Benedict smiled
and that made her day

and she never heard
the string quartet
of Beethoven
as it played away.

Benedict came in
from the pumps
at the gas station
having served
the Indian guy
with the Rolls Royce
who gave him a tip.

He put the money in the till
and closed it
and pocketed
the coins of tip.

Miss Billings stood
at the doorway
of the small front office,
hand on her hip,
head to one side.

Benny Boy,
do you think
the men who come in here
fancy me?

I don't know,
Benedict said.

Do you think they'd
like to shaft me?

He looked non-plus,
shrugged his shoulders,
don't know,
he said.

She smiled.
Would you like
to shaft me, Benny Boy?
She did a turn,
hands on hips,
eyes bright open.

Shaft?
He repeated.
What do you mean?

She smiled more,
white teeth showing,
hips swaying.
Well, when that Riley
comes in, he often says,
I could give you
a good rogering.

Do you know
what he means,
Benny Boy?

No,
Benedict said.

It means having ***
with someone, Kid,
having it off.
She laughed.

Would you like that?
I can see it now
in the headlines,
and she made movements
with her finger to suggest
newspaper headlines
in the air.
Boy of 15 shafts
22 year old woman
in back of Bentley
in gas station.

Benedict watched her
as she stood,
hands on hips,
smiling at him.

Well, not to worry, Kid,
because you won't get
the chance,
and she walked off
swaying her hips
in Monroe fashion,
her blonde hair
flowing free,
her white clothed backside
moving side to side
and disappeared
in the back office
to do the accounts.

He stood watching
the door swing shut,
the image of her
still stuck in his mind,
the swaying backside and hips,
the hair flowing blonde and free.

He smiled.
In his bed at night,
between the sheets,
lights out,
moonlight glowing,
he had *** with her,
freely, slowly,
without her knowing.

It was late
one Sunday afternoon
when you must have been
about 11 or 12

just before tea
and Sunday bath
and your old man said
dress up in your best

long trousers and blazer
and shirt and tie
I’m taking you
to the cinema

to see an X film
an X film?
you said
yes Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde

he said
but you have to be 16
to get into see that
you said

I know but if we get you
all smartened up you may pass
he said
and so you put on

your best blazer
and long trousers
and white shirt
and your old man

did up your tie
in the Windsor Knot
he was good at
and off you went

to the cinema
on the New Kent Road
and he went to the kiosk
and bought two tickets

and the old dame
behind the glass panel
looked at you
but said nothing

and gave him
the two tickets
and you followed him
to the twin doors

that led into the cinema
and the usherette
looked at you
and said to your old man

follow me
and you followed her
as she showed the way
to your seats

with her torch shining
and you went down the aisle
and along the row of seat
to where her torch settled

and pulled down the seats
and sat down
there was a cartoon on
loud and colourful

and people around you
were laughing
and you looked up
at the screen

then at your old man
and he was gazing
at the screen
like some worshipper

taking in the colour
and noise
and you settled back
in your seat trying to look

taller and adult
and laughed
when the others laughed
and then came

the intermission
before the big feature film  
and he said
do you want an ice cream?

yes please
you said and off he went  
to the ice cream girl at the front
with her tray of ice-cream

and sweets etc
and you looked about you
sitting up straight
to make yourself look older

and gazed at your old man
at the front
then at your shoes
then at the people

in front of you
then he came back
and gave you
the ice cream tub

and wooden spoon
then he sat down with his
then the lights
went out again

and the film began
Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde
and you sat there
thinking of what O’Brien

would say at school next day
when you told him
you’d got into see an X film
o yeah he’d say

I bet you did
pull then other leg
it’s got bells on
but it didn’t matter

what O’Brien thought
or said
you were there
in the dark

watching the X film
at 12 years old
o what a laugh
you were there

watching it
not at home
getting ready for bed
after the Sunday bath.

Miss Maitland
the student girl
who worked Saturdays
in the D.I Y. Store

wore tight jumpers
and jeans or pants
which hugged her body
in a way you used to wish

you could have done
but didn’t and when
she walked up
and down the aisle

to serve
waiting customers
she wiggled
her compact ****

in a way that caught
your imagination
and set it to thoughts
not poetic

you write poetry don’t you?
she asked
yes
what kind of poetry?

non rhyming
blank verse
kind of thing
you replied

what do you write about?
life and people
she stared at you
her eyes dark

and intelligent
what people?
yourself? me?
I don’t write

about myself
you said
taking in
her small compact ****

beneath the cover
of her jumper
the way
they occasionally wobbled

as she moved
or lifted an arm
do you write about me?
she asked

leaning closer
the perfume invading
your nostrils stirring
deep passions

no fictitious people
oh
she said
and went off

to serve a couple
who had entered
the store
you watched her hips sway

as she walked
the tight ****
going side to side
and you feeling

a poem coming on
the muse waking
from its doldrums
Ezra Pound has died

she said
on her return
he was a fascist you know
hated Jews and such things

you watched her lips move
wanting deep down
to connect with them
set yours to hers

invade with your tongue
but he wrote good poems
you said
the Cantos

the translations
etc etc
does that excuse him?
she asked

as a man no
but as a poet
his poems will survive
long after

any moral judgements
of his beliefs
however wrong
or misguided

he may have been
you said
drinking in
her aspect

her **** and ****
the way she looked
and smelt
the bourgeoisie breeding

of her mind and being
she walked off
to serve again
unaware what

beneath her clothing
you were seeing.

Mary wakes from
her, troubled, uneasy
sleep. She turns and
sees Alice behind her

looking at her. What
are you doing here?
she asks, sitting up,
looking down at the

child. Wanted to be
near you, Alice replies.
You can't come into

my bed, what will
they say if they find
you here? Mary's voice  
rises higher than she

meant. They won’t,
Alice says, no one
knows. They'll miss
you, Mary says, look

for you, and if they come,
what then? The child
sits up, rubs her eyes.
I'll hide, she says. Mary

sighs, lays back on the
bed, looks at the ceiling.
The child lies next to her,
head on her thin shoulder.

You can't do this, Alice.
But I have, the child says.
Your bed's lumpy. If they
find you in here, I’ll lose

my job and God knows
what'll happened then.
There is black spider
creeping along the dull

ceiling, slow movements.
We mustn't tell them,
Alice says. She runs a
small finger along

Mary's arm. You can't
stay here, Mary says,
you must go back to
your own bed before

they find you've gone.
Don't you love me any
more? Alice softly asks,
looking sideways at the

maid beside her. Yes,
of course I do, but this
mustn't happen again.
I'll be gone, then who

will you have to love,
now your mother's ill
and locked up? Alice
frowns and looked at

her hands, small, white,
pink. Mother used to
let me into her bed and
cuddle her. Her pink

fingers join and she
makes. I'm not your
mother, Mary says,
I’m just a maid who

wants keep her job.
Alice looks at her.
You said you'd be my
adopted mother. Mary

looks at her biting a lip.
Yes, I did. She looks
away, at the window
where lights begins

to show. All right,
but you must go back
now, before you're
missed. Can I come

another time? Alice
asks, her bright eyes
gazing. Yes, if I say so,
no creeping into my

bed at night unless
I know, Mary says.
Alice nods her head.
Best get back then,

she says. Be careful.
I will. And if I’m seen,
I’ll say I was sleep
walking, Alice says.

You mustn't lie, Mary
says. Should I tell them
the truth then? Alice asks,
smiling, getting down

from the bed. Be careful,
sleep walk just this once.
The child nods, opens the
door and closes with a

click. Mary gets out of
bed, opens the door, looks
along the dim passage.
The child has now gone.

Silence. Cold morning
air. A hard frost maybe.
What if she's seen? What
then? She shuts the door,

pours cold water from a
white jug into a white bowl.
Morning wash. Hands
into the water and throws

into her face. The coldness
wakes her. Far off a bird
sings. What if she's found
out of bed? What a turn up.

Poor kid. Me another mother
Nearby a church bell rings.

I was sitting outside
the caravan
we'd been let

by some
do-gooders society
some one Netanya knew

who knew some one
I was lazying
in a deck chair

smoking
and sipping a beer
looking into the area

around the caravan
where other caravans
were parked

behind us
over the hedge
and road

was the beach
I could hear the sound
of the sea

and smell the salt
who you looking at?
Netanya asked

you looking at her?
Huh?
You looking at her

over there
by the caravan
hanging out

her smalls?
What you talking about?
I'm sitting here

having a smoke
sipping a beer
I said

you are gazing
at the *****
in the short skirt

with her *******
hanging out
like squirrels

out of a tree
I’m sitting here resting
I didn't see her

until you
picked her out
Netanya spat

on the grass
my *** you didn't
I’ve a good mind

to go over there
and give her
a piece of my mind

I was looking around
the site not at her
I said

Netanya's kids
had gone down
to the beach

to swim and play ball
Netanya gave the female
over the way

a glare
if I see you
looking at her again

I’ll tear her hair out
and stuff that cigarette
down your throat

Netanya went inside
the caravan
and banged about

with pots and pans
and cups and mugs
I sipped my beer

and smoked my smoke
the female
with the short skirt  

hung up her bras
like huge slingshots
I looked away

it was a hot
liquid blue
of a sky day.

Who was she?
Netanya
asks Benny

who was whom?
Benny asks
sitting in

an armchair
that woman
who has just

dropped you off?
she works in
home and ware

at the store
Benny says
so why'd she

drive you home?
Netanya
enquires

moodily
I don't know
she just asked

if she could
Benny says
I bet she

fancies you
or much worse
I bet you've

been inside
her *******
Netanya says

don't be daft
she's pregnant
Benny says

is it yours?
is that why
she's friendly?

Netanya asks
are you mad?
we just work

together
at the store
Benny says

so you say
but you would
wouldn't you

Netanya says
steely faced
Benny stands

and walks off
into the
back garden

Netanya
follows him
I’m sorry

I should trust
what you say
she tells him

that's ok
he replies
he didn't

know the girl
who gave him
a lift home

a least not
in the sense
Netanya

had implied
so in that
sense Benny
hadn't lied.

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

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

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

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

Was he expecting you?
His mother asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gran said it isn’t safe
to walk about the bombsites

Janice said
as you walked with her

off of Meadow Row
towards the bombed out sites

of WW11
there might be

unexploded bombs
she added

holding on to your shirt sleeve
there are no

unexploded bombs here
you said

to reassure
you paused midway

and stared back
to where the coal wharf stood

and coalmen went about their work
loading trucks and horse drawn carts

how do you know?
she asked

her hand gripping
your shirt sleeve tight

don’t you trust me?
you said

turning your head
seeing her eyes wide

beneath her red beret
yes but maybe there could be

hidden beneath ground
you looked around

with hand above your brow
none I can see

you said
she released your sleeve

and touched your hand
her smooth skin

like soft silk
moved over yours

you mustn’t tell Gran
she said

she’s forbidden me
to go on sites

you sensed her pulse
tap along your palm

of course I won’t
you said

and walked across
the bricks and rubble

and weeds between
even here

amidst the bombed out ruins
a touch of green.

History is bunk some one said.
History is an interpretation of
the past said another. Yesterday
is a lost land to Mother. Her half

blind eyes scan him and she says
who are you? He informs her,
but she is none the wiser. She just
smiles and looks away. Maybe she’ll

remember him another day.
Nine months she carried him
within her womb. Her first born
whom she tended, fed and bred

and suckled, whom she nearly lost,
but saved and thought of in her
unclouded days. Dribble hangs
about her lips. Her words come

jumbled as if she pulled them
randomly from a box without
knowing or looking. Some days
they make sense; others, not.

Years ago she’d talk of art or
music or how to behave in a
certain way with a ladylike
manner in her stance or walk.

Now she sits most days in her
special chair. Her blue white eyes
in vacant stare. But he loves her
none the less. Still gives her

the honour due, gazes into
her eyes. Thinking that somewhere
within or beyond his Mother lies.

Cedric approached you
in the playground and said
My sister Christina

wants to see you
on the playing field lunchtime
and he said it

in a quiet voice
as if he didn’t want
the other boys to hear

he ran messages for girls
and off he went
to play with some other boys

leaving you to stare out
onto the empty playing field
and so lunch time

after you’d eaten dinner
you went onto the playing field
beneath the summer sun

and there she was
over by the wire fence
waiting for you

and you said
Cedric said you wanted to see me
and she said

Yes do you mind
if we walk off alone together
I don’t want other’s ears

to move in on our conversation
No sure
you said

Let’s go over by the woods
by the far fence
and so you walked off with her

across the playing field
by other kids who were playing
football or sitting talking

or playing skip rope
or whatever
and when you came

to the woods
you sat down with her
and she said

You do love me
don’t you?
I mean you’re not

seeing anyone else?
You looked across
the playing field

to where you’d sat
with another
some months before

and she had asked
the same question
but since then

it had turned
momentarily sour
Yes and no

you said
looking back at her
taking in her dark hair

and deep eyes
and how her hand
lay on her thigh

covered by grey skirt
and her naked knees
just visible

to the eye
What do you mean
yes and no?

she asked
you watched
her lips move

and replied
Yes I love you
and no I’m not

seeing another
and she smiled at you
and put her hand on yours

and waited for a kiss
and so you did
her lips on yours

out by the woods
on that summer day
out of doors.

Miriam
begins her
*******

in a tent
at base camp
in down town

Malaga
2am
party done

boozing done
the music
for dancing

turned off now
and she says
she's not here

the fat dame's
not come back
to the tent

so what now?
Benny asks
shall I stay?

well I can't
have good ***
without you

she replies
are you sure?
Benny asks

sure I'm sure
she replies
enter in

and zip up
the **** tent
so Benny

zips it up
and begins
to unzip

and undress
watching her
shed her clothes

best he could
in half light
from moon's glow

and stars' shine
what if the
dame returns?

Benny asks
she can make
a *******

or *******
Miriam
says to him

naked now
her soft ****
hanging there

inviting
him to stare
he listens

to the wind
blowing hard
against blue

stretched canvas
come on then
come on in

Miriam
says to him
so he did

his **** ****
rising up
and then down

capturing
the moon's glow
not too fast

she utters
keep a pace
keep it slow.

On the way home
from senior school
you met Fay
on the corner

of the New Kent Road
and Meadow Row
she was dressed
in her school uniform

with a satchel
over her shoulder
a hand griping
the leather strap

her fair hair
neat and tidy
hard day at school?
you asked

as usual
she said
the nuns strict
and the lessons

mind stunning
and you?
a good dose
of brain washing

and the usual
morons teaching
you replied
pushing fingers

through your hair
taking in
her lovely eyes
the shyness

the way she stood
her small hand
gripping the strap
sed libera nos a malo

she said
what the heck
does that mean?
you asked

it’s from the Lord’s Prayer
Fay said softly
it means
but deliver us from evil

my daddy says it
often to me
you nodded
my old man wouldn’t know

what the heck
it would mean
if it bit his backside
you said

Fay laughed shyly
you liked it
when she laughed
like she did

it was like a small prayer
whispered
by a bright eyed angel
she looked back

at the passing traffic
the noise
the fumes
my daddy says

it’s a daily battle
against evil
he says one must
drive out evil

and the evil one
by punishment
she said
looking back at you

there’s plenty
of punishment
at my school
you said

not sure if it’s evil
being driven out
or the breaking of school rules
you said

do you want
to come to my place
for tea?
you asked

best not
she said
Daddy’s home early today
and he likes me

home on time
ok
you said
and you both

turned down Meadow Row
she touched
your hand
and you held hers gently

as if it were
a fragile *** made
from bone china
smooth yet warm

her fingers curled
around your hand
skin on skin
beautiful

with no touch
of sin.

You needed a leak
so entered the bathroom
and there was Anne in the tub

so you made ready
to make a speedy exit
but she called out

hey skinny fellow come on in
and you looked over at her
and said

what if Sister Bridget comes?
Oh **** her come over
and scrub my back

I can’t reach back there
without falling over
so you moved over to the bath

trying to avoid looking
where you ought not
and she said

what’s a matter
ain’t you seen ******* before?
sure

you said
loads of times
and she laughed and said

ok small guy
pick up the sponge and scrub
and so you did

and put soap on the sponge
and got to work
and while you scrubbed

she began to sing softly
and put her hands over her shoulders
and waved at you with her fingers

and you saw her one leg
rise and fall in the water
and you looked away

and felt yourself blush
and all the time her voice
became smoother and smoother

and you pushed the sponge
all over the back
and touched her fingers

so that the soap went over them
and she stopped singing and said
what about the front then boy

are you ready for that?
and as you were about to speak
you heard Sister Bridget

coming down the hall
and Anne said softly
drat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your beauty for the dullness
And ugliness of their wives.

Those days are over now
you and your mother

sitting in the garden
she with her posh lady hat

and you in your cap
to keep the sun

from your balding head
she maybe muttering

but mostly still
and quiet and looking

as best she could
at the birds coming and going

as they picked up bread
now she is still

and silent once more
quietly dead

and you sit no more
in the garden

in your cap
and she

in her posh lady hat
with the sun

on your head
she is silent now

forever gently
peacefully dead.

If she could have got
inside her head, Nadya
thinks, she is sure, her

mind can expand like an
inner universe. The thoughts
moving around like lost

planets, clusters of stars,
images, words, faces, actions
remembered. If she could

just put her hand into a
hidden orifice and reach
into her brain and sort

amongst the galaxies of
ideas she could be brighter,
braver, wiser, and there

clinging to certain ideas
associations like Proust’s
madeleines would be old

loves, broken heart moments,
melodies from favourite songs.
Josef has told her to leave

off the *****, to put away
the bottles, drink water, tea
or whatever. But he does

not satisfy. His love making
is a joke, all push and poke.
Sometimes she thinks her

thoughts come out of her
head and dance. Time for
another drink. She thinks

of Paris. Summers past,
spring walks. Josef’s endless
chatter breaks in; those all

too intellectual boring talks.
She imagines him as another,
pretends some young Russian

overeager tends to her, embraces
her body, kisses each inch of her
flesh, pleasure giving. No more of

this boring life, more of that wild,
touching the new, exploring ***, living.

The nuns take us down
to the beach
from the nursing home.

Anne is in her wheelchair
looking at the other kids
paddling or playing ball
or sitting gazing out to sea.

I stand beside her,
watching the gulls
fly overhead.

Aren't you going
in to swim?
She asks me.

No, I don't swim.

I used to swim,
until they took off my leg.

Can't you swim
with one leg?

Not easy,
but I guess
I haven't tried.

Sister Bridget throws a ball
to the boys;
another nun
lifts her habit
and tiptoes
into the sea
with some girls.

Do you your parents
let you swim?

Don't want to talk
about them.

I look at her
with her stern gaze
and dark hair.

Why not?

Because I don't;
talk about
something else, Kid.

Do nuns marry?

She turns and looks at me.

Of course not;
they take vows
of celibacy.

What’s that?

She sighs.

Means they don't
have ***
don't have kids
and so on.

I frown.

Not ever?

Better not
or they're
for the high jump.

High jump?

In trouble, Kid, trouble.

What's having *** mean?

She raises her highbrows,
looks at me pityingly.

Where do you live, Kid?
Hasn't your old man
told you about
the birds and bees?

No, he doesn't talk
about nature at all;
he talks about films
and the theatre
and actors and such,
but not nature
study things.

She looks out to sea;
gulls fly overhead noisily;
I stare at her one leg
sticking out
of her short red skirt.

There are males and females
and to make babies
they have to get together
and do certain things.

What certain things?

Well kissing is one thing
and after that,
things kind of
lead onto other things.

I frown;
I recall a girl in school
kissing me,
but I don't recall
any other things
happening,
but I don't tell Anne that.

I see,
I say.

Go swim, Kid,
go swim.

I wander down
to the edge of the beach
and peer out to sea,
hoping no other girl
tries to kiss me.

Her name’s Jane I think
said Jupp

standing beside you
in the school hall

as the ******* the school bus
went by with a slow walk

carrying a bag
over her shoulder

and her dark hair
flowing down her back

anyway he added
how are you getting on

with that maths work
chisel face gave us?

You watched
until she disappeared

into a crowd of other
girls and boys

like watching
the sun go down

on a fine summer’s day
and entering

a dull night
huh? Said Jupp

how you coping
with the **** maths?

All Greek to me
you said

carrying the image
of the girl off with you

as Jupp and you
made your way

along the corridor
to double metalwork

and this metalwork
Jupp moaned

it really ****** me off
what do I care

about making
a frigging tea caddy spoon?

And passing by
a print on the wall

of some Manet dame
you thought

how you’d love
to have a print

of the girl
to carry about

or have pinned
to your bedroom wall

at home
huh? Said Jupp

what’s with spoons?
I’ve no idea

you said
all part

of the brainwash
I guess

and did the girl
move you?

you asked inside
oh yes

oh yes
oh yes.

I have inherited
your Augusten
Burroughs books,
after your death,

my son;
they sit
neat and tidy
on the bookshelf

by my bed.
I wish it was you
sitting there
quietly, instead.

I have inherited
some of your shirts
and tee-shirts,
many I recall

you wearing,  
some in photos
in my head.
I have inherited

that Christmas jumper,
the one you wore
last year
in white and red,

and your black
flat cap, too.
Wish it wasn't me
wearing them,

but you,
my son, you.
I have a selection
of your rock CDs,

a wallet, photos
and a short story

book you wrote,
but what

I don't have,
my son, is you.

Fay looked over
the ledge
of the balcony
of Banks House

that Sunday morning
I stood beside her
she'd just come back
from mass

with her family
and had sneaked out
to see me
the baker's cart

was over
in the Square
the horse
was stationary

eating out
of some nose bag
we watched the baker
run with his basket

to one of the flats
what did they teach you
at mass today?
I asked

taught nothing
she said
it's listening
to the priest

perform mass
and read
from the Bible
and then take

holy communion
which is when
we take Christ
into ourselves

the baker ran back
to his cart
and took out
more loaves

and ran over
to another block
of flats
I see

I said
how's He do that?
Do what?
How does Christ

get into you?
in the bread
the host
as we call it

she said
He's in the bread?
It isn't bread any more
it's His body

she said
it's called
transubstantiation
that's a mouthful

I said
so what happens?
the horse attached
to the baker's cart

moved a few paces
the baker jumped
onto his seat
and they moved

a few feet
then he jumped off
with his basket
with more loaves

and rushed
to another flat
Fay looked at me
with her pale blue eyes

I loved those eyes
I could have boxed
them up
and carried them

around with me
and have taken
quick glimpses
at them

now and then
to give me a lift
the bread changes
into the Body of Christ

she said
how?
I asked
not outwardly

of course
she added
but sacramentally
spiritually

I was none the wiser
but looked at her
fair hair
long down

passed her thin shoulders
down touching
where her hips began
you look pretty

I said
Daddy says
that personal praise
of one's looks or body

is sinful
and is also vanity
I watched her
thin fingers touch

each other
the pads of the fingers
touching the pads
of the others

why create beauty
then call it sinful
to say so
I said

am I pretty?
she asked
sure you are
I said

and if it's sinful
to say so
then tough *****
she looked away

at the departing baker
on his cart
in the Square
and I continued

to give her
my hazel eyes
and
my cool stare.

Outside the church
after the Sunday service
after singing
in the choir

Judith followed you
out of the vestry
into the daylight
amongst the gravestones

at the back
of the church
where she stood
looking around her

with you at her side
you oughtn’t to have done that
she said
what?

you said
put that button
in the collection box
when it came around

the choir stalls
I left my collection money
in my coat pocket
you said

but a button
she said
better to have put nothing in
than that

a black bird settled
on the top
of a gravestone nearby
then flew off

you’re right
you said
I ought not
to have put it in I’m sorry

it’s not me
you have to say sorry to
Judith said
it’s God

whom you defrauded
she turned
and looked at you
with her big blue eyes

and that look she had
when she was disappointed
anyway
she said

I still love you despite
you defrauding God
of his collection pence
come on you two

her sister called
from the side
of the church
aren’t you coming home

the bus will be here soon
ok we’re coming
Judith called back
her sister and yours disappeared

and you said
I don’t deserve you
or your love
no you don’t

she said
but there you are
when can we ever choose
whom to love

we either love
or we don’t and I do
and she kissed your cheek  
and took your hand

and you walked
by the gravestones
along the narrow pathway
by the side

of the church
and I love you too
you said
softly walking

through the midst
of the buried
and dead.

Abela
sees nothing
in Renoir's

kind of art
she prefers
Constable

or Rembrandt
so she says
as we lie

in the bed
after ***
cooling down

we smoking
cigarettes
a slight breeze

in the air
a window
half open

moon and stars
visible
those women

at the bar
she utters
with those

hairy men
how could they?
could they what?

fancy them
like sleeping
with an ape

we each have
our own taste
I tell her

I couldn't
not with them
she tells me

I'm glad she
fancies me
and my beard

as I kiss
between thighs
listening

as I do
to her moans
and her sighs.

Still born. The words stick
In the throat. Even if she sees
It someplace in a magazine
Some medical journal it hits home.
Some nights she wonders if the
Imaginary kicking she thinks she
Feels is her phantom babe or
Senses her dugs go hard at the
Mere mention of the word on
The tip of her tongue: still born.
Born still or pushed forth lifeless
But wanted and needed and lost.
What really sticks in her throat
Is seeing babes in passing prams
Or backyards unwanted unneeded
By mothers who **** and shuck
Without concern while she sensing
Her heavy loss and a vacant womb
Can only look on and walk away
Or sit and weep in a darkened room.

He would, between
her gentle hands,

lay his head, like one
in sleep playing dead.

He would, if possible,
lay his tired body in

her lap, for her to tend
or make well again, or

her to ease or end the
pointless pain. He would,

if he were brave, plant
kisses along her brow,

wet and sweet, given in
love, not lust, but he has

small time, for this or that,
but loves her none the

less we trust.  He would,
if time had not robbed his

chance, placed his hand
about her waist and held

her near, but time has gone
and he has left with none of

those things above, we fear.

Can't you swim?
Netanya asked

no I sink like a stone
I said

my son could teach you how  

I’m ok not swimming

she sighed
what if you drown?

I get wet

I'm serious
my son could help

I looked out at the sea
looks rough
I said

it's ok  
Adam will show you
she said

ok but if I drown
I’m coming back
to haunt
the *******

he's my son
she said frowning

like I said
I’ll haunt him

so half hour later
her son took me
to the beach
and he said
see that sea breaker?

yes I see it

well climb on top
and dive in
he said

dive in?

yes the best way
to learn
swimming is 90% instinct
you go in
you'll swim to survive

ok
I said
and climbed on top
and dived in

SPLASH
I raised a hand
through the water's skin
and waved
and took in
a mouthful
of salt water

and my life flashed
before my watery eyes

the son pulled me up
and along
through the water
and sat me
on the beach

you ok?

he said

no instinct
I said
except to drown

he smiled
seems so
but I saved you
he said

thanks
I said

his mother was in the sea
a little way off
her green bikini
clutching her body
like a fond lover
the waves licking
her lovely thighs

I smiled
and wiped water
from my hazel eyes.