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.

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.

When he wanted a fix
Or money for a fix
It was to your handbag
He went first; he'd root through

It like a pig searching
For wild truffles, and he
Wasn't gentle in his
Search either, grabbing you

Tightly, trying to pin
You down, especially
If you tried to hide your
Bag behind your back, then

He got really rough, and
All your love/hate for him
Surfaced like some waking
Cat and you'd pounce at him

And the struggle'd begin
And the whole block knew all
About it and the air
Was blue with language of

A kind your mother would
Never use even on
A bad day, and maybe
Then he'd get the handbag

Open and he'd root through,
His eyes large as an ox
And his tongue hanging out
The side of his mouth like

Some stupid dog and you
Knew him then as a dim
Specimen of all men,
He was a degree course

In men logy and
You had the knowledge in
Each pore and tissue of
Your body and mind and

You'd stand still and watch him
Shaking your head, wishing
To Hell, he'd take his last
Drugged up fix and be dead.

We come out of the cinema
like let loose young dogs of war
up and along the New Kent Road
the daylight blazing into our eyes

the roar of traffic in our ears
and on and up by Neptune's fish shop
-not to buy no more coins-
and wait by the crossing

both Enid and me waiting
looking at the opposite side
of the road at the bomb site
the opening of Meadow Row

good film wasn't it
Enid says
looking at me
through wire framed spectacles

her eyes bright not dull
as they usually are
no fear there yet
of her old man

traffic stops and we cross
the road and then run
onto and across the bomb site
I'm riding my imaginary

black horse shining like crude oil
and she just behind riding
her pretend white horse
-not side saddle like some lady

but like me on the saddle-
the whole world stops for us
we are riding a new Wild West
our guns firing at advancing

bad guys or maybe Injuns
with tomahawks
then she stops in her tracks
and stands there sans horse

eyes full of fear
what do I tell my dad?
she says
he doesn't know about the cinema

what do I say?
I look at her
my imaginary horse dissolved
and I walk over to her

see her visibly shaking
and I've been with you too
what can I tell him?
she says

I look at her standing there
her hands holding each other
her eyes fear glazed
say you've been with

some else to the park
what have you
she looks at me
I can't lie he knows if I lie

she says
create a truth
I say
what do you mean?

she asks
tell him you've seen
horses up West
up West?

yes West End of London
but he won't believe me
about that what horses he'll say
be creative tell him some

of what you've seen
she frowns
about the horses?
yes be inventive with it

she thinks
and we walk down Meadow Row
she looking at the ground
mind in thought

I look at her walking there
knowing she'll not get it right
no talent for the invented word
her old man will whack her sure

and as we walk up
through the Square
I see him on the balcony
standing by his door.

I wonder what they’ll find
In the depths of my broken mind
As I lift the blackout blind?
Take a peek through the window to my deepest thoughts.
It is puzzling,
Troubling,
A game I cannot win;
So take a peek through the window to my deepest thoughts.
Take a peek,
Rummage, seek
But warning please take care
Cause it’s really dark down there
And if you have no flash light to hand
Then I don’t expect you’ll understand;
But take a peek through the window to my deepest thoughts.
I tried to stand real tall
But began to fall
And I wanted to end it all.
But my family
Were saving me
Were keeping me from meeting death.
Now with every breath that I have left
Will be a fight
Cause wounds don’t heal over night
And there may come a time where I lose sight
And I may not see what is right;
So take a peek through the window to my deepest thoughts.
And tell me what you find
In the depths of my broken mind
As I lift the blackout blind;
Take a peek through the window to my deepest thoughts.

( by my son, Nathaniel)

Cedric followed you
around the playground
at high school

it seemed he wanted
to say something to you
but instead he just followed

you around until
as you stood looking over
at the playing field

where kids were gathering
in their break period
he said

my sister likes you
how do you know?
you asked

because she told me
he replied blushing
looking over at the playing field

isn’t she your twin?
Yes
he said

going red
gazing at his sister
standing with a group

of friends on the field
you looked over at the girls
at Cedric’s sister waving a hand

so that’s Christina
yes
he muttered

the one with the dark hair
and waving a hand
then he went silent

and looked at you
Mother said she’s too young for boyfriends
he said after a few moments

but she doesn’t listen
she does what she wants
so she told me to tell you

she likes you
and so you nodded
and waved your hand

back at the girls
and there was an explosion
of giggling and laughter

and waving of hands
and then they ran off
onto the field

and as they ran off
you noticed Cedric’s sister
had a cute ****

but you didn’t tell him that
you just turned and said
fancy a game of ball?

and he just nodded
and said nothing more
about his sister at all.

Sonya stood
on the narrow balcony
of the hotel room in Paris

I lay on the bed
reading Celan poems

she was in her underwear
and bra
smoking
a French cigarette

most of the great artists
lived here
at one time or other
she said

I looked over at her
her blonde hair
touched her haunches
her tight ****
smiled at me

most yes
I guess so
I said

can we go
to an art gallery today?
she said
I love the Impressionists
this is the place
to see them

guess so
I returned to the book

where are we breakfasting?

where you like

she exhaled
that little café
on the corner is good
she suggested

you like the waiter
the guy with the Proust moustache

nonsense
it's the coffee
the cake he provides
she said

she gazed back at me
aren't you going to wash
and dress?

I nodded
after you

you're quicker
she said

she was right
ok
so I got up
and went into the bathroom
and washed
and brushed my teeth
and came out

she was on the bed
looking at the book
of poems

how do you
make sense of this?
she asked

open minded
and getting the vibe

she put the book down
and went in the bathroom

I dressed
lit a cigarette
and stood
by the window
looking down
into the Parisian street
below

I love Paris
I mused
love all this
and blew
a passing French girl
a palm blown kiss.

Limoges
the driver said
you can get out
and stretch
your legs
for awhile

so we got off
the coach
and walked
about the place

Miriam beside me
her red hair
in a mess
her tight fitting
blouse about
to explode

you hear
about these places
then you're there
and it all seems
so ordinary
like you have
waited to see
something
and it just seems
so flat
she said

I don't get excited
about anything
I take it
as it comes
sights
views
music
*****
girls
I said

am I
just a girl?
nothing special?
she asked

there's only
one you
only one
red head
with your
lovely eyes
and smile
I said

O yes
of course
what are you
after?

beer and burger
I said

and me
what about me?

you can have
a beer and burger
too

no I meant
what do you
think of me?
you were all
over me last night
in the coach
with the lights low
and that Mozart music
on the radio
flowing out  

I recalled
I had been
and not only
because of her
and the Mozart
and her lovely eyes
and her perfume

but all together
all that and me
and her and life
and her softness

we can
have it here
she said
pointing to a bar

ok
I said

so we entered
the bar
and ordered
beer and burger
and she sat there
opposite
her tight blouse
still waiting
to explode

and a radio played  
some French music
and Miriam smiled
and I wanted
to kiss her

but I didn't
I just sat
and waited
for the beer and burger
and watched
and enjoyed her.

Two mental breakdowns
In as many years;
The ECT, she
Knows too well; the dark

Corridors; the sharp
Broken mirrors, all
Reflecting different
Selves; the slashed wrist;

Bath-almost-drowning
Business; the white
Coated nurse and docs
And the tricks up their

Long thin sleeves; and the
Emptiness inside
With the long slow fall
Into that so long

Awaited and wished for
Oblivion and
No more echoes from
The sad ghostly dead.

The baby is never far
From your thoughts; each
Passing pram or pushchair
Nudges you into looking,
Into remembering, aching.

You try to turn your head
When some mother feeds
From breast some baby in arms,
You hold back the tears, when
Reflecting on how the small

Mouth opens like some frail
Fish out of water and you want
It to be yours, your breast
The baby latches onto, your
Eyes that the babe searches

In wonderment. Often nightly,
You tiptoe to the phantom cot
And gaze at the ghostly image
That ought to be there, never
Far from your thoughts, never

More than a fingertip away
Is the memory of that last hold,
That final gaze, that eased out
Wheeze and you left out in
Grief’s dark corridor and cold.

Liz Barrett Browning
never carried a gun,
or strapped it to the
inside of her thigh.

That .38 revolver cold
against her skin, makes
Bonnie sigh. Warmer
in the palm of hand,

the finger squeezing
the trigger. She’s done
with the poem. She’ll
copy and send to the

papers who’ll lap it up
like sour milk to a thirsty
cat. Penned it well, she
thinks. Clyde says nothing

on it; he reads the headlines
for the crimes. She read
Liz Browning at school
amongst others, that

woman thing, shared
insight, mutual feelings,
knows the monthly bleeds,
understands the feel of

men, the coming on, that
big hero thing. She feels
the revolver against her
flesh, metal on skin, warming

now, forgetting it’s there.
This is one thing, Bonnie
says, smiling, Liz won’t share.

Whether George loved Alice,
Benedict didn’t know,
but Alice loved George,
she let it show.

Benedict saw the way
she looked when George
came in the room
or if she spotted him
along the passage,
she’d flushed and gawk
at him like some spotty
schoolgirl (though she
must have been near 70
if a day) and pat down
her grey skirt or mauve
flowered dress and make
sure, without mirror, her
hair was not a mess.

Benedict watched George,
poor of sight and bent slight,
enter the dinning hall
and make straight
for his chair and table,
sit down and fiddle
with the cutlery,
gaze at his face
in the back of a spoon
(though God knows
what he saw with eyes
like his, except blur),
while across the way
Alice would stand,
and girl like, swoon.

Benedict saw Alice
once or twice, when
courage allowed,
stand behind George’s chair
and with fingers twiddle his hair.

George blushed at this,
looked straight ahead,
sensing Alice’s hands
about his neck
in soft embrace,
her lips near,
wanting to kiss,
touched his face.

Benedict guessed
she never ventured
to George’s room or bed,
least not for real,
but maybe in dreams
or in some loving corner
of her aging head.

Whether George
loved Alice,
Benedict couldn’t say,
but he hoped George did
in his own odd way.

That’s a Small Skipper
Jane said

And that’s a Clouded yellow
as two butterflies

flittered overhead
as you both lay

in the tall grass
on the side

of the Downs
and you followed

her finger
as it indicated

the butterflies’ flight
and then they were gone

and she gazed at you
and said

What?
How do you know

the names of things?
I’m a country girl

not a townie like you
she replied

her lips moulding
the words like a potter

moulds clay
and you caught a whiff

of her perfume
carried on the calm breeze

over your heads
and you looked

at her there
in the grass

her head turned back
to the sky

her eyes reflecting
the summer blue

and her left leg
bent upwards

so that her knee
stood naked

beneath the sun
and her right hand

lay next to yours
the white blouse

open at the neck
and she said

I often used to lay here
alone listening

to the overhead birds
and the winds’ moan

watching tractors
in the fields below

and mother wondering
where I was

And now?
you asked

Does she wonder
where you are now?

she turned her head
and gazed at you

No not now
she knows I’m with you

and that I’m showing you
the store of nature

and the panoramic view
And she trusts you?

you asked
sensing her hand

touch yours
the flesh warm

and soft
She trusts you

Jane said
and another butterfly

fluttered by
like a ballerina overhead.

Take me to the movies
Sophia said

and so you did
and sat at the back

and was looking forward
to seeing the film

one you’d heard
quite a bit about

but Sophia
had other ideas

and they involved
trying to get

into your pants
or running her hand

along your thigh
in the darkness

or kissing your cheek
and whispering words

in her broken English
the Polish accent

still discernable
beneath the words

and rushing breath
and you only went out with her

because she’d been
pestering your

for weeks
or throwing you

on the beds
of the old folks

in the care home
while they were downstairs

in the lounge having lunch
or sleeping themselves

into a late death
and she said

why don’t you put
your hand on my thigh

the Polish sound
hanging on to each

spoken word
why don’t you try

and place your hand here
and she pulled

your hand into
the heaven

between her thighs
and as you looked up

some soldier in the film
was falling dead  

blood oozing
from many wounds

and there was you
in dangerous territory

trying to stay alive
fighting the temptation

and she saying
afterwards we go back

to my place
if my parents are out

and you flushed
and hot

hoped to God
they were not.

She goes to places
where he had been,
touches things that
he had touched, what

some call laying ghosts,
she calls reliving the
past, trying to bring him
back again. That Italian

restaurant he liked, that
table he preferred, that
menu he stared at and
studied, she visits and

gets the same table and
stares at the menu which
he had held and gazed.  
The bench in the park

where they had sat and
talked and laughed and
first held hands and kissed.
Deep down it was him

she missed. The bridge
where they would stop
half way and look into
the river over the side,

she stands, looking, here
where some have jumped
to their deaths in dark
moods or their own black

moment's hold. Then there
is the bed where he had lain,
the love made, the nightly
holds and snuggles and ****

whispers and tickle's giggles.
The bed is empty now; his
place vacant like some deserted
lot, cold where once was hot,

ghostly ways, where she feels,
he lies as in their former days.

How’s the girl
with the red beret?

your sister asked
she’d seen you

and Janice
and her gran

on the way home
from school

she probably walking
with her friend

following behind
and Janice said

I made a picture today
out of cut up

pieces of paper
and the teacher said

it was the best
she’d seen

her gran said
Now now Janice

mustn’t boast
I expect

there were other pictures
equally as good

But teacher said it
not me

Janice replied
Did you make a picture?

her gran asked you
her eyes falling on you

and taking in
your look

like a rabbit caught
in headlamps of a car

in the night
Yes

you said
I made a picture

of a morning sunset
out of red and yellow

and green for the grass
and blue for the sky

Janice smiled
and touched your hand

surreptitiously
her small hand

feeling along
your skin

Did you make it
out of cut up

pieces of paper too?
her gran asked

you sensed Janice’s fingers
squeezing into your hand

No
you replied

I did it with water colour paints
and what did teacher say?

her gran asked
she said it reminded her

of a Jackson *******
whoever he is

you said
looking at Janice’s red beret

and her hair
coming from beneath

so wonderfully
unlike your

short back and sides
and unlike her hair

with its red coloured
hair slides.

Kempton showed Benedict
his collection of knives,
long, short, sharp and blunt.
That’s a German one my Dad
bought back from the War,
he said, taking one out
and showing with pride.

I expect it plunged a few bodies
before he choked it.
Benedict took the knife
and ran a finger
along the blade.
Sharp and coming to a point.

His own collection of knives
was small (dangerous things
his mother had said)
and kept in a drawer.

Dad took it
from this dead German’s belt,
took other things as well,
a photograph of some German girl
or so Dad said, pretty and smiling.

Benedict gave back the knife
and looked at others,
all sizes and lengths.

This one’s Russian,
Kempton said,
plunged a few Krauts I guess
before the Russian caught it
in the back, he added,
his dad having informed
some time before.  

Benedict liked the Yank knife best,
took it into his hands
and sensed the holds
of yesteryears, the fingers
having touched, the bodies
entered, the blood sensed,
the fears felt.

After a while Kempton
put them away,
feeling content,
proud of his collection.

Benedict thought it swell,
his own small collection
of knives would be
no one’s envy, tucked
in the drawer
with his vest, pants
and handkerchiefs
and that tie his auntie
had bought of red and grey.

Kempton and he left
the Kempton household
and went across the Square
to begin their wars in play.

The white haired monk
lights a candle
on the altar;

his tonsured head
bows to the Christ;
his aged fingers

hold
the long lit
taper.

I help make soup
in the kitchen,
the cook monk,

watches
my every move;
I recall

how she ******
me in,
her whole body

vibrated
to my motion.
Dom James walks

from the orchard,
a basket of fruit
beneath his arm;

the sun warm,
the hour
a midday calm.

And she wants to know
how I stuck that time
in London
and not the country

and why did I
not want to be
in the countryside
and it is a sunny day

and clouds are so white
it seems as if an artist
has painted them
and as she speaks

I sense her there
beside me
and she talks
about how her father

manages the church
and how she first
remembered the walk
through snow

when she was young
and how her father
carried her
on his shoulders

and she saw
her first sparrowhawk
and how grand
and powerful it seemed

above them
and I want to be near her
to be able to breath
her in as we walk

and maybe hold
her hand
but I can't
bring myself

to reach out
unless she
does so first
not wanting to seem

presumptuous
or too forward  
and we walk
down the lane

beside my parent's cottage
and talk of London
and how there were
street lamps

and the trains moving
over the railway bridge
all night and coal trucks
being shunted

all the time night
and day
and the dust
of the coal

gets everywhere
but one doesn't notice
and she looks at me
and I want to swim

in her eyes
and she says glad
you're here now
and we are here together

and her hand
touches mine
and I want it
to be there always

her hand in mine
and know it won't
but wish it so
and wish I could

carry her
on my shoulders
through knee deep
white snow.

You make a good bed,
Sophia said.

I smoothed the top sheet
of Mr H's bed
with a motion
of my hand,
trying hard not
to look at her
by the sink
in the corner.

It's a firm bed,
isn't it?

It's metal framed
for endurance,
I said,
lifting my head,
seeing her standing there
with Vim powder
in her hand
and cloth in the other.

We have ****?

I pulled up the blankets
and duvet,
pretending I hadn't heard.

No one around,
she said,
be safe.

Until Mr H
or some other old boy
comes along
and keels over
clutching their heart,
I replied.

She smiled, turned
and began powdering
the sink and scrubbing
with the cloth.

I looked out the window
at the grounds below;
the grass
was a bright green,
the few trees
in full leaf.

I turned
and she was
standing there
with one foot
on the bed
and her skirt hem
lifted, showing
a fair glimpse of leg.

You sure
we not have ****?

Not here, not now,
I said,
taking the glimpse
of leg inside my head.  

She pouted her lip
and shook her long
blonde hair.

Shame,
it could be good.

I went out the room,
closing the door,
thinking of my next task,
giving Sidney
his morning bath,
and as I walked on,
I heard her
mocking laugh.

Edweir knew she came
To the cafeteria for her
Lunch each day and usually

Sat in the same place if
She could and this day
She is sitting there with

That blue dress on the one
That shows the valley
Between her ******* and

Her hair frames her face
In such a way and he tries
To sit so he can see her so

And turn away his head
If he thought she might
Gaze his way but now she

Sits in pensive mood as some
Women do her hands holding
The glass her thoughts seeming

Far away and he wonders if
Maybe she has grown tired
Of her work up in Dawlish’s

Office or maybe has is often
Rumoured Dawlish had soft
Touched her where it’s known

By those in the know he is
Often want to go or maybe
She thinks of some other thing

An evening date with some sad  
****** or some schmuck who
Only wants to drink and ****

Now she pauses and sips from
The glass and deeply sighs oh
How he would love to go and

Embrace her and say anything
I can do to help and run a finger
Along her face but now she stares

At him and he feels a creepy finger
Up and down his spine and her eyes
Wash over him in cold disdain while

Outside the skies are blue and the sun
Shines warmly with no sign of rain.

What day is it?
Miss Ashdown asked
waddling up the aisle

you looked at the board
taking the chalk marks
the hand script she'd made
then she said

Benedict
write it on the board
you looked at her
standing with arms crossed

so you walked blushing
to the blackboard
and chalked up January 25th
is that it?

she said
but what day is it?
what feast day?
you stared at the numbers

and letters
I don't know
you said
going bright red

the room narrowing
to her standing in the aisle
her arms crossed over
her large *******

like piglets
under a blanket
at rest
sit down boy

anyone else
have any idea?
Monday?
a girl suggested

no you fool
Miss Ashdown said
it's the Conversion of St Paul
the girl put down her hand

and bit her lip
and stared at you
as you went by
her eyes were watery

like one about to cry
and you sat down
studying Helen's
bright red ribbons

holding
her plaits of hair
as she sat in front
of your desk

that tiny
patch of skin
showing above
the collar of her dress

between where
her hair almost met
then raised your eyes
to the blackboard

where the Conversion
of St Paul
in large script
was set.

Nima waits
in her bed
on the ward

it's twilight
and she feels
a great urge

for some ***
but Benny
is at home

at his place
and others
on the ward

are sleeping
all women
some are old

few are young
even the
young night nurse

in her small
cramped office
off the ward

seldom comes
to visit
at that hour

she tries to
picture in
her dazed mind

Benny there
beside her
kissing her

holding her
his fingers
exploring

her body
his wet lips
on her neck

on her *******
on the dip
of her *****

on her *****
but he's not
there at all

just her lips
wet kissing
where she can

O Benny
come to me
be my man.

Abir walked across the playground
with hands in his pockets
chewing gum
head slightly

to one side
where the heck
is Simcha?
Abir said

he said
he'd be in today?
maybe he's ill
I said

giving his cousin one
more like
Abir said
he doesn't like her

that much
I said
like her much or not
he'd poke her one

if he could
I frowned
what's the frown for?
Abir asked

didn't he bring in
that magazine into school
with those naked women?
didn't he have a pair

of his cousin's *******
in his pocket last month?
I watched Abir
spit the gum into a bin

in one shot
his tongue
running over his lips
loads of boys

get hold
of those magazines
with naked dames
just a learning curve

I said
and those *******
of his cousin
were put there by mistake

he thought
it was his handkerchief
I said
O come on Benny

the kid's a *** fiend
I wouldn't trust him
with my sister
Abir said

you haven't got a sister
I said
well if I had
I wouldn't trust him

with her
Abir said
we stood by a wall
hands in pockets

ABIR
Simcha called
from across
the playground

ABIR
well look you’s turned up?
Abir said
Simcha raced over to us

his blonde hair
in a mess
his school tie loose
about his neck

how are you doing?
Abir asked
greeting Simcha
with a smile

O the trouble
I've had this morning
that cousin of mine
hours in the bathroom

never known anyone
spend so much time
in a bathroom
he said

that's girls for you
Abir said
they spend more time
in a day in there

than we do
in a year
I looked at Simcha
there was a love bite

on his neck
beneath his left ear.

A woman with a tattoo
over the top of her *******

above her red dress got
on the uptown bus and

sat down. Henry tried not
to look, he couldn’t make

out the words that mingled
with the coloured flowers

tattooed there, looked away,
followed for a short while

the goings on in the passing
street, then turned again

and gazed surreptiously as
if he’d not intended to stare

or find once seen, but still
the words were lost in the

flowers’ hold. The woman
thumbed her cell phone,

messaging a text, while he,
giving a sidelong gaze, tried

to solve the puzzle of the
words and meaning that

she wanted to convey by
placing the tattoo there,

but no matter how hard
he looked or turned his head,

no sense was made, just
a puzzled aging brain instead.

She crossed her legs, a little
more thigh was shown, her

suntanned flesh too much
for eyes of Henry’s age, he

turned away, carrying the images
seen to sup upon another day.

Jane’s mother gave you both
a towel from the airing cupboard

after you had been caught
in the rain

running from the church porch
to the parsonage

and then she went off
to carry on

with her pie making
and Jane took you

along the hallway
to her bedroom

and opened the door
and after you had entered

she closed the door
with a soft click

and you both stood there
in the quiet room

rubbing you heads
with the towels

pushing away
the wetness

from your hair
and you smelt the room

the smell of polish
the lavender scent

the smell
of fresh linen

and smell of the flowers
outside caught still

in the rain
and Jane said

You are only here
because she trusts you

she seems to see through
people’s veneer

and weighs them
in the scales

in her mind
and you stood still

rubbing your hair
looking at her

the way she had
the towel in her hands

over her hair
the hair all messed up

and she having
that sparkle in her eyes

like the first spear
of the sunshine

pushing through
the window at dawn

and she gazed at you
with her eyes

like polished marbles
and her words

hung there
on the air

like musical notes
on an invisible stave

and you said
I’m glad she trusts me on

just the one look
and Jane smiled

and kissed your lips
her flesh on yours

and the pressing
of skin on skin

and she gently
moved away

and pointed to the sky
and said

Looks like more rain
and you just nodded

wanting her to kiss you
once again.

You sat with Fay that summer day
on the flat concrete roof
of the World War Two bomb shelter

down below the tall flats
where you both lived
and you said

do you want to go
to the movies with me?
she looked across

at the coal depot
with its trucks loading
and unloading

I don’t have no money
she replied
you looked at her

my dad’ll pay
you said
he’s always giving me money

for the movies
she shook her head
and you looked ahead

at the sun shining above
the rain tracks
over the coal depot

you had on your blue jeans
and white tee shirt
and she you noticed

turning your head
had a red and white dress
which came just over her knees

and she wore sandals
on bare feet
besides my mother wants me

so she can see me
Fay said with a sigh
she raised and lowered

her legs against
the concrete wall
her sandals making

tapping noises
as they hit the wall
and you noticed bruises

along her thigh
as she moved
and her dress rode higher

what are those bruises
on your leg?
you asked

she looked down
and stopped moving her legs
and pulled her dress hem

over her knees and thighs
I fell
she replied

down the stairs
you looked at her arms
where other fading bruises

blended into her skin
like worn-out badges
we can see a Western film

you said
I’m sure
there’s a Jeff Chandler film

so my dad tells me
but she shook her head
too violent

Mother says
Fay uttered looking away
but there’s kissing stuff too

you added
Fay looked at you
her blue eyes

moving over you
like a smoothing
palm of a hand

I’m not allowed
to go to the movies
Daddy says

its sinful and only
wicked people
go there

to be tempted
by the Devil
she sighed

and you both sat in silence
for a while
watching pigeons fly

in the blue summer sky
then she turned quickly
and kissed your cheek

and said
don’t have to go
to no movie

to see kissing
and you thought
of the boring bits in films

where the cowboy
gets kissed by the girl
after a gun shoot out

and having been kissed
by Fay
you were glad

and guessed that kissing
wasn’t at all
too bad.

Yehudit sits
on the fence
by the field
and I sit

next to her
and it's sunny
and she says
what did you feel

after our first kiss?
wet lips
I say
and she nudges me

and says
no seriously
what did you feel?
I watch a rabbit

race across the field
in front of us
a butterfly flutters by
over the tall grass

I guess I felt excited
and I did smell
the scent you borrowed
from your mother

it had a kind
of appley smell
but didn't it make
you feel more alive?

she asks me
I look at her
the brown hair
the eyes bright

as new stars
yes I did I guess
I know my heart
was pumping

away some
and I sensed my lips
and yours almost
fuse into one flesh

and as I inhaled you
I wanted
to kiss you forever
I say

she smiles
and that smile
is the best smile
that ever smiled

and she kisses me
on the cheek
and I kiss her lips
and God

I think
is this
what love does?
and we sit there

kissing
and the rabbit's gone
the butterfly
has fluttered elsewhere

and it's just us kissing
on that warm
sunny day
just us there.

Janice watched
as you held on
to the ledge
of the ice-cream van

to see how long
you could hold on
in that dare game
the boys played

in the Square
and after
you jumped off
she said

isn’t that dangerous?
sure it is
you replied
that’s the point

to see how long
you can hold on
without falling
and getting hurt

she looked at you
and said
if Gran saw me
doing that

she’d tan
my behind
ah
you said

that’s it
not to be seen
by those grown ups
and spoilsports

she raised
her eyebrows
and said
maybe

but it’s not for me
and so you took her hand
and went along
through the Square

and across Bath Terrace
and into Jail Park
to the swings
and slides

and such things
and you grabbed
a swing each
and pushed off

and you looked at her
beside you
her hair flowing
in the wind

her dress billowing
as the wind caught it
and you said
how high can you go?

high as I can
she said
and she pushed
her legs out

and then under
the seat of the swing
getting the rhythm right
getting the swing

to go higher
and higher
and you did likewise
and you watched

as her whole body
got into the ride
and her hands gripped
the metal chains

and you saw
her legs rise high
and her brown sandals
and white socks

and she said
is this high enough?
and you said
as high as high

can go is high
and she laughed
and pushed her feet
right up into the sky

and you pushed through
the aches and pains
of the muscles
to reach the highest pinnacle

and she gazed at you and laughed
and there was that moment
when you thought
you saw new stars

being born in her smile
but then she slowed down
and the new stars
died out after a while.

Fay walked with you
across the bombsite
off Meadow Row

the bombed out houses
like decaying teeth
in an old jaw

if Daddy saw me here
he’d spank me
she said

looking over the site
where weeds grew
in cracks and over

once backyards
and living rooms
there’s no danger

if you step careful
you said
Daddy says

it's walking on the dead
Fay uttered
looking at you

sideways on
her hands raised at her sides
as if learning to fly

all things born
will some day die
you said

standing on a broken wall
come on let’s go in
the haunted house

or so it seems
you laughed reaching out
for her hand to bring her forth

she hesitated
looked around
fearing her daddy’s

beady eyes
then took
your hand

and followed in
the semi dark
of bombed out room

it stinks of ****
you muttered
she giggled and set her foot

on bricks and stony floor
what if it all falls in?
she asked

looking up at the sky
through cracks and holes
her hand felt warm in yours

her fingers curled
around your own
it’s just adventure

you said
you got to take a few risks
we’re a long time dead

and her eyes widened
and stared
and she whispered

I’m scared
and clung to you
what do think

the people here thought
when the bombs fell
and they hadn’t made the shelters

or didn’t know
you said
she shrugged

her narrow shoulders
and bit her lip
my mother said

all they found
of her neighbours’ child
was a blown off hand

don’t tell me
Fay said
I will dream of that now

sorry I shouldn’t have said
you uttered
feeling her fingers

grip your arm
her thin nails
marking skin

let’s go out
she said
and off she went

dragging you behind
out into the sunshine
she looking to see

if her daddy’d seen
her sinful tread
but for you

looking back
it was just an adventure
on land of the dead.

Yes she’ll tell him that
next time tell him about
it all but until then she’ll
let him stew let him think

he has it all in the bag let
him think he’s won the
battle but she knows he
knows only half the game

she knows that much more
and anyway the war’s in
her sights now the game
is almost won she draws

on her cigarette lets the
smoke hit the back of her
throat feels the air about
her hears the music from

the other room as out in
the streets others celebrate
the New Year in their fashion
she hears their voices raised


their songs sung drunkenly
but he is but a loose page in
her book a mere footnote
in her book of life as if she’d

consent to be his lover or his
wife he thinks it’s almost on
the cards almost in the bag
but she knows better knows

how the game ends then thinking
back to her childhood as she
blows out smoke her father’s
dull eyes his voice filtering into

her dreams his hand punching
or smacking or lending the black
or blue her mother dull witted
saying nothing not knowing what

to do scars of her childhood leak
and ooze their memories and aches
and pains and dark corners and fears
as she inhales the smoke again yes

she’ll tell next time maybe if the
mood takes her she’ll wait and see.

Milka's there
by the sink
washing up

miracles
do happen
her mum says

watching her
I watch too
the figure

the outline
of *******
through her skirt

take this in
her mum says
it's a rare

event this
washing up
I'm watching

but not that
washing up
but the slight

impression
through her blouse
of her bra

it's a sight
isn't it?
her mum says

to young me
open mouthed
it sure is

I reply
it's not rare
Milka says

I've washed up
before this
at Christmas

her mum says
after tea
her mum looks

at young me
smiling wide
I'm glad she

(lucky me)
cannot see
what I see.

Soft toffee
in wrappers
in a bag
in my hand

just take one

Ingrid looks
at the bag
then at me

they are yours

I can share
no problem
I tell her

she takes one
and untwists
the wrapper
on the sweet
takes it out
and eats it

I watch her
her slightly
protruding
teeth bite through
soft toffee
quite easy

I eat mine
put the bag
of toffees
in my coat

my uncle
gives me sweets
she tells me
if I’m good
and do things

I study
her brown hair
pinned with grips
her brown eyes
looking sad

do what things?
I ask her

she looks down
at her shoes

I can't say
Uncle says
it's secret
between us

the uncle
visits her
at weekends
her old man's
big brother

gormless ***
Jimmy says
who's seen him
in the Square

why secret?
I inquire

cross my heart
hope to die
she replies

wonder why?

Joey sees her strolling
up the beach, young girl,
smoking a cigarette, been

in for a dip, her legs all wet,
aged 9 or 10, scanning the
sands and crowds, hair

blowing across her face,
her eyes dark, scowling,
he follows her barefoot

track wondering where
her parents are, where
she’d got the smoke,

the stance, the stare of
her giving the beach a glare.
Joey ponders as she turns

and looks back towards the
sea, the cigarette held between
fingers, the smoke rising,

then she waves a hand,
puts her head to one side,
and then Joey spots them,

the parents, he presumes,
the woman a long haired,
sun kissed ***** swaying

her hips and broad *** along
the sands, and the man,
holding hands, a beefcake,

suntanned, puffing a cigar,
gazing at the young girl,
presumably his daughter,

like one sizing up a gift horse,
letting out language and
words loud and course.

Joey watches them meet
up and walk up the beach,
each one kissing each,

then the older woman
goes off alone, as girl
and beefcake stroll to

the sidewalk and go off
and out of sight, leaving
Joey to sit and muse

and watch the sands
and sea, a slight breeze
tousling his hair, thinking

of the girl’s fate, her life,
although she isn’t there.

Putting the world
to rights,
I expect.

She, Mrs Clark,
and Old Ma Collins
are like an outpost

of the United Nations.
They’d put
the world to rights

all right. No one else
would get a word in
edgeways. Had a bloke

like that in the army.
He could talk the hind leg
off a donkey. Bit simple

he was, but he did half talk.
Perkins he was called.
Ronald Perkins.

Lost a leg he did,
but didn’t stop him talking.
Reckon if he lost his head

he’d still manage
to chat away
to himself somehow.

The milkman
let me and Helen
ride on the back
of his horse-drawn

milk wagon
through the Square
stopping here and there
to deliver milk

and eggs
and orange juice
Helen had got caught
in a downpour

of rain
and her thick lens
spectacles
were smeary

where she had wiped them
on her dress
her hair
had been plaited

into two plaits
over her shoulders
soggy looking
ought to

go back home
and change out
of the wet stuff
I said

or you'll catch
yourself a cold
Mum's out
Helen said

gone shopping
up the Cut
with the others
the milk wagon

moved on
the horse trotting
slowly forward
the man with a boxer dog

walked by
and gave us
a stare
sitting there

you could go
to my flat
my mum'll
find you

something dry
I said
I’ll be all right
Helen said

I'll dry out
the milkman
stopped again
and we got off

and walked through
the side
of the flats
and crossed Bath Terrace

and into Jail Park
you sure
you're all right?
I said

your dress
is clinging
to your legs
she pulled the dress

from her legs
I’ll be ok
so we went
into the area

where the swings
and slide were
and got on
the swings

for big kids
and pushed ourselves
high into the air
holding on

to the chains
at the side
our shoes trying
to touch

the grey clouds
then we went
on the slide
but Helen got stuck

half way
because her wet dress
held her there
so she climbed down

and we walked back
to my flat
where my mother
got her some

dry clothes
of my sister's
and put Helen’s clothes
in front of the fire

to dry
and we watched
the steam rise
from them

into the sitting room air
as we sat
on the sofa
with our bemused stare.

That was it
the **** bit
where love ends
where promises are broken
where kisses freeze
on cheeks or lips.

That was it
the tough bit
where cancer creeps
spider like
or slithers through limbs
as snakes through grass
and you die.

That was it
the hard bit
where suffering outweighs
the scales of prayers
and the child cries
for a loss
up the tall stairs.

That was it
the crucifying bit
the nails hammered in
the cross of flesh and bones
the heart plundered
for feelings and sense
the last farewell
no recompense.

Elsa sits on the edge
of the roof of the building

smoking a cigarette
her thoughts on Bolright

her feelings on the downside
her get up

in the morning
and have a good look

out on the city
still intact

the stone on the rooftop
is warmed by the morning sun

and warms her ****
and thighs

and so what
she thinks

if he doesn’t
come back again

what the heck do I care
I had a good time

had a good night
the bed rocking some

the Miles Davis CD
oozing from the hifi

rising in the air
and he was a cool lover

had that way about him
that make the most of

this baby because
you won’t feel

the same again
kind of sensation

and she looks
at the passing traffic

the ant like people below
the smell of the city

the sensation
of the warm stone

beneath her
the warmth rising

through her skin
the touch pretty much

like his
but softer

more gentle
and she inhales deeply

on the cigarette
sensing the smoke

against the back
of her throat

sensing it take up
in her lungs

and thinking of him
trying to remind herself

of each moment with him
the touches

the kisses
the ***

oh yes the ***
and she exhales

the smoke
and laughs to herself

as if remembering
a private joke.

Ingrid's right ear
was still numb
where her father
hit her head

as she climbed the stairs
to Benedict's flat
and knocked at his door
he's in the Park

I think Ingrid
or try the bomb site
on Meadow Row
his mother said

so she climbed down
the stairs
her eyes
filled with tears

her hearing like
she was under water
swimming
she crossed the Square

and over Bath Terrace
into the Park
passed by
the flowers beds

the trees
the wire fence
coming into view
her eyes scanned

through the wire
to see if he was on
the swings
but he wasn't

she entered the playground
and searched
but he wasn't there
her heart sank

low ebb feeling
she walked back
through the Park
along the path

and crossed
Bath Terrace
and back through
the Square

passed kids
playing skip rope
or football
some playing a tag game

running
here and there
she walked down
the *****

and over
Rockingham Street
passed the fish mongers
up the narrow pavement

passed the houses
her eyes watery
looking up the Row
hoping he'll be there

passed the public house
where her father went
and got drunk
and round

into the narrow
side road
where the bomb site
spread before her eyes

the coal wharf
on her right
horses and wagons
still there

she scanned the site
walked to the edge
her heart thumping
her eyes  searching

and there he was
over by the wall
of a bombed out house
2 walls gone

roof blown off
him standing there
picking up stones
she called his name

he turned and waved
she hurried towards him
over bricks
and stones

and chickweed
to where he stood  
2 small stones
in his hand

been looking for you
she said
her voice
on the edge

of breaking
what's the matter?
he said
but guessed

saw her watery eyes
her tone of voice
my ear hurts
she blurted out

and held her right ear
with her hand
your old man?
he said

she nodded
and cried
and Benedict
hugged her

his 9 year old arms
about
her thin shoulders
they stood

in the recess
of the bombed out house
sunlight pushing
through the tile less roof

unsure
what to say or do
he kissed her hand
and ear

a catapult wedged
in the back pocket
of his jeans
the small stones

held tight
in his left hand
he kissed the ear again
hoping

it would help
to heal the pain.

All or nothing at all
her father had said
and it seemed right

until she met Harpoon
and he seemed her
Mr Right the one she

had been waiting for
the one she’d dreamed
about but then it all

went wrong and he
became Mr Wrong
and oh yes that was

the downfall that was
the way to her deep
depression and that

episode in the bath
when she tried to
drown herself as her

mother had before her
and she discovered her
as a child coming home

from school and the
door was ajar and when
she went in there was

her mother with her
wrists slit and blood
and her mother drowned

and dead and now sitting
there in her mother’s
chair her father some

place her husband poking
some other and all or
nothing at all seemed all

there was left apart from
the few books on the shelf
the Bill Burroughs her mother

had read and left and that
Bukowski book she’d found
in some second shop and the

battered Bible which her
father had beat her about
the head and backside with

as a child when her father
had been boozing or she
had been sinful or wild.

School over
Judith began work
in town
in some grocery store

filling shelves
talking to customers
sitting on the checkout
and you went

saw her there once
busy
clothed
in the company’s

uniform
she was filling up holes
on the shelves
what are you doing here?

she said
you said you had a day off
from the petrol station
where you worked

out of town
that you wanted
to see her
how about tonight?

you asked
I can’t tonight
I’m working late
and I’m so tired

when I get home
what about tomorrow?
she said
I can’t

you said
I work until 8
she continued
filling the shelves

you looked about the store
taking in
the closed in feel
like being trapped

she looked about her
can’t talk for long
in case the manager
comes and bawls me out

she said
like being at school
you said
worse

she said
you looked at her
standing there
the uniform

the captivity of being
her eyes being fed
labels and prices
and contents of packets

her hands busy
the fingers moving
her cheeks flushed
her lips slightly pursed

as if wanting to kiss
but dare not
remember the first kiss we had?
you asked

yes
she said
pausing her work
gazing at you

Christmas while singing carols
with the choir
out in the evening air
no one looking

not seeming to care
she said
you just 14
me a still 13

going on 14
yes it had been like that
you recalled
and from the first time

you saw her
her eyes leapt out
at you and your heart
thumped inside

your chest
like some mad thing
wanting to get out
but that was then

you thought
watching her work
the school days over
the free time less

she in town working
all hours
you out of town
working the gas station

(you liked
the Americanization
of the term) till late
she busy

looking over her shoulder
time running out
love leaking away
she worried about

the manager seeing
you wanting to stay
but then
some store supervisor came

and moved on
to some other chore
and she waved
and you waved back

things weren’t
the same
the love not
as it was before.

Fay walks out
of the flat
onto the
red brick and
grey concrete
balcony

her father's
angry words
in her ears
and her head
his hand mark
on her thigh
red throbbing
making cry

it's Sunday

below her
the empty
tarmac Square

pigeons there
no one else
excepting
the milkman
with his horse
and milk cart
and bottles
rattling

flats all round
opposite
and beside
she sees it
watery
as from a
goldfish bowl

she gently
rubs her thigh
all because
she didn't
know the Creed
in Latin
all way through
of the mass

the strict nuns
at her school
had told him
of this fact

some one moves
on the Square
she watches
young Baruch
with brown hair
grey pullover
and blue jeans
walk along
holding his
catapult

she gazes
he looks up
waves to her
come on down
he beckons
mouthing words

she wonders
if she should
her father
doesn't like
the Jew boy
stay away
from the Jew
he tells her

she waves back
at Baruch
should she go?
she likes him
makes her laugh
tells her things

she goes down
the stairway
rushes down
excited

she feels safe
with Baruch
her fears leave
disappear

where are you
going to?
she asks him

any where
I want to
he replies
the whole world's
my oyster

she smiles now
the red thigh
still throbbing
can I come?
she asks him

if you like
what about
your old man
won't he mind?

she stares at
hazel eyes
and brown hair

'spect he will
she replies

she shows him
her red thigh

what's that for?
Baruch asks

not knowing
all of the
Latin Creed
she mutters

is that all?
does God care?
Baruch asks

I don't know
Fay replies
looking up
at the flat

let's go then
adventure
beckons us
he tells her

they walk off
down the *****
cross the road
then walk up
Meadow Row
quietly
to the site
of bombed out
wrecked houses
and remains

he picks up
small round stones
loads up his
catapult

flies at cans
or bottles
left behind
by drunkards

she watching
as the sound
echoes loud
in the air
breaking in
her Sabbath
smashing glass
crashing cans

your go now
he tells her
handing her
his weapon
the wooden
catapult
and a stone

she fires
at a can
BANG it echoes

a voice shouts
IT'S SUNDAY
TIME OF REST
GO AWAY

Baruch smiles
best be off

and they walk
on to the
New Kent Road
he holding
her thin hand

she thinking
about her
father's rage

Baruch thinks
of her hand
warm and soft
and looks out
for cowboys
the bad guys
ambushing
from corners
of this new
Dodge City

she feels safe
holding hands
12 years old
as is he

as they walk
their own new
London Town
Dodge City.

It was a room
at the top of the building

music being played
from some hifi system

and Judy said
you dance quite well

thanks
you said

haven’t seen you
here before

she looked at you
with her dark eyes

I come for the drug aid
they help me here

to get of the junk
oh right

you replied
looking for signs

of needle marks
or signs in the eyes

you take junk?
No I’m a ***** clown

you said
she nodded

and danced to the music
for a moment or so

my parents are doctors
in the City and have put me

in the hospital but I get out
for a few hours

and they let me
come here for the help

you looked at her dressed
in her tight slacks

and over long jumper
her ******* small

compact
untouchable

her hips swaying
to the music’s beat

the way she moved
drawing you in

smelling her scent
her words lost

in a singer’s voice
a guitar whining

in and out
maybe I can come see you  

you have to shout
over the music’s rising sound

sure
she said

moving her neat ***
as she moved around

and she whispered
the address and where

the hospital was
and how to get there

then she was whisked away
by some guy

with a drugged out
look in his eye

and you watched her sway
moving off

going slowly
but sexily away.

Where he said he’d meet
You, on the beach, Lake
Michigan. But he

Never showed; you just
Waited until the
Tide went out and the

Sun lowered itself
In the sky like a
Fat lady on her

Chamber ***. There were
Few people on the
Beach, even less when

You realized that he
Wasn’t going to
Come and turned for home.

You’d worn your new coat
And hat, had your hair
Done, your face made up,

All for that. Him not
Showing. The wind blew
At your clothes, lifting

The hem of your long
Dress, revealing your
Ankles and shoes. You

Watched the sea and wide
Horizon, waiting
Patiently, smelling

The sea salt, hearing
The roar of waves on
The sandy shore. Still

He never showed up.
Never came, despite
His kind promises,

Despite all the hot
******* the day
Before. All lies it

Seemed, him, his soft words,
And his deep blue eyes,
Deceiving beneath

The shell. There was a
Chill, a biting of
The flesh, a nipping

Of the thin fingers;
But hope was still there
Inside, despite all

That, like smoke hangs in
The still dry air, like
An echo lingers.

He knew that if he had
just the one drink
that he’d be back
on the wagon again

back to the shut up room
and dead head
and stinking bed
and the woman off again

and the door slamming
and her voice echoing
up the from the hall
as her footsteps faded

come on
the guys said
just the one shot
but no he had to stay strong

keep the ***** away
from hand and lips
and hey Joey come on
just a drink with me huh?

one lousy drink with a pal
whose lady’s left him
for some other guy
no

he said
I can’t have one drink
I don’t do one drinks
I got to stay strong

got to look at the big picture
so his friend said
shrew you Joey
I’ll find others

who’ll drink with me
and off he went
and Joey sipped his lemonade
and looked at the bottles

behind the bar
looking back him
saying silently
ha ha ha.

Yehudit likes
the Mahler 6th
Naaman has given her

but says he ought not
to spend
his money on her

he likes her
he thinks of her
all the time

even when he's away
from her
and she's at home

or abroad
like that first time
when she went Belgium  

and sent him
a postcard
of a Russian artist's

artwork
and he pinned it
to his bed board

along with the photo
of her she'd given him
and he likes

how her fair hair
flows as she walks
the mild wind

taking it
and her eyes
icy blue

like small pools
and he wants
to swim there

and sink in deeper
to find her soul
(sentimental fool

he later thought)
and she has the small
but most delicate

******* he's seen
and held them
and kissed them

that time
at her house
when her parents

were out
after she'd played
some Mozart minuet

on the piano
and he'd almost got
into her *******

when the parents' car
came into the drive
and they had

to sort out
their clothes
and he carried away

the softness
of the *******
I prefer his 2nd symphony

she says
but I'll like the 6th too
and she tucks it

under her arm
as she walks with him
along the country lane

the moon out
and the stars spread
about the sky

and the parents are in
and he is out
the evening cool

the hedgerows
becoming dark shadows
and he smelling

her scent
and nearby
an owl hoots

and a bird
takes flight
and he walking

next to her
in an August night.

Fay looked down
at the River Thames
from Westminster Bridge

and you stood next to her
watching the boats
go under the bridge

and disappear from view
and she said
my dad said he’d take me

on one of those boats
and out to sea
but he never has

you looked sideways at her
taking in her blonde hair
and her blue eyes

and the way the wind
touched her hair
and made her dress

move about her legs
I’ve been on boats
on the river before

you said
making conversation
not seeking to impress

or boast
I like the chugging sound
of the boat

you added
Fay touched
the edge of the bridge

where she stood
and said
this bridge was built in 1862

I heard about it in class
Miss Ash told us about it
oh yes she

with her massive shoulders
and arms and *******
you said

and Fay laughed
and blushed slightly
God knows what my dad’d say

if he heard you say that
and me laughing
she said

looking at you
and shyly smiling
probably give me

what’s for
she uttered quieter
ceasing to smile

her eyes taking on
a dark gaze
looking out

at the river again
you’ve got to have a laugh
now and then

haven’t you
you said
wanting to put

an arm about her
but not doing so
just putting a hand

next to hers
on the bridge top
feeling the cold stone

wanting to feel her flesh
soft and warm
suppose so

she said softly
her fingers close to yours
almost touching

you moved your hand
closer across the stone
crablike and touched

her small finger with yours
she breathed in the air
and so did you

and she said
oh to be in London
and out of doors.

Lovely Tours
Miriam
says to me
maybe we
can look round
you and me

sure
I say

and so when
the coach stops
we get out
and wander
keeping close
to others
from our coach

the hippie
couple there
out in front
he bearded
with a band
round his head
and his girl
with long hair
hanging loose
both smoking

Miriam
takes my hand
her own hand
small and warm
pulse going
her red hair
all tight curls
her bright eyes
over me

isn't it
exciting?

I don't do
exciting
I just look
and take in
and enjoy
I tell her

we walk on
through the streets
look in shops
look at stuff

she holds things
in her hands
handles them
values them

like last night
in the coach
in Paris

lying down
in our seats
us kissing
her fingers
exploring
my hot crotch

my fingers
spidering
up her thigh
as music
on the coach
radio
eases out
Beethoven’s
piano piece
concerto
number 5
or such like

and she's there
holding me

my fingers
spidering
to her nest

lights dim low
music flows
down the rows
of coach seats

some sleeping
some talking
some of us
making out
best we can
in dim light
in Paris
over night.

The parents row again, but
You just sit in a corner like

The good little girl you are,
Watching shadows cast by

The sun flow through the
Kitchen window. Your dolls

And toys are in the other
Room where the row is;

So you just sit and listen
To birds sing from outside

The house, like the patient
Little girl you’ve become,

Playing with dark dancing
Shadows in the cold hall.

The words of rows seem
Harsh and loud and vibrate

The walls causing your ears
To ache and invisible friends

To depart. The words are
Unknown to you: the ****

Yous and cruel ***** fill
The air; the loud blows will

Come next and Mother will
Cry and the rows will stop

And the there theres and oh
I’m sorrys will flow along

The walls where you sit and
Watch the shadows on the

Cold linoleum floor play
As you and they have before.

Bring some wine around
Chana said
and I’ll put on
the music

and take off
some clothes
so I took some wine
(red she liked best)

and she put on the Mahler
and we sipped our wine
and she brought out
some small cakes

those fancy things
with small cherries on
and we ate and talked
and I listened to the Mahler

and looked at her
sitting there
with her big blue eyes
and that beehive

hair style
and her plumpish frame
and she said
how's the writing going?

not bad
still typing away
still learning my craft
she put her hand

on my thigh
and said
how about I
show you my craft?

I finished off my fancy cake
and drained my wine
(two glasses after)
and she took me

to her bedroom
with the big double bed
with purple sheets
and cover with large flowers

a picture or two
on the walls
and from the other room
the Mahler still played

and she lay on the bed
after *******
and I looked out
onto the evening sky

and stars and moon
and street lamps
showing a young couple
going by

and I was there with Chana
and she waited there ready
like some big mountain
waiting to be to climbed

and she said
aren't you coming on over?
sure
I said

and began *******
to the distant Mahler
the final movement
of the 2nd symphony

and went on over
and she said
how do you want me?
I told her how

and that was it
we made love
as the Mahler ended
the other room quiet

the far off sound
of a barking dog
from the window
the pale moon

quite bright
and we made love
( sans Mahler)
for most of the night.