The bus pulled away
and when you looked back
she had gone
you searched where

she had stood
until the bus turned
a corner and the scene
had changed

and you turned to the front
and sat wounded
and deflated
the evening sky

drawing in
the bus nigh on empty
except for you
and a few others

she said she had another
some guy from work
engaged now
and that was that

said kindly as such
but to your mind
and heart too much
and searched back

to the old days
the days when it all
seemed fresh
as fish just caught

that time by the pond
when she was late
and you wondered
if she'd come

and sat gazing across
the water's skin
seeing ducks and birds
and butterflies

but not her
and then she appeared
and was there
breathless and smiling

and saying
she had had to run
something about her mother
wanting chores done

and she sat beside you
and her arm looped yours
and she pulled you close
and kissed your cheek

and talked and talked
her head against your arm
and you listened
but half only

as you wanted to drink her in
each aspect of her
each particle of her being
her scent

her hair against you
the sound of voice
the tone
her hands across yours

her legs slightly uncovered
the shoes half off her feet
and o
she said

thought I'd not make it
thought you'd be gone
no not me
you said

always wait for you
and she smiled
and the sun was coming
through the trees

seeping through branches
dancing with leaves
or that other time
in the tall clover

near the run down cottage
she laying there
peasant like
semi clad

you lying beside her
hands on her thighs
that sweet spark
in her eyes

and what would mother say
if seeing such
she said
there in clover

not in bed
her talk of nature things
of butterflies or birds
or how her father's cigarette

hung from his lower lip
as he spoke
almost choking
in smoke

then the bus drew
into the town
and you saw
the empty shops

and street lights
and people walking home
or to the cinema
couples arm in arm

or holding hands
which took you back
to the old times
and dream lands.

It's been two years
since Baruch saw Yehudit
for the first time
on the school bus

that long
since that first kiss
that Christmas
under that moon

and stars
now as she turns
from the window
she says

what time will your mother
be home?
about 50 minutes
he says

on the bus?
yes on the bus
he answers
she stands there naked

the sunlight coming
over shoulders
and lighting up
her brown hair

she looks at him
lying there on the bed
hands behind his head
he searches her eyes

the blueness of them
the heaviness
of her *******
the love bites

the peasantness
the broadness of hips
have we time for more?
she asks

maybe
he says
she moves to the bed
and climbs up beside him

and lays her head
on his chest
I would never have dreamed
of this last year

she says
she kisses his stomach
lips damp warm
he strokes her shoulder

runs a finger
along her spine
she giggles
kisses him more

what would your mother say
if she found us thus?
he asks
don't think of it

she says
she lies beside him
he kisses her breast
softly

slowly
she turns towards him
runs a finger
down his thigh

he senses her movement
she imagines her mother
coming up the stairs
the heavy stomp

the booming voice
a smacking hand
she lies on her back
senses his movement

she embraces him
her hands knotted
behind him
he hears the dog bark

downstairs
he freezes
what's up?
she asks

earlier bus
he replies
he slips from the bed
and runs to the window

his mother is walking up
the road from the bus stop
quick
he says

she's coming
who?
she says
lying there

with a vacant stare
my mother's coming
quick dress
out the back door

the space of time
the movement of bodies
his mother's slow pace
towards the house

the dog barking louder
semi clothed
Yehudit runs with items
out the back door

with Baruch behind
along the back path
by orchard and logs
out the back gate

she in front
clutching shoes
and stockings
he watching

as he runs
her peasant body
swaying
like a mighty ship

on perilous seas
and storing away
as he runs
everything he sees.

These things are sent to try us,
Gran said, her thumb
Moving itself over
The well-worn beads
Of her dark wood rosary;
Her eyes taking in the crucifix
On the wall above her bed.
You sat watching her thumb
Moving its way back and forth
Over the round black beads,
Her arthritic fingers clutching
Blue blankets and white sheet.
Never tries us beyond our strength,
She added, the strained features
Mingling with the yellow taint
Of wrinkled skin. You wondered
Who sent the things to try her,
Whose bounty of gifts left
Small tears wedged in the corners
Of her eyes, pushed out words
Between harsh sighs.

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.

You left the door
of your washing machine
wide open.

I noticed that
when we fetched
your clothes
the following day.

You never did wear them;
after your death
we took them away.

I guess you, like me,
my son, thought you'd
return that day
to close the door
and carry on
with the wash.

You never did
return to close
the door or do
your wash again;
you thought it
was an old
problem returning,
a similar pain.

Your flat is rented
by some other now;
all your worldly goods
divided like
the cloth of Christ,
but with a sadness
and hurtful feel
handling your things
after your demise:
books, clothes,
CDs, DVDs,
hats and coats.

Seeing them again,
my son, brings lumps
to ours throats.

I wish I’d stayed behind
that night, not left,
thinking all'd be
all right.

What was it like,
those last hours,
when we weren't there?

I closed the door
of your washing machine;
a scent of you
hanging in the air.

Yochana
sitting next
to the blonde

Angela
is in front
of the class

at the back
of the class
Reynard R

sits with me
while Miss G
is yakking

about Bach
his music
walking slow

between rows
peering deep
through her

thick lens specks
Yochana
looks at me

and mouths words
do not kiss
me again

I smile back
and mouth words
it was good

she stares back
unsmiling
while Miss G

stops yakking
glares at me
then looks at

Yochana
this lesson
is on Bach

and music
Miss G says
not ***-tat

Yochana
blushes red
looks away

I watch her
sitting there
her figure

her shoulders
her black hair
as Miss G

goes to her
gramophone
and puts on

boring Bach
as I think
of holding

Yochana
and kissing
on the cheek

or her lips
tomorrow
or next week.

She's pointing
at some bird
on a pond
in a wood
half a mile
from the farm

a moorhen
she tells me

it walks odd
I reply

I like it
like its eggs
the colour
she relates

she's happy
her eyes bright

I watch her
her brown hair
the grey dress
the black boots
thin figure

Daddy says
all creatures
are God's gift

she watches
the moorhens
some swimming
some walking

she has fine
bone structure
a fine nose

I guess so
I reply

we walk near
her hand soft
white near mine
close to touch

don't suppose
a London
boy sees them?
she asks me

I haven't
before now
I tell her
just pigeons
and sparrows
in London
except parks
then there's ducks
and such things

she walks near
the pond's edge
be careful
she tells me
a child drowned
here last year

I gaze out
at the pond
imagining
the dead child

my father
said the prayers
at the church
afterwards
very sad
Jane says

she's buried
in the small
church's ground
I’ll show you
when we're there
the next time

I recall
the last time
at the church
in the grounds
watching clouds
overhead
laying down
with the dead.

Baruch met Yehudit
off the bus
it was her half day
off work

and they were going
to spend some time
alone together
as they used to

before they’d' left school
she still had
her work uniform on
and make up  

and her hair
was tidier
than it had ever been
can we go

to your place?
she asked
yes sure
the house is empty

until 3.20
she nodded
and they walked up
the road towards

the house
traffic rushing by
the sun warm
in the afternoon sky

hell of a day at work
she said
that manager
kept on at me

this is not how
we do it
he says
that is how

we do it
why is he
such a creep?
Baruch said

he thinks because
he's manager
he can get
girls to do things

but I always
put him straight
and he doesn't like it
that I don't let him

Yehudit said
report the  prat
Baruch said
a rook flew noiseilly

over head
she looked up
and down again
who would believe me?

I'm just a 15 year old kid
he’s a respected manager
been there
for 20 odd years

who are they
going to believe?
Baruch frowned
won't any

of the other girls
stick by you?
will they heck
most have slept

with him
they're not going
to show themselves up
as ****** are they?

she said
guess not
he said
they reached the house

and went in
the gate
and along the path
to the back door

and opened up
coffee or tea?
he asked
no

she said
let's not waste time
we only have
about 2 hours

so they went up
the stairs to his bedroom
and undressed
and got into bed

you ok with this?
he said
of course I am
she said

it's not you
I have a problem with
and besides
this is an expression

of my love
he kissed her
and she kissed
his neck

and he took in
her *******
the softness
the smoothness

as he ran his fingers
over them
and his pecker moved
and the room enclosed

and protected them
from the world outside
as they made love
the songs of birds

distant traffic
a ticking clock
her uniform
flung over

a chair
then they lay there
breathless
each moving

in a different world
breathing in
the same air
and on the bed post

hanging
her bright pink
flowered
underwear.

Your brother
has laid flowers
on your stone
today Ole.

Tulips, pink,
purple and white,
I think.  

The black
memorial stone,
sculptured book,
what beauty
here stands;
chiselled words,
name and dates,
else all said,
to mark and say
you’re dead.

Aba wishes,
as do others,
it was not so,
that stone
was not in place,
that you were
here still,
face to face.  

But fact is
that you are
and that it is
in place,
book sculptured
and designed as such,
skilfully done
and made to last;
outlive us
who come see
and make our visit,
steady and firm,  
granite made,
and there
beside you,
Ole, we also
will be boxed
and gently laid.

Milka sits in the park.
Milka has a mood.
She stares ahead
with eyes

sharp as razors;
her hands either side
of her on the grass.
I sit beside her.

I look at her
staring ahead.
My hands are
around my knees.

Her eyes are icy;
one could freeze in them.
Nearly caught us
that time,

she says.
Nearly being
the operative word,
I say.

Her words
have an edge to them;
one could slit
a throat on them.

Her mother nearly
caught us at it.
We were in her room.
We were on her bed.

Door opening
and closing down stairs.
Kids ride by
on their bikes.

Small kids
with goofy smiles.
Milka stares at them.
Milka follows them

along the grass
with her icy eyes.
I remember her panic
in her eyes

as we heard the sounds
of her mother in the kitchen.
Milka dressing in haste.
Milka hopping

on one leg.
I dressed in a trance.
Sounds seeming nearer.
A guy walked by

with his dog.
The dog had out
a long pink tongue.
White teeth sharp

as Milka's eyes.
God knows what
if she'd caught us,
Milka says.

Mm-mm,
I say.
Laughter near by.
A group of girls

giggling like geese.
One girl wears jeans.
Her **** holds it well.
Flushed as a slapped face

Milka having dressed
waited for me
at the door of her room.
Sounds from the kitchen.

Her mother busy.
The sun warms us.
White clouds overhead.
I smell her perfume.

She breathes heavy.
Moody as blues.
The girl in tight jeans
has gone into the duck

pond area out of sight.
Milka sighs.
Milka looks at me.
I think she

believed you,
Milka says.
She does you.
Butter wouldn't

she thinks
in your mouth.
Three boys kick ball
across the way.

Milka studies me.
I look at the boys
at their game.
Tidying my room

with me,
Milka says,
she believed that
because of you

and that you said it.
It had been
a close thing.
It had been close.

My pecker stiff
in my jeans
as I spoke to her mother.
Her mother smiled.

Her mother said
it needed tidying.
I liked her mother's smile.
Warm and cosy

as a mother's love.
Cosy and warm
as a hat on a head.
Milka says,

nearly made it
in my single bed.

Jane looks confused.

I kissed her
when I met her
by the water tower
in Bugs Lane.

Why did you
kiss me?

She's wearing
her grey dress
and cardigan;
her eyes look at me.

Impulse,
I didn't think,
I say,
presumptuous of me.

Presumption
is like a kind of theft.  

Sorry,
should have asked.

She looks over
the hedge
towards the farm,
then back at me.

I wasn't expecting it,
but it was nice.

I feel like a ****;
I look at her
dark hair
long and untied
by ribbons
as she does sometimes.

If you'd been a peach
I’d have nibbled.

She smiles
and looks up
towards the Downs.

A blue tractor
is climbing upward.

I hope he's careful,
she says,
a tractor driver
was killed
a few months ago
doing that;
he was crushed
beneath the machine.

I look at the tractor.

He seems competent.

So did the one killed;
my father had
to comfort the widow
and perform
the funeral service.

I take her in
side ways on:
her complexion is pale,
her lips
a washed out pink.

Maybe I can show you
his grave
in the churchyard.

Ok,
I say.

Churchyard viewing
is not
my favourite pastime,
but if I’m with her
I don't mind
watching paint dry.

I want to kiss her again,
but feel unsure.

Sorry about
the presumptuous kiss.

She looks at me.

Imagine I'm a peach,
she says.

I kiss, not nibble;
we kiss
and she nibbles
my lip with her lips.

I feel electricity
tingle my finger tips.

There's a rat on the balcony.
I see it scamper
along by the wall,
its tail following behind.

Helen screams
and rushes behind me.

It runs out of sight
down the concrete stairs
of the flat.

I hate them,
she says,
looking over
my 7 year old shoulder.

It's gone now.
She sighs.

Why are there rats
in the flats?

Forget them;
lets go
to the Penny Shop,
I say showing her
a 6d piece.

Will the rat
have gone now?
she asks.

Yes,
long gone.

We walk along
the balcony
and down the stairs
looking out for the rat,
but there's no sign.  

Where'd it go?

Hidden down the shute,
I expect.

We walk through
the Square,
walk past the bike sheds,
the milkman
and his horse-drawn cart.

My dad killed a rat
with his shoe
when it got in
our backyard,
Helen says,
horrible,
blood and guts
everywhere,
and he had
to wash his shoes clean
under the cold water tap
in the yard.  

He must
have been quick.

He cornered it
and bang bang
with his big
black shoe.

We come out
of the Square
and cross into Harper Road
and go to the Penny Shop.

I like how she stands there
with her big eyed look
through the thick lens
glasses
and brown
plaited hair.

Naaman's father
frequented ******
or so his mother said.

Naaman had no idea,
as a kid, what ****** were,
but his mother's tone
of voice and look
gave the impression,
this was not good.

His father never mentioned
the said ******,
never a gave a hint
or clue, so Naaman
just accepted the fact
his father did; what more
could a Jewish kid do?  

There was the woman
who stopped his father
in the street Up West,
gave smile
and whispered words,
looked at Naaman
and walked away,
waggling her slim behind,
rattling keys
from her fingers,
looking back,
then away,
what it was about,
his father didn't say.

Maybe, thought Naaman,
that was the said *****,
but what she did or what
she was for, he wasn't sure.

His mother didn't say,
just glared and froze
her husband out,
or rowed and rowed,
and slammed things down
in the kitchen while cooking,
Naaman just played
with his toys
and pretended
he wasn't looking.

But that dame
in the street
who stopped his father,
her wiggling behind,
her red lips,
big blue eyes,
her keys
and ringed fingers,
maybe she was the *****,
maybe she was the lady
who made
her mother angry,
the one his father frequented
( whatever that might mean),
but to Naaman
she was just a painted lady
who smiled a lot
and whispered soft words
and wagged her behind.

Whatever his mother thought,
Naaman mused,
his father didn't mind.

Don’t know when
she said

but as she spoke
her breath rose

like cigarette smoke
in the morning air

and it fascinated you
more than the words

like when your father
blew smoke rings for you

as some kind
of cheap entertainment

but
she said

it will happen
I promise you

and your lack
of response

still gazing
at her breath rising

made her repeat
don’t know when though

and jabbed
at your chest

with her finger
oh ok

you said
coming back

to the moment
her blue eyes

fixed on you
the depth of them

like pools
of blue water

and oh how
to drown there

the thought arose
wanting the when

to be
as soon as

and the image
of her back then

with her eyes
and smile

and that way
she had

of bringing life
to a dull day

like some
top notch dancer

not knowing then
of her death

years later
of cold creeping cancer.

I don't like Flensburg
Dalya said
as we rode
in the passenger carrier

she next to me
at the back
the Polish girl
and her mother
having changed seats
for a different view

the Southend teacher prat
still in the front
with the driver and guide

I want to be out of Germany
my dad was in Germany
in the War
she said
she stared at the passing view
not sure where he was
he didn't say much about it

I looked at her sitting there
the green top
and tight blue jeans
her dark hair
pulled in a bunch
at the back

my old man was in Egypt
in the War
I said

what did he do there?
she said

fought the Desert Fox

were there foxes in Egypt?

he was a German general
in the north African fight
called Rommel

the fight was called Rommel?

I looked at the nape
of her neck
the love bite
still there
remembering her
in her tent
unclothed and bare

no the general
was called Rommel
I said

was your old man
as you term him
the general?

I remember her *******
like two small jelly moulds
shaking there

no he wasn't a general
he was an engineer
he mended tanks
somewhat lower
in the ranks

she pointed out a church
as we passed it by
my father said he prayed
in a church in Germany
I rememberer that
she said

I remembered her
laying there
unclothed completely bare
a soft aroma
of onions
hanging in the air.

After all that time
There is a sense of triteness in the air,

With no care for observation
Beyond the norm;

No desire for dreams to storm
Sombre sleep. No consolation

Needed for inaction,
No satisfaction sought because

None desired, beyond the satisfactory.
No temptation tried or if tasted

No tainted with trying
Beyond the trite.

After all that time
There is a sense of death in the air.

We lean on the balcony
looking down
on the Square;
it's a summer evening,
light still,
kids playing
by the pram sheds,
on up and down the *****
on their scooters or bikes.

Fay smells of flowers;
her fair hair let loose
about her slim shoulders;
I sniff her secretly.

My father's away,
she says,
he'll be back
on Saturday.

Where's he gone?

Business in Scotland;
he said I was to learn
Chapter six
of St John's Gospel.

Why?

Just his way
of making sure
I don't waste too much
time on earthly things.

Will you learn it?

I will have to;
he'll test me
when he gets back
and if I haven't
there will be trouble,
he said.

I see two kids fighting
over by the pram sheds;
a crowd gathers.

Don't your parents
make you read the Bible?

No, my old man
wouldn't know
the first thing
about the Bible;
he thinks it's all
a load of tosh,
but my mother says
we should go to church
and sometimes we do,
especially
the Bible-thumpers
by the iron bridge
who take poor kids
to the beach
in the summer
and they have feast night
with bread
and cakes and such.

Fay looks at me;
her eyes have
a sadness about them
like a puppy
left out
in the rain.

The nuns say
that those who
do not believe
will go to Hell.

Be quite
a packed place, then.

I believe,
but I want you
to believe, too,
she says.

Believe what?

In Jesus and God.

I watch a tall kid
ride his bike
by a couple
and shout
KAZOO!
as he passes them by.

I do believe.

You do?

Sure why not?

She smiles.

I would kiss
Miss A's backside
for a smile like that,
but I don't tell Fay;
I just look
at the brightness
of her eyes
where stars
are born
and an old star dies.

Shoshana sees him,
watches him, he walks
through the playground
towards the cloakrooms,

his head turned away
from her, his profile,
snaps it with her eyes
like a camera, Naaman,

she thinks his name is,
the stride of him, so
goose-bumpily he makes
her, somersault of her

innards, her brain alive
like a wire shot through.
He stops, holds out a hand,
palm upwards, eyes the

sky, then her, standing by
the fence, Monkey's Wedding,
he says, smiling, then down
it comes rain and the sunshine

almost hand in hand like a
weird bride and groom, then
downwards falling, go run,
she hears him loudly calling.

The tall monk‭
with large blue eyes,‭
walked with his head‭

to one side‭
as if he spoke‭
with God‭

at an awkward angle.‭
I gazed at the grey‭
falling rain,‭

the church roof‭
from my cell window,‭
became a slightly‭

greyer grey.‭
The dark haired monk,‭
with the cissy girl hair,‭

moaned about‭
my apple picking,‭
in his posh boy‭

tone.‭
Down by the woods,‭
on a leaf strewn path,

the French‭
peasant monk‭
walked alone.

I sat next to Anne
on the lawn
by the round white table
after breakfast

she was rubbing
the stump of her leg

I ate my toast

Sister Bridget
came over to us

what was all the fuss
last night?
she asked Anne
staring at her
with stern eyes

my leg hurt

your leg has been amputated
there is no leg
the nun said

it still hurts
even if it isn't
****** there
Anne said

language
I will not have
bad language
the nun said

I said ******
that's not a swear word
I should know
I’m an expert
in foul language
Anne said

you did not
have to make such a fuss
you woke up
the other children
in the dormitory
and Sister Elizabeth said
you used
foul language then

Anne shifted in the chair
rubbed her stump

I finished my toast
gazed at them both

it hurts here too
Anne said
raising her skirt
to reveal the stump

put your skirt down
the nun said firmly
Benedict doesn't want
to see your stump

I looked away
carrying the sight
of her stump with me

he doesn't mind
he's always gawking
at my leg
Anne said

enough of that
the nun said

that's what I tell him
but he doesn't listen
Anne said
poking me
in the ribs smiling

I don't
I said
looking at the nun
with my Mr Innocent features

I suggest young lady
you go to see Sister Agnes
about some painkillers
for the pain
the nun said
avoiding looking at me

I will
Anne said

and better manners my girl
the nun said
and walked off
across the lawn

silly old crab
Anne said
here give me your hand
and she shoved my hand
on her stump
and rubbed it
back and forth

I tried to pull
my hand away
but she held it there

don't fuss so Kid
take it as
the pleasure it is

I watched the nun stop
over by the slide
and talk to two other kids
sensing my hand moving
over warm skin

if the old bat saw this
Anne said
she'd call it
a ****** sin.

The water won’t really
Wash him away, but you
Try and now dry between
Toes. Thoughts of him
And what he did and said

Pollute your body and inside
Your head. An hour in the bath
Has not erased him at all, not
Undone him, not unfelt his
Fingers from your flesh.

The flesh tingles where
The brush scrubbed,
The pores hold onto his
Feel and touch, too imbedded,
All too much. You want him

Gone, want all of him to be
Sluiced away down the sink,
The down the drain, away
From you, with all his
Hurtfulness and all that pain.

And choir practice is over
and you and the others
leave by the vestry door
and look at the night sky

few stars
bright moon
and she says
wait a while

and so you wait
while the others
move off
towards the cars

or for the long walk
down the drive
from the church
and you see her there

in the moonlight
and she is standing
by one of the graves
and you go to her

and she draws you
to her and you kiss
and the warm lips
are on yours

and she has
her arms around you
and you smell
her scent

and feel her there
her body close
to yours
her hands touching

and her lips
and you touch her
and sense her
and it's as if

time has stopped
and nothing else
is in the world
except you and she

and the moonlight
and stars
and that slight wind
you sense

and her fingers
through your hair
and your hand
feeling along

her ****
and warmth
and no thoughts
no philosophy

no music
none of that stuff
just you and she there
and the kissing

and touching
and time moving
but you both unaware
that some other guy

would have her
and marry her
and that cancer
would take her off

into its deadly grasp
and there was moonlight
and stars
and lips

and kissing
and she saying
she loved you
and you saying words

that floated there
bird-like flapping
and her lips
soft as cotton

and her tongue
touching yours
entering
and sensing

and O boy
that was hot
and love
and only

in the dark hours
when her shadow
lingers nearby
do you see

that time
and feel
the need
to cry.

Your worth
not in flowers

or tombstone's depth
or height,

but in the heaviness
of the heart,

the haunting look
from old photos.

I dreamed of you,
not as last,

but younger,
child-like,

wanting to caress.
I search for you

among the tall grass
and bright flowers.

I recall
your last words,

final hours.

Jane and you stood
in the church porch

as rain fell
making large splashes

on the path
that led from the lane

to the church
and the sky was dark

and the clouds heavy
with more rain

like pregnant sheep
and you said

Don’t think
we’re going to make

the Downs today
so what should we do?

she looked out
at the rainfall

the drips from the porch roof
making puddles

by the entrance
and the wind was getting up

and she shivered
and said

Either we go into the Parsonage
or sit in the church

but the church’ ll be cold
and maybe

if we’re not noisy
Daddy’ ll let us sit

and talk in the lounge
and you looked at her

and she looked at you
and you said

Ok let’s go
to the Parsonage

and into the warm and dry
and she nodded

and so together
holding hands

you ran through the rain
to the Parson’s house

and went in
by the back door

and into the warmth
of the kitchen

where you both stood
drench and looking drowned

and her mother
stood there

staring at you both
her eyes on you

standing there
in your old coat and jeans

and Jane wet through
so that her dress

clung to her
outlining her figure

and plastering
her dark hair

to her face
and her mother said

Where have you been
and how wet you have got?

and she looked at you
and said

Best get you dry young man
don’t want you

getting a death
and she smiled

and Jane looked at her
and you and her eyes

sparkled like stars
on a winter’s night

and you smiled too
relieved that all

would be good
and all right.

Night and the stars shine
You are there my little babe
Who died in my womb.

Even in sleep,
She is beautiful.

Let her be, Sandor
Says, let’s go drink

And play cards and
Listen to some jazz.

She resembles some
Goddess lying there,

You muse, leaving
Behind Sandor,

Looking back at
Her with her eyes

Closed, her hand
On her breast, there

At rest. Wish I could
Be that hand, you

Inward say, watching
The shadows from

The moon’s shift play
On her cheek and skin.

Sandor pours white
Wine and puts down

The cards; there is cool
Jazz on the gramophone

And she is lying there
Without you, sleeping,

Dreaming, and all alone.

The holding of young
Nisha your daughter
Is like embracing

A wonderful dream
In a summer’s night;
The smell of her is

Like scented blossoms,
The eyes of her like
Small diamonds in a

Sea of creamy milk.
The feeling of her cheek
Against yours warms you,

Reminds you of your
Mother’s touches, your
Mother’s embraces,

The softness, the warmth
Of love. Time moves you
On, the hands of the

Clock go around and
Around, your mother
Is no more, the fond

Memory of her holds
Fast in your mind, your
Father sits alone

Now, his eyes always
On the door as he
Awaits her return,

Listening for her
Footsteps in the house.
The holding of young

Nisha in your arms
Is a reminder
Of the then and now,

Of the memory
Of your mother and
The moment of warmth

Now, the aliveness,
The being here, the
Eyes close, there is the
Smile and the lone tear.

What have you got there?
Record, LP.

Nima looks at me.
Which one?

Ornette Coleman.
I show her
the record sleeve:
three men standing
in snow.

She nods,
loses interest,
looks away.

Pigeons make noises
about us;
people pass by.

We're in Trafalgar Square.
How are you?
I ask,
sitting on the low wall
around the fountain.

*** starved,
need a fix
and a smoke,
she says.

I can give you
a smoke.

She sits beside me.
There is the sound
of water
from the fountain
behind us;
chat of others
around us.

I give her a cigarette
and light it for her.

She inhales gratefully.
Needed that, said
the bishop
to the good-time girl,
Nima says.

How's your *** life?
She asks
after a few  minutes
of silence.

Non-existent.

Likewise;
I feel like
a ****** nun.  

I watch traffic go by;
a boy and girl
walk by
hand in hand.

Nima watches them.
Bet they're *** life's
up to the top rung,
she says.

How's it
at the hospital?
I ask.

The usual:
stupid quacks,
*** starved nurses
and medication
to help me get off
other drugs.

And is it working?

Don't know;
all I know is
that I am aching
for a fix.

What about a drink?

Not allowed.

Coffee?

You know how
to get to
a girl's heart,
she says sarcastically.
Coke and burger  
and you're on.

I nod my head.

We walk through
the Square
and up towards
Leicester Square
to a burger bar
where we sit
and order both.

If you come visit me
at the hospital next time,
bring me
a packet of smokes.

Sure, if you like.

And they'll look at you
suspiciously.

Why?

They suspect
we had ***
in that cupboard.

We did.

I know
and so do they,
Nima says, smiling.

I picture the scene
some weeks back,
she and I
in a broom cupboard
off the ward
in the semi-dark,
risking it.
Quite a lark.

To Elaine
everything seemed large
where others
heard whispers

she heard loud bellowing
and vicious taunts
where others saw
light of day

and brilliant sunshine
she saw darkness
and storms
on the way

and the more she wanted
to hide away
from the world
the more it sought her out

like some black dog
of deep depression
at school she sat
at the front to hear

the teacher better
or at the back
to be unseen
and undisturbed

but then John spoke to her
and lifted the lid
and let in some light
and it seemed less dark

and seemed all right
but she wasn't sure
others had let her down before
pretended to be friends

or friendly then betrayed
or showed true colors
and joined the taunts
and jokes of others

the bell rang
for the end of history
and onward they all
sauntered to the next

dull lesson in little groups
or gangs or on
their own giving
chatter or joke

or idle moan
Elaine walked
just a little behind the rest
one step slowly

following the next
her frumpy being
looking through her glasses
at the passing walled art

or out of windows
showing the outer world
as large as giants
in fairy tales

she used to read
and thought
as she went by
the girl's toilets

the time she had the bleed
(none had told her
of the reason why
or when)

and she had sat there
in the stall
the splash of red
and whirling

of her head
and sat and sat
too frightened to move
until a girl

(one of the few)
knocked and asked
what she was doing?
and she said quietly

through the door
she was dying
or some such doing
she looked away

that girl had taken her
to the school nurse
and saved the day
and said nothing

to the others
as others may
have done
just for a laugh

or fun
she looked down
at her black
scuffed shoes

at the wooden floor
at the moving feet
just ahead
then he touched her arm

in passing
John on his way
to boring maths
he said

and smiled
and was gone
but she carried
his smile

and words
inside her head
like caged
wild birds.

Lizbeth lies
on her bed
after returning
from seeing Benny

in the small hamlet
outside town
she lies and fumes
and muses on the day

Benny talking
of birds of prey
and all she wanted
was for him

to have her
although she knew
it'd be a waste
of effort

but she thought maybe
he might weaken
if she tried enough  
and wore her

shortest skirt and such
but no
all talk of birds
and butterflies

and his
****** queen
from school
on his mind

as they walked
no doubt
worth an effort
she muses

maybe one day
he may
downstairs her mother
plays the radio

some classical stuff
her mother's
croaking voice
attempting

a Schubert song
the bed is soft
the pillow holds
her head

she pretends
Benny's there
closes her eyes
imagines its his fingers

touching her now
not hers
his fingers
lifting the skirt

his finger and thumb
lowering
her underwear
the Schubert song

is done
her mother's croak
is silent
some other

composer's music
fills the air
up from the stair
she wants it to be him

not her
his fingers not hers
its not the same
despite the pretence

her fingers stop
and lay by her side
and she opens
her eyes

with no
pretended ride.

She comes in
Yochana
with her friend

Angela
a squat girl
with blonde hair

and sit down
in two seats
at the front

of the class
I watch her
from the back

with Reynard
my best friend
the teacher

old Miss G
is writing
on the board

with white chalk
before she
sits down she

looks at me
(Yochana
not Miss G)

there's a hint
of a smile
then she turns

and I see
just the back
of her head

(straight black hair
reaching down
past shoulders)

sometimes when
when she turns
left or right

I catch her
pale profile
and secretly

take a kiss
from my lips
put it down

on my palm
and blow it
towards her

pallid cheek
no one sees
the palm blown

small kisses
then Miss G
plays piano

some Schubert
piano work
and I watch

Yochana's
thin fingers
move along

the desk top
her response
to Schubert

not to me
I sit there
wishing hard

those fingers
were playing
upon me.

Don't feel well
Abela
turns in bed
eyes closing
too much wine

cheap old plonk
I tell her

don't like wine

did last night

need a bowl

don't have one
use the bog

she rushes
to the bog
and vomits

I sit down
have a smoke
listening

that waitress
who served us
yesterday
fancies me

Abela
shouts to me
I don't care
about her
I feel ill
need to rest

she vomits
once again

you go out
take that tour
she tells me

not going
without you

I can't go
not today
she comes back
with a bowl
I found this
in the bog
got to sleep

so she creeps
into bed
with the bowl

the waitress
did not have
a cute ***
not like my
Abela
when she's well
or unwell.

We're on the grass
around Arrol House
and I have my blue
painted metal crossbow

in my hand
with the two arrows
that came in the pack
and Ingrid says

what are you going
to fire at?
if I had an apple
I could do

the William Tell trick
what's that?
she asks
well he put an apple

on his son's head
and fires the apple
off with one
single arrow

and whose head
would you fire
the apple off of?
she asks

I look at her
and smile
no not me
she says

looking fearful
of course not
I say
just joking

I'd not do that
to anyone
I'm a lousy shot
she smiles uneasy

I mean it I say
so what are you
going to shoot at?
she asks

I pull out
a small
cardboard target
out of the back pocket

of my jeans
at this
I say
and try and hit

the bulls-eye
she takes the target
and says
where do I put it?

put it against
the bomb shelter wall
and up on
the first ledge

I say
she walks over
to the bomb shelter wall
and puts it

on the ledge
by standing on tiptoe
that's it
I say

just right
she moves away
and stands beside me
fingers held together

and watches
as I put an arrow
onto the crossbow
and set

the crossbow
ready to fire
and aim
at the target

with one eye closed
and set the arrow off
and it misses
the bulls-eye

by a mere fraction
you missed the bulls-eye
Ingrid says
I smile

told you
I was a lousy shot
I say
just as well

I didn't have
an apple
on my head
she says

or I'd be dead  
I wouldn't do that
to you
no matter what

I say
and she gets
the arrow
just a part

of another
childhood day.

Elaine dreamed of John;
she twisted and turned
in her sleep,
enfolded in the sheets
and blankets,
embracing her pillow.

But now
sitting on the school bus,
she knows
she won’t tell him,
won’t mention
any aspects
of the dream to him.

He's there
a few seats away
on her right;
sitting and talking
to the Goldfinch boy.

She watches him,
safe in her distant seat,
unseen by him;
his eyes on something
Goldfinch shows him.

In the dream
he had kissed her
and she had liked it,
and still senses it
on her lips,
brushing her lips
with the back
of her hand,
trying to relive
the dream.

Later as they get off
the bus
he turns to her
and looks at her.

I dreamed of you
last night.

She blushes,
looks beyond him,
sees her sister walk on,
chatting to another girl;
she looks back at him.

Did you?

He nods.

Colourful dream.

Was it?

Yes, we were alone together
and not at school;
some other place.

She tries to control
her blushing,
but finds it difficult;
her dream of him
seeming so real.

Where was it?

Never saw it before.

What happened?

He looks behind him,
then back at her.

I kissed you.

Did you?

Her words are so fragile
they barely make it
to the air.

Yes, and you liked it,
and didn't make
a fuss or walk off.

She looks at her
battered black shoes.

Was I expecting
to be kissed?

Hard to say
with dreams,
they are
kind of surreal.

Suppose they are.

She looks up at him,
takes in his
hazel eyes
and quiff
of brown hair.

Then what?  

Saw this unusual bird;
kind of like a swan,
but smaller,
less white.

She sighs
under her breath.

Bird?

Yes, odd bird.

And us?
What did we do
after the kiss?
She asks softly,
waiting for the answer,
but unsure
if she wants
to hear it.

We walked some place.

Where?

Don't know the place.

He looks at his watch.

Have to go soon,
but see you in recess?

I had a dream
about you, too.

He looks at her.
Did you?

She nods.

We kissed
in mine, too.

Was there
an odd bird
in your dream?

No, no bird;
just us and a kiss.

He looks
at his watch again.

Best be gone;
look at those clouds;
looks like rain.

Come on Henry she said
come up and see me some
time but Henry said sorry

dame but I can’t today it’s
just not possible the wife’s
coming back from the shops

and you know what wives are
like and she said oh come
on Henry that’s not stopped

you before climbing the stairs
and knocking my door oh that
was for sugar or was it coffee?

Henry said I cannot recall oh
heck Henry don’t be such a bore
you’ve been to my bed many

times before oh Honey don’t
be so with me now I got to be
careful the wife’s in a mood

the neighbours are talking they
twitch their curtains and peek
through blinds oh to hell with

them she said they’ve filthy old
minds oh listen baby maybe
tomorrow when the wife’s away

I‘ll come borrow some sugar or
coffee or whatever you like and
share your bed you’ll come now

Henry or not come at all the young
dame said oh come on sugar give
me a break let me come another

time and I will bring flowers and
chocolates and love and my body
hot ok she said if you promise me

such I’ll cut to a break not for you
or your body but my heart’s sake.

Yochana passed the maths block
along the narrow path
onto the sports field
during lunch time recess

her friend Angela
was in the WC
sorting out
some girl problem

I was sitting on the grass
looking at some boys
play ball nearby

Yochana stood over me  
and said
can I sit here with you?

I looked up
sure why not
where's your girlfriend?

she's not my girlfriend
she's my best friend
she replied
and sat down next to me

I gazed at her hair
smooth and black
and brought back
into two bunches
and her glasses
were thin wire framed

do you smile?

she raised her
thin eyebrows

why? do you only
like girls who smile?

it helps

helps how?

makes them
seem friendlier

she attempted a smile
not successfully

I looked at
the football game

why aren't you playing?
she asked

I'm not much good
they're better off
without me

so there are things
you're not good at?

I nodded
and looked at her
yes but
some things I am
and smiled

she looked away
for a few moments

you have a good profile

she looked
back at me
do I?

yes quite refined
unlike some
of the girls in class
who're like peasant stock
in contrast

she smiled
unkind to them

but true
I said
sometimes truth
will out

she put her hands
in her lap
and looked past me
at the boys
and their ball

your eyes are like
two of my
favourite marbles

she looked back at me
are they?

I nodded
yes I keep them
with me
as my good luck charms

show me

I got out the marbles
from my trouser pocket
and showed them to her
in the palm
of my hand

can I hold them?

sure

so she took them
into her small
thin hand

they're warm

came from a warm place

yes they are
like my eyes' colour

she gave them
back to me
and as she did so
I held her hand briefly
nice hand
I said
and kissed it

she took it back
and looked at it
why'd you kiss my hand?

same reason
I kissed your cheek
the other week

others might
have seen and came up
with ideas

what ideas?

well that there's
something going on
between us

and isn't there?

she sat back
and looked
around her

not like
they might think
she said

and what might
they think?

things going on
between us

what kind of things?

just because
I like you
doesn't mean
we're doing things
she said
keeping her hands
out of reach

that's true
we're not
anyway here comes
your girlfriend Angela

she's not my girlfriend
she's a friend

she got up
and looked at me
and smiled
-she could smile
if she wanted to-

and walked off
and I studied her
narrow frame
the legs
the waist
the neat behind
and thanked God
I wasn't blind.

Nima wants out of it,
wants out of all,
the medicated care,
nurses fussing over drugs
or pill popping
or signs she back
on the downward slide again;
she wants Benny to come,
want him to visit
or meet in London
as once they did.

The doctor's just gone,
his dark eyes gazing over her
like a skater on ice,
his dark eyebrows
as caterpillars sleeping.

She wants to walk the ward,
but he's told her
to rest until she’s up
to the walk; ******* talk.

She lays there on the bed,
head on the pillow,
eyes on the lights,
on the nurse who
comes and goes,
thinking of Benny
and that good bit of ***
in the cheap hotel;
the taps in the bathroom
the wrong way around:
hot for cold and vice versa.

She laughs;
she always thinks of that
when she bathes,
that and that time
when they bathed together.

She wants out if it;
wants either a good fix
or a good ****,
but stuck in here
in the ward,
none of that
worse luck.

Mr Fin
thin
moustached

and grey suited
talked
of the Plague of London

in 1665
and people dying
and red crosses

on doors
and rats and ships
and BRING OUT

YOUR DEAD
being yelled
through

the narrow streets
we sat enthralled
taking in

the history lesson
Dennis drew a cross
on his palm

in red ink
(he had a job
to get that off

in recess)
and said
I bet he was there

old Fin
bet he was a kid
back then

it was almost
three hundred
years ago

I said
this is 1956
Dennis shrugged

his shoulders
and kept
to his theory

I watched the teacher
and how his hand
wrote so neatly

on the board
and drew a picture
of streets

with doors
with red crosses
and shadowy people

hanging round
Janice sat to my right
her eyes glued

to the board
as Mr Fin
wrote and drew

her chin
in the palm
of her thin hand

scribbling
in her exercise book
with her right hand

I liked her fair hair
the way it flowed
over her shoulders

like water
over rocks
the way her fingers

touched her cheek
as her palm
held the chin

another girl
sat next to her
some fat girl

with black hair
and a thin
faint moustache

and earrings
I liked Janice's
pink ear

showing through
a gap
in her hair

then Fin said
next time
we'll talk

of the Great Fire
of London
in 1666

Dennis stuck gum
under his desk
Janice closed her book

and gave me
her engaging  
young girl look.

Yiska smells
unwashed skin
the old girl

nearby her
foreigner
in long robes

browned fingers
cigarette
between them

smoke rising
I watch her
leathery

old lined skin
deep brown eyes
inhaling

the self rolled
cigarette
stinks in here

Yiska says
need some air
so we go

from the lounge
of the ward
to the large

dining room
where we stand
looking out

of the large
French windows
she never

washes or
cleans herself
Yiska says

just sits there
smoking that
cigarette

muttering
in her own
foreign tongue

eating meals
with her thin
brown fingers

what's really
bugging you?
I ask her

the old dame's
been here weeks
I can't sleep

Yiska says
all the time
thinking of

my wedding
which wasn't
just jilted

standing there
being watched
the white dress

and white shoes
and the prat
doesn't show

the cruel clown
jilting me
giving me

a breakdown
I touch her
thin white hand

by her side
sensing her
life pulsing

through her veins
her thumb rubs
my last scar

on my wrist
a rook caws
in high trees

above us
my scar damp
where she kissed.

Enid's old man
passes me
in the Square

he gives me
the tough guy stare
trying to scare

I give a smirk
(the ****)
look at his dark eyes
his stubble
then he's gone by
off to work
down the *****
out of sight

I look up
at the flats
a bag of bread rolls
in my hands
(my mother's shopping)

I wonder how
Enid was
whether her old
man had had
a go at her
had left
a fleshy medal
on her skin
blue green
sinking in

I walk up
the concrete stairs
passing by
the landings
until I saw Enid
on the top step
sitting there

what you doing here?
I ask

my dad threw me
out here
said I was not
to go back in
until my mother
called me in

why's that?

he said I'd been naughty
and had to wait
in the cold air
as punishment

I sat beside her
on the cold stair
when will your mother
call you in?

he said not
for twenty minutes
she says shivering

you can't sit
out here that long

I must

no way
come to our flat
and wait
then go out

I can't
what if mother calls
and I'm not there

will she tell him?

yes she's frightened of him
of course she will
Enid says

how long
to wait now?
I saw your old man
just go

twenty minutes
from now I guess

then come to our flat
for fifteen minutes
then we'll wait
on the stairs?

she closes her eyes
hugs herself
I can't
in case he finds out
she says

wait here
I say
and go in my flat
and give my mother
the bread rolls
and tell her

she butters two rolls
and puts in cheese
and I take them
out to Enid
on the stair
and we sit together
eating
as if we
didn't care.

You gaze down at your daughter, Camille, and lay your hand upon her body. She is asleep, resting after a long day, exhausted after the day with Boris at the Zoo, then the café in the park. You wish her father had been that affectionate, had taken the time to be with her, been interested enough to want to be with her and you, but he wasn’t, just other women, other things to occupy his life and mind. You stroke her rib cage; how thin she seems; not a bit like her father, not one ounce of him in her that seems apparent. You gaze at her hair, at the features that you can see, she takes after you, it’s in her face and eyes. Even her temperament is yours, you feel, and are glad, rather than her father’s moroseness, and cruelty. If you had taken you mother’s advice you would never have married Paterson, never have let his hands or lips near you, let alone marry the ****. He’ll be no good, for you, Mavis, she had warned on your wedding eve. You never listened; never took note; you knew best you thought. Marry in haste, relent in leisure, you father had said, in that voice that made you want to hit him, but you never did, although he had hit you many a time as a child, even for the most trivial of things. Dead now, preaching to some other crowd now, wherever he is. You smile at Camille’s sleeping face. Picture of innocence. Like you as a child, you guess. But there had been no Boris in your mother’s life; just your father and his preaching and teaching and moaning and sitting at the table with his long hangdog features and the cane by his hand ready for punishments. You remember creeping into your parents one night as a child and hearing the most awful noises in the dark; like your mother were being strangled or beat up upon, you raced from the room, hid under your blankets in case you father should come and get you. Camille came into you room last month as you and Boris were making love, her voice knifed you, so that you and Boris fell apart like some circus act gone wrong. She had wanted a glass of water, her small voice echoing through the dark, Boris and you panting, going all frigid as if death had claimed. Boris lay smiling in the dark, as you went, took Camille by her hand, fetched her water, lay her back to bed and to sleep. Now she sleeps again. Picture of innocence. Angel of your life. Your precious. Your daughter.

Lift him high
to the sky

raise him
on your shoulders

rest his coffin
by your head

your brother's dead
carry me

he said
once in jest

raise him steady
off you go

hold firm
for tears will flow

his favoured song
Over the Rainbow

tones you in
we all follow

gutted empty
feeling hollow

full of sorrow
hand in hand

tearful eyes
hold him steady

sisters
brothers

keep him close
to heart and head

carry me
he once said

lay him gently
let his coffin lay

let him sleep
in God's rest

you have given all
you have done him proud

you have carried high
the best.

Sleep on
loving brother

dearest son
rest as you can

our close-knit kin
our young brave man.

I lie on my back
on the grass
my hands behind
my head

Yehudit is standing
by the lake
-her term
for the pond-
looking over
the water's skin
at the ducks
and dragonflies
skimming the water
and flying off and up

I watch her
standing there
the sun shining down
through the branches
of trees overhead
bird song

I like it here
she says
so peaceful

I take in
her white
and blue flowery dress
the bare legs
the sandalled feet
her hands
behind her back
her hair tied
at the back
by a blue ribbon

do you
like it here?
she asks

yes I like it
in fact I like it
most places

she turns
and looks at me
I mean the scenery
she says smiling

I look at her eyes
the blueness
the flush of cheeks
the smile

how often
do you think
of *** Benny?
she says

pretty much
most of the time
I reply
with a twinkle
in my eye

thought so
she says
shaking her head
and turning away
to gaze at the scene
once more

she thinking
who knows what
but I thinking
of the kissing
and heavy petting
of 10 minutes
before.

Sheila waits
by the school bus
where she'd seen
the boy John

leave that morning
and she thinks
that if she can see him
before he gets on the bus

she might settle
for her mind and heart
how he feels
if he feels about her

other kids are coming out
of the school
some going home on foot
some getting on

to school coaches
or buses
she adjusts
her thin wired spectacles

on the bridge
of her nose
pulls her school tie neater  
and pats her hair to tidy

she focuses
on the entrances
and exits
but still no sign of him

she's nervous
and uncertain
of herself
or her mission

it seems to her
as if the boy
occupies
her whole mind

at that moment
she feels as if
her life is upside down
and she hasn't

even spoken to him yet
just seen him pass by
and he seemed -
she's certain-

to smile at her
she doesn't know
what to do
with her thin hands

she tucks them
into her coat
out of the way
like unsettled children

then she sees him
coming out
of the exit
with a boy

named Rennie
they pause
laugh and talk
and laugh again

then part
and Rennie goes off
his own way
and the boy John

comes towards her
she's unsure
if she can speak to him
she panics

looks at him
he approaches the bus
and she says
can I speak with you?

he stands there
gazing at her
for a moment
sure but it'll

have to be quick
as my bus goes soon
he says
she walks away

a bit from the bus
and he follows
can I hang around
with you?

she utters shyly
hang around?
John says
she flushes red

be your friend?
she says
looking at his
brown hair

with a quiff
and his hazel eyes
peering at her
he studies her

looks at the bus
at her again
what's your name?
he asks

Sheila
she says
he smiles
sure

but we'll have to talk
about it tomorrow
as I must go
he says

and he touches
her hand
then climbs the bus
and walks along

the aisle
and out of sight
on the bus
she stands there

gazing up at the bus
wondering if she'll
see him
but the bus starts up

and drives away
and she looks hopefully
at the bus as it departs
but there is

no sign of him
at the window
so she holds onto
his image

and watches
the bus go.

Lizbeth was waiting for me
by the hedge
under the water tower
been waiting for you

she said
been helping
sawing logs
I said

where we going?
she asked
walk up the Downs?
I said

she shrugged
her shoulders
I suppose so
she said moodily

where else?
I said
what about
that empty cottage

down the lane
she said
that would be
less far to go

and more likely
likely for what?
I said
you know

she said
might be a place
an empty shed or such
I looked at her hair

drawn into a pony tail
her eyes fixed on me    
we'll have to walk then
I said

you can leave your bike
by our shed
ok
she said

and so we walked back
to the cottage
and left her bike
by the shed wall

and walked down the lane
at a steady pace
don't you find
all this countryside

boring?
she said
no shops
no cinema

no place to go
it's ok
I said
I don't get bored

I go for walks
collect bird's eggs
look for animal skeletons
in the woods

fossils in the chalk walls
stop
she said
that's so dull

bad enough
you showed me
all that stuff
that time

in your bedroom
I smiled
you forgot to mention
my Spitfire hanging

from the ceiling
of course
she said
just what

I always wanted
to see
she looked
at the small stream

by the path
where you walked
in your bedroom
and all you

could think about
was showing me
your bones and fossils
and I wanted

to do things
she said
I found a wren's nest
up there

earlier this year
I said
pointing to an area
on her right

didn't disturb it though
waited until
the chicks had hatched
and flown away

before I collected
the eggshell remains
she didn't look impressed
she looked at the sky

where rooks flew
over head
my cousin collects
bird's eggs

she said
he gets them
as soon as he can
and blows out

the gunk inside
through a small hole
so yuk
she said

she took my hand
in hers as we turned
along the path
leading to

the empty cottage
stuck on the edge
of a field
come on

she said
let's have a look
for some place
we can do things

I followed her
through the front gate
and along a path
by weeds

and flowers mingled
roses red and yellow
by a wall
she tried

a shed door
but it was locked
she walked further along
to the back

of the cottage
and tried the back door
which was locked
she looked

in a window
this porch way
would give us cover
she said

looking around her
cover for what?
I said
for doing things

she said
not comfortable though
she added
looking at

the red brick
by the back door porch
I was hoping
there would be

some where
she said
she drew me into
the porch way

and put her arms
about me
and kissed me
her lips

were warm
and wettish
her tongue entered
into my mouth

like a small fish
a tractor sounded nearby
she broke away
and looked

by the porch
over towards
the field behind
a blue tractor

moved by
the edge
of the field
the noise loud

and smoke rising
in the air
that was it
her whole body froze

and her eyes
had a cold angry glare.

Yehudit sat by the pond.

The morning was warm,
sunny, white puffs of clouds
drifted overhead. Benny lay
on his back beside her, eyes
closed, hands behind his head.

She gazed at him. Not sleeping,
eyes motionless behind lids.

Resting he'd say. She took in
his blue jeans and off white
short-sleeved shirt, open necked.

She looked away, back at the pond.

Drakes and ducks swam. A swan
was over the far end. Elegant.

Can be vicious. Suppose they
can be. She put her hands around
her knees, fingers entwined.

Her skirt just over the knees.

Green stockings. Itchy. She
sniffed the air. Flowers, farm
smells over the way, water smell.

She looked at the long grass
behind her. Some months back
they'd been there. She gazing at
the sky, he on top of her. His
hazel eyes, looking into hers.

His quiff of hair on his forehead.

She liked that, the way it moved
as he did. She listening for sounds.

Footsteps in the grass, old broken
branches crunched under foot.

Voices on the wind. Wonder if
we would have? Maybe. Another
time. Too  soon. She looked away,
back to the pond. The swan was
nearing the ducks. Circles of water
spread over the pond. There was
that time further in the woods,
dense wood, tall trees, bushes.

Unexpected. Suddenly they were.

She wondering: was this how it was?
He eyes closed, moving in a motion,
entering, sensed him. Her coat on
the ground, cushioning. The tree
tops swaying, his quiff of hair,
clouds moving slow overhead.

She looked at him beside her,
eyes closed, his breathing slow,
but regular like one who dozed.

The Beethoven piano piece
played on an old
record player

by Miss G
the music teacher
and the class quiet

(or maybe asleep)
but you Yochana
you sat there

engrossed by it
your head moved slightly
your thin shoulders moved

as in a secret embrace
your hands in prayer mode
Reynard sat bored

and eyeing the girls
or drawing inside
his exercise book

rude pictures
I sat half listening
to the Ludwig

other half
watching you Yochana
(being back a few rows)

how slender your body
how the grey cardigan
hugged you tightly

your hair ribboned
green bow
and Reynard whispered

look at titless
how she moves
to this boring crap

bet I could
move her better
Miss G walked

the classroom
arms folded
bespectacled

hair greying
tied in a bun
the brown cardigan

with leather patches
you Yochana
lay your head

on your hands
in meditation
of the piano piece

I viewed you steady
my eyes moved
over you

like an explorer
over new horizons
unexplored seas

O to be within
those arms Yochana
O please.

Yaakova said the caravan
we slept in
was too crowded.

It was Belgium
on the outskirts
of Zeebrugge,
some base camp,
no tents
arrived for us.

Couldn't move legs
without touching others,
she said.

I'd seen her in the night;
I had slept on the floor,
near the door, draft,
chill, legs stiff.

Frightened I kick
some one in my sleep,
she said.

We were in
the base camp café
eating breakfast
and drinking cokes.

No tents, why is that?
She asked.

**** up, somewhere,
I said.

What is the **** up,
as you say?
She said.

Poor planning
and execution of plans,
I said.

Execution?
She said,
my father he talked
about executions
in old days.

He said his uncle executed
in Stalin's time.

I lit a cigarette
and inhaled.

I didn't mean
that kind of execution,
I said,
I meant the carrying out
of plans made.

I like to sleep
with more room,
she said,
at home I sleep
in big bed.

I can imagine,
I said.

I could.
Even what type of bed
it was and what
colour sheets
she'd have and covers.

She ate her bacon and eggs;
I sipped my coke.

How you imagine
my big bed?
She asked,
you not see
my big bed.

Imagination,
I said,
I can picture it.

She looked at me
with her big brown eyes.

You think of me?

No, your bed,
I said.

Although I could imagine her
in her bed
all laid out there
arms spread wide,
legs too,
but I didn't
tell her that,
I just sipped
the coke
and inhaled
my cigarette.

She talked of her home,
her family,
but she lying there
in her bed,
that image,
I couldn't forget.

And she crossed the room
Hoping the baby
Would be there, and that
Maybe she got it

Wrong those months ago
And that the cot would
Be full again with
Sound and movement and

That baby chuckle
Noise that got her down;
But as she looked in
To the cot, the space

Yawned wide and dark black
And empty, and the
Only sound was the
Echo of that dumb

Silence eating at
Her heart, undoing
Her mind from the start.

Some days after school
having slipped by her mother’s vision

she met you in the back woods
by the pool

and you were there
in the your tee shirt and jeans

and she stood there
for a moment

in her blouse and skirt
and you stared at each other

taking in the beauty
you saw there

enjoying the moment
the big now

shutting out the bird song
the rabbits by the trees

the far off sound of traffic
and she broke out and said

had a job get by her scanner eyes
had to slip out

before she gave out the chores
and she came over to you

standing there
and stood real close

so that you could sense her body
just about touching yours

her perfume teasing
your nostrils

stirring your body
and then she closed her eyes

and kissed your lips
and it was like

a first day of creation
as if God had said

there you go
feel the love

sense the glow
and you did

and it seemed an eternity
but was merely minutes

glued and touched
and wet and warm

then you sensed
the rain coming

and distant storm
and then the raindrops

hit the pool like small bullets
and grabbing her hand

you ran through the trees
away from the pool

carrying the memory of a kiss
and a bird’s lone call.