Your eyes, the windows into your soul,
Look dark and frightened as you stare
Out the window of the bus, which
Seems to be going nowhere you know,
And you carry in your mind’s eye
The image of the crucified man nailed
To a door in a village, some hours back.

Another you saw in the local church
Hung up high above your head,
His plaster figure nailed to wood,
His features chiseled into the guise
Of pain, but you never looked again,
You always turned your face away,
Until today, when the other was hung
A few feet from the ground with
Rusty nails, with distant sounds of
Gunfire filling the wet noon air.

The bus pauses, you look out to see
If another may be hanging from some
other tree, or if some one will bring
back your father from the men who led
him away, so you may see him smile again
Through the window and downpour of rain.

Elaine dreamed of herself
and the boy John.

Elaine dreamed
she was in a field
of long grass
with a cornflower
blue sky and white
cotton wool clouds.

The Elaine in her dream
was lying on her back;
her hands across her stomach,
eyes on John at her side.

He was talking of butterflies
or birds or bird's eggs.

She wasn't listening;
she was studying the sky,
and cloud movement,
feeling shy.

She turned in her sleep;
pulled the pillow
close to her face.

The John in the dream
put his hand up
inside her skirt;
he said he was looking
for her butterfly;
the Elaine in her dream
said nothing;
the Elaine smiled.

The hand became fingers
or a finger and entered her.

She turned over in her sleep
and lay on her back.

She sensed him there
a feeling of opening up
and needing to ***.

Alarmed she awoke;
the moon was in
the corner of her window
giving out a bright glow.

Why didn't the Elaine
in her dream
say something
not just lay there
she wanted to know.

Anne rubs
her leg stump
sometimes it's

very hot
and itches
other times

it throbs hard
with the pain
that's how it

is again
so she rubs
the leg stump

and looks at
other kids
on the lawn

of the home
for the sick
some playing

on the swings
or the slide
some sitting

at tables
playing games
on game boards

but she's stuck
sitting there
in a chair

with one leg
and one stump
itching bare

then a nun
who's nursing
says to her

cover up
your leg stump
and don't rub

or you will
make it sore
but Anne

being she
says up yours
lifts her skirt

and rubs her
stump some more.

From cloister
he walks,
the black robed
monk,

pausing in the aisle
of the abbey church
to genuflect;
stopping,

he gazes at us,
then into
the bell tower
to ring the bells

for Compline.
I watch
as the red altar light
flickers

into semi dark
of the abbey;
remembering she
who kissed

in another dark
with warm
kissing lips.
The bells break

the silence
of the evening chill;
one by one
the monks enter

at their own pace,
hooded
in black robes,
each to their own place.

There is the stillness
of the body
the way it is laid out
the semi

unclothed state
the flesh
on the scrubbed table
washed and cleaned

they’d said
the head
just so
the hair brushed

as if she
just sleeping
eyes closed
lips sealed dumb

the hands motionless
at her sides
the mother stares
taking in each aspect

of the body
each minute part
of the skin
the bellybutton

the small indentations
she wants to lift
and hold to kiss
the lifeless skin

her daughter
that one
who answered back
who had odd tantrum

who listened to rock music
in her room too loud
silent now
not staring back

with those big blue eyes
of defiance
just there
laid out

head settled
on a small pillow
suffocated
they had said

someone had
pillowed her face
down hard
yet maybe

the mother thinks
if I wait long enough
it will be ok
just a mistake

an error on their part
but she knows
deep down
this is it

her daughter murdered
by some low ****.

I liked the way
Yochana's fingers
pretended to play piano
on the top
of the school desk

nimble
thin

Miss G
greying hair
in a bun
eyeing the class
as the Chopin
piano piece
floated
from the record player
on the teacher's desk

the class was silent
no one talked
or smirked

I followed
Youchana's fingers move
swallowed
the dryness
in my throat

studied how
her elbows
gracefully flowed
in and out
in artificial play

if she'd been
a liquid
I would have
drank her in
to quench
my thirst for her

the outline
of her narrow frame
the curve scant
but there
of her hips
and the long
dark flowing hair.

Watching trains?
Lydia's
old man says
where abouts?

Waterloo
I tell him

I smell beer
on his breath
as he sways
on the step

Lydia
stands behind
her old man
gazing through
the narrow gap
between his
arm and chest

why watch trains?
he asks me

we like trains
I tell him
the steam trains

he stares hard
hands on hips
this right Kid?
he asks her
looking down
with glazed eyes

yes Daddy
she replies
timidly

ok Kid
you can go
but you boy
keep her close
keep her safe
he tells me

sure I will
I tell him

you'd better

course I will

he goes in
grumpily
walking slow
down the hall

Lydia
looks at me
her small frame
seeming so
under fed

let's go then
I tell her

she lets loose
a small smile
and we go
through the Square
down the *****

enough coins
for the fare
on the bus

and maybe
2 doughnuts
1 coffee
and 1 tea.

The Rozzer stopped me
on the bomb site
off Meadow Road
you been smoking?
he asked

I put on my surprised
what me Governor? face
no Officer

he stared at me
his large eyes
searching me
let me see your hands

I showed him
my 9 year old hands
ink stained
and unwashed
since breakfast

do you know
what happens to fingers
of people who smoke?

I shook my head

they go brown
he said
brown as *****

do they?
I said
I knew they did
because my old man's
were slightly
*******
of one hand

he pursed his lips
to say more
but he didn't
he peered at me
looking for clues
of smoking

if I catch you smoking
I’ll take you home
to your parents
and that'll be it
my boy
get it?

I nodded
yes Officer
I stood looking
by him
at the bombed out houses
behind
the pub
on the corner

where do you live?

I tell him the address
of a neighbour's house
the old boy's deaf
as a post
so won't grass

well mind yourself
and the Rozzer went
hands behind his back
walking across
the bomb site

I look behind me
for the self rolled cigarette
I tossed behind me
when I saw him approaching
minutes before

I looked to see
how far the Rozzer
had gone
he went off Meadow Row
and out of sight

I found the cigarette
smouldering weakly
behind a broken brick

I picked it up
and dusted off
grit and dust
and puffed it
back to health

I held the cigarette
between arched fingers
as I’d seen gangsters do
in black and white films
then looked over
the bomb site again
sensing the start of rain.

Don't think
I’ll ever
get use to this:
your death,
your not being here,
the absence of you
in my chair,
sitting there,
silent,
with your
humorous grin.

I expect you
to come in
at your usual time,
on the usual days,
your hungry bear
walk, you searching
for food on table
and oven and fridge;
sitting watching TV
or some video,
playing games,
football crazy,
soft swearing
at the referee.

I can't believe
you've gone;
can't quite fix it
in my head,
the  hard fact
you're dead.

I see play over
and over
in my mind's eye,
that last talk,
you puffed
and unwell;
the mundane
conversation,
the minutes ticking by,
you seemingly
soon to go,
soon for the first time
to die.

Unanswered questions
remain
of who
and how
and why?

She stopped by our cottage
on the way down the road
to the school bus
Yehudit and her sister

my sister and her sister
walked ahead talking
she walked beside me
at a slower pace

my mother
quizzed me last night
Yehudit said

what about?
I asked

you and why
we're together so much
and what was going on?

what did you say?

said we were just friends
and that we were in the form
at school and were
necessarily together  
but she wasn't convinced
she said there were other reasons

I looked at her beside me
her brown hair tied
by a simple blue bow
her eyes focusing on me

someone ratted on us?
but who?

my sister most probably

why though?

she's mother little pet
we walked on
to the bus stop
in silence

I watched her sister in front
shorter maybe
more beautiful
but mouthy and spirited

we stood waiting
for the school bus
Yehudit staring at her sister

I stood next to her
our hands nearly touching

other kids
were at the bus stop too
so she said nothing
for a while

then the bus came
and we got on
and I sat next to Goldfinch

Yehudit sat next
to her sister at the front

Goldfinch talked about football
and who played what game
and who won

I watched Yehudit
talking to her sister
her sister blushed
and looked back at me
then she looked away again

Yehudit stared out
the window
at the coming down of rain.

Yiska gobbed
on the window pane
in the locked ward.

I stood next to her
and gazed out
the window.

Snow was on the fields
and on the tops of trees.

She smelt
of carbolic soap.

The spittle dripped down
the glass pane.  

Couldn't sleep,
Yiska said.

Bad dream?

Each day
is a bad dream.

A rook disturbed snow
on a tree top.

What doesn't **** us,
I said.

Turns us mad,
she said.

Makes us stronger,
I read some place.

Are we stronger?

Slow snow flakes
drifted by the window.

She wiped the spittle
with the sleeve
of her long
purple night gown.

I don't dream
of him any more,
she said,
don't dream
of the ****.

The word hung
in the air about us
like an angry bee.

What do you
dream about?
I asked.

The church,
the altar, people
watching me
in my white dress,
but not of him.

Has your mind
shut him out?

Hope so.

The snow fell harder.
Black birds
took flight
into the grey dawn.

What do you
dream about?
She asked.

A bell rope,
a tower,
ticking clock.

She sighed.
Her small ****
seemed stiff
in the dawn light.

Have you stopped
slitting your wrist?

So far.

That hanging attempt
had those nurses
******* themselves
with panic.

I recalled the face
of a nurse
mouthing words
through the small panel
of glass that evening.

Someone
turned on the radio.

The night nurse
gazed at us
by the window.

We saw her reflected
in the window
as if in a mirror.

Plump in her uniform,
her dark hair
tied in a bun.

Yiska moved away
leaving her carbolic perfume
on the air like
a disturbed memory.

I just continued
to vacantly stare.

Four monks,
black robed,
stood on the beach

in the grounds
of the abbey.
I sat and listened

to the old words
of Father John:
it isn’t easy

living amongst
so many men
from different backgrounds,

with different personalities,
he said
An old clergyman

cross over,
Father Joe
later said.

The young monk,
bespeckled,
crossed over

from the cloister door,
genuflected,
looked at me,

then went
on tip toe
seeming
to the bell tower

to ring
for the office
of Compline.

Stockholm
Moira said grumpily
I wanted
to go to Greece

but the **** war
put a stop
to that
she was sitting

with me
in a small café
she was in denim
with a pink blouse

smoking
a menthol cigarette
I like it here
I said

it's clean
and the girls
are nice and ****
and I am not?

she said
staring at me
her Scottish tones
sharp as razors

present company
included
I said smiling
she didn't smile

her lips were thin
and her eyes
were icy blue
I think have

Swedish roots
I said
she inhaled
and looked away

I’m fed up
she said
that Yank woman
is getting to me

with her talk
of men and ***
and how much
she can have them

eating out
of her hand
and I have to share
a tent with the *****

why she can't share
with the men
in camp
is beyond me

I don't fancy her
at all
I said
I should hope not

Moira said
I had you down
as one with taste
I lit a cigarette

and watched her
sitting opposite
she sipped
her *** and cola

your brother said
you were engaged
I said
what's that to you?

she said
nothing except
I can't imagine you
engaged to anyone

well I’m not
any more
I gave him the elbow
always after

getting me
into his bed
after a night out
what's wrong

with men
can't they just
have a night out
without ***?

guess not
I said
I drank my beer
and studied her

moody features
anyway
she said
hope you're not

expecting anything
after this wee
drink and smoke?
I wouldn’t dream of it

I said
but I had
but I didn't her
well not

at that time
I had to wait
for her mood
to clear

and her heart
to soften
and the Yank dame
to take a hike

to some guy's bed
and I made plans
but only
in my young guy's head.

Sophia's parents
(Polish refugees
during WW2)  
have a large crucifix

above their double bed;
wooden, with a plaster cast
Christ whose features are dour,
some aspects chipped.

She enters the room;
a smell of staleness,
pipe smoke,
her mother's

old fashion scent.
She looks at the crucifix;
kneels on the bed,
and rubs the feet

of the plaster cast Christ;
remember the time
when her parents
were away for the day,

and she brought
that Benny boy in here
and they made love
on the bed,

she laying there,
tapping his buttocks
to ride him on;
looking up

at the features
of the dour Christ,
no change of expression;
Benny's fast breathing

hot by her ear,
the whole arena
somehow surreal,
lacking meaning,

a purposeless show.
After he'd done
and left
and she tidied up

and made the bed
and smoothed
the covers
and looked

at the Christ
the dourness
was still there,
but a sense

of disappointment
hung in the air.

Elaine prepares for school
she slept bad
odd snap dreams
of John

but then
he was gone
she ties her
brown shoe laces

and has made
an effort
with her black hair
brushed it

into some kind
of style
(her younger sister
smirks)

her mother reties
her school tie
must look tidy
her mother says

can't have you
setting
a bad example
Elaine wonders

if John will be
on the school bus
and how
she will feel

if he is there
after yesterday
and the row
or whatever

it was
her mother
smiles at her
have a good day

she says
she and her sister
wait
for the school bus

to come
her sister talks
to others waiting
next to them

but all Elaine
can think of
is John
and if he

is on the bus
and will he
look out at her
when the bus stops?

the thought
of him staring
at her
from the bus window

makes her feel flushed
has she blushed?
she wonders
she fiddles

with her satchel strap
touches her hair
she sniffs
her mother's scent

she borrowed
not too much?
she sniffs again
where is the bus?

she breathes in deep
that kiss
began it all
that one kiss

and all this
the school bus
comes around
the corner

she tenses
her eyes look
at the ground
in case he's looking

at her
she becomes
self conscious
imagines him

staring at her
she senses
her body leak
as she climbs on board

behind a boy
with ginger hair
she wishes she
was elsewhere

not here
not anywhere
where he
can stare

she thinks
sitting in a seat
all emptied of self
staring at her feet.

After asking a nurse
where he was
we find Ole at the end
of the ward
sitting on the side
of a bed
attempting to eat
a sandwich.

He is puffed up,
his hands swollen,
his arms too;
his face looks puffy.

I am shocked how much
he had altered overnight.

What's happened to you?
Has anyone seen you
like this?

He shrugs his shoulders,
looking at us.

I take his free hand
and feel it with mine.

It must be water retention;
when did you urinate last?

Early this morning, I think.

You ought to have
a catheter in
to get rid
of the excess *****.

Have they suggested that?

He has a job breathing;
his words are  soft
and yet strained.

No, but I did see
a doctor this afternoon.

What did he say?

They're investigating.

He labours for breath;
puts the sandwich down
on the small bed table;
sips the orange juice.

Stay here,
I say to his sister.

I go off down the ward
and find a nurse
in a dark uniform
who looks like
she may be in charge.

Yes? She says,
looking at me
as if I’d just walked
through dog's doings.

I'm not happy with the way
my son's being care for.

Who's your son?

I tell her.

What's the problem with him?

You should be telling me that;
he's all puffed up and swollen;
he can barely hold
a glass to drink;
his breathing is bad,
could be asthma-
he’s suffered that for years;
and why hasn't he got
a catheter in
to take away
the excess *****?
he had a job passing
***** yesterday;
I assume that's what
the letter said
we brought in
yesterday evening.

I can't put a catheter in
without a doctor's say so
and he is in A&E;
at the moment
they're having a rush.

But my son needs to see
someone soon;
he can’t go on like this.

I assure you he is
being cared for,
but as soon
as the doctor returns
from A&E;
I will ask him
to see your son.

It's upsetting
to see him like that;
he's not one to complain;
but that's no reason
to let him be as he is.

I will get a doctor to see him
as soon as he returns,
she reiterates.

I am fuming;
the whole ward
seems to have
a dark circle about  it.

I've just been to the nurse
to complain
about your treatment
or lack of,
I say.

His sister looks at me
then at Ole.

I'm going to sit
in the waiting area;
I can't stand seeing you
in this state,
she says.

She walks down
the ward upset
and then out of sight.

I look at him sitting there;
I sit beside him
on the side of the bed
and put my arm around
his broad shoulders.

The abandoned sandwich
he puts back in the packet.

Want some more orange juice?

He nods.

I pour him a glassful
of orange juice
which he drinks down
in silence.

I ask him various
mundane questions
about how he slept
and the hospital food
and did he eat any.

A little; it hurts my jaw
to move it too much.

I ask him if he wants anything
else to eat or drink,
he says no.

He tries to lay down
on the bed
so I help him
the best I can
to sit back
and arrange his pillows
so that they
are behind him comfortably.

He lays there;
his breathing heavy.

I ask a few more questions
which he answers slowly.

He closes his eyes, tired.

I best go;
leave you to rest.

He opens his eyes.

I'll be up tomorrow
and bring more clothes
and stuff.

Ok.

I kiss his forehead;
touch his arm
and go back
along the ward.

The last conversation
between father and son;
death hanging
by the door.

I can say no more.

Guriel said I should join
the Scout Movement
we have lots of fun
we set up our tent

go collect firewood
from the woods
light fires
with two sticks of wood

rubbed together
eat beans and sausages
cooked over
a camp-fire

drink tea or coffee
cooked in a big ***
stuck in the fire
sitting around

the camp fire
singing songs
and also how
to tie and untie knots

we crossed
St George’s Road
on the way home
from school  

what do you think?
he added
after a moment's silence
from me

do you know
the plague of London
in 1665
was probably started

by rats carrying the fleas
that brought the Plague
getting off ships
I said

Old man Fin
told us
in history today
I know

said Guriel
I was there
where in London in 1665?
I said jokingly

no in class
when Mr Fin
was telling us
we went down

the subway
our voices echoing
along the walls
so what about

joining the Scouts?
he asked
no not my scene
I said

I’d rather pick lice
from Zimra's head
but it's good
Guriel said

all boys together
no pesky girls about
spoiling our fun
O well that spoils it for me

I said
no girls no deal
Guriel frowned
they have their own group

it's called Girl Guides
or Brownies
if they're young girls
he said

maybe I’ll join the Guides
I said
you can't
it's for girls only

we came out
on the New Kent Road
O well
that's me stuffed then

I said
but it'll make a man of you
Guriel said
you can join

one of the armed services
when you leave school
no thanks
I said

my old man said
it was the worse days
of his life in the army
I’d rather work in a garage

or theatre sell ice creams
in the cinema
we stopped
at the corner

of Meadow Row
well if you change your mind
he said
it's over

by the church hall
over there
he said
and he walked off

and I walked down
Meadow Row
thinking about
my mother's meat pie

watching
a swooping
black bird
in the afternoon sky.

Jane climbed off
the Saturday bus to town

her black hair ruffled
by the wind

her eyes
looking over at you

her mother close by
you standing by the wall

having climbed from the bus
a few moments before

your mother stood
and spoke to others

you watched as Jane buttoned up
her coat against the winter cold

her fingers turning blue
then she moved over to you

and said
I saw you by the water tower last night

as we drove by
my father visiting

a parishioner in the village
I was watching the sun

moving beyond the Downs
you said

like some giant moving
away to sleep

she smiled
and surreptitiously

she touched your hand
her mother’s head

looking the other way
talking to your mother

of her husband’s work
of church or of weather

or whatever
you gazed at Jane’s eyes

the turn of head
the smile on lips

the way her hands touched
oh to be with her

away from others
to talk and walk

and capture each moment
with her closeness

but then her mother
moved away to shop

and Jane followed
just behind

and as she walked away
you painted her figure

and beauty
in your mind.

Hard to put into words
the extent of grief.

No cavalry of relief in sight
coming over the hill.

You, my son, those
last days, so ill.

Unlike you,
you soldier like
in life's fight.

Death took you unaware
that night
and again
the day after.

No present mirth,
no laughter,
no Shakespearean drama
set in tow,
no Chekhov way
with words,
no Ibsen dark talk,

just this, these words,
and a blown from palm kiss.

Silent words:
we love and miss.

Frankie folds
her hankie
into neat

triangles
he watches
how fingers

so nimble
can also
form tight fists

for defence
yet these hands
so often

caress him
bring him on
to the point

Frankie wipes
her thin lips
why are you

looking so
Johnny boy?
She asks him

O nothing
just thinking
(on how she

manages
to hold his
young pecker

so gently)
about what?
He smiles some

boyish smile
bet I know
what's on that

mind of yours
Johnny boy
what is that?

He answers
taking in
her peach like

******* beneath
orange cloth
*** of course

all you think
about's that
no you're wrong

I wasn't
he replies
so what then?

My beauty?
My fine teeth?
My long hair?

Your fingers
how nimble
they perform

simple tasks
(how nimble
caressing

his body
her fingers
running down

his back bone)
you liar
Johnny boy

you're thinking
of that night
we made love

and my hands
potter's hands
brought you up

like fine clay
to the point
of hotness

guess you're right
those fingers
I could ****

each one so
that's enough
Johnny boy

time for school
keep it cool
keep it cool

and they walk
sulkily
to lessons

on history
about war
and bloodshed

but he wants
to make hot
love instead.

Where now, my son?
Have they laid you
amongst the dead?
Or are you seeing
another kind of being?

I try to remember
our last conversation,
the words exchanged,
but they are elusive
like exhaled breath
in a winter's sky.

I look for you
as I turn my head,
the familiar places,
the passage way,
the hall,
the sitting room,
the chair
by the window
most of all,

but no matter
how hard I stare,
you're not there,
least not
that I can see,
although despite
my not seeing,
you may well be.

We couldn't find
your Jimi Hendrix
tee shirt,
the one
you used to wear,
despite us looking
everywhere.

Maybe that's the one
you wore that final night,
the one they cut away
to restart
your flat lined heart?

My loves have bought me
another Jimi Hendrix
tee shirt
to remember you
and keep you
close and near.

That was good of them;
wasn't it my dear?

The black robed monks
genuflect towards
the altar

then bow
to each other
then take their places

in the choir.
I **** the grave
of an old French monk

in the monk's cemetery,
holding up
the bright red poppy

like a pagan's head.
The old peasant monk
sits in the stall

at the back of the church
where the lay brothers
used to sit

in the old days,
he stares
at the spot

on the flagstone floor
where sunlight
comes and lays.

Where are you now
my son?

Where are you now?
I seek you

in the high noon
and at eventide

I wait for your presence
in the hall

your entrance
into the main room

sitting at table
or in your favourite

armchair
but I look again

and you're not there.
I listen

for your Mutley chuckle
in a further room

or your deep
soft laugh

or words of wit
but I listen again

and there's none of it.
I gaze at your pictures

about the house
those when

a mischievous child
or thoughtful student

or grown man
all spread

to a twenty nine
year span

all having
that knowing look

that smile or grin
and it makes me

hurt within
that you have gone

yet proud
Ole

proud
my son.

You have to check
the bogs,
Blue says,
the inmates
try make off
with each
other sometimes.

I look at her,
the nurse,
younger,
yet more
authoritative.

Do they do it?

Will if they can;
some of the more
brighter have a hold
on the more
feeble minded.

I walk down
the corridor
of the hospital wing,
passing rooms,
side wards,
off corridors,
dark and uninviting.

I come to the toilets
and peer in.

Some big guy
is trying to ******
a younger guy.

Put him down,
Brogan;
this is not
the place or time.

The big guy looks at me
wondering what
to do or say;
he says nothing
and moves away
from Murphy
who just looks at me
and smiles.

Off you go, Murphy.

Off you go, Murphy,
he echoes
and trots off
back down the corridor.

That wasn't nice,
Brogan;
best be back
on the ward;
I think Blue's
looking for you.

His eyes enlarge
and he screws up
his nose.

He says nothing,
but goes by me,
looking at me
as if thinking
I may touch him,
but I don't,
unlike some,
I just walk back up
behind him.

Blue glares at him.

Have to watch him,
he's a molester.

Molester?

Yes, of kids,
filthy ******;
no one likes him;
what was he doing?

Having a ***.

He's dangerous;
he's here
for his mental state.

I watch as Blue moves off
in the direct
of a patient
rocking back and forth
on a chair over the way;
she talks to the man,
strokes his hair.

I look away.

There's a strong smell
of ***** about the ward;
it clings to you
like a disease,
enters your nose,
your clothes.

Blue takes hold
of Brogan's arm
and leads him
out of sight.  

I work days;
thank God
I’m not here
at night.

I walked with Janice
through the Square
passed the milkman
and his horse drawn cart

she touching the horse
as we passed
and on to the top
and out onto Rockingham Street

and onto Harper Road
where are we going?
Janice asked
I want to show you

this bomb site
bomb site?
what's so special
about this bomb site?

it's got a big freezer
in the back
she looked at me
with her blue eyes

how big?
big enough for us
to get in and more
I said

we crossed the road
and turned left
and along round the back
she followed me

around the back
and through a gap
in the wooden panelling
and into the backyard

of the bombed out
butcher's shop
I walked over the bricks
and wood to the back

of the butcher's shop
and showed her
the big white freezer
gosh

she said
never seen anything
that big
I opened the door

and saw it was busted
it won't shut
it's busted
the locks busted

we went inside
it smelt stale and sickly
must have kept meat here
I said

smells like it
she said
we went out
and I pushed open

the door at the back
that led into the shop
we walked in
and around

the smell still there
dust and fallen
masonry and wood
an old till

with a drawer half open
it's creepy in here
she said
ghostly

like someone
is watching us
rats probably
I said

rats!
she said
and jumped backwards
she looked around her

and I saw her eyes
wide open
aren't you scared?
she asked

seen plenty of rats and mice
even saw a ***** in some place
******* in a corner
of a room

and he chased me off
I said
can we go now?
she said

I’ve seen enough
I gazed at her
saw her wide eyes
and said

ok
I’ve been here before
and seen most of it
so we climbed

out the back
and passed the freezer
and out the gap
and onto Harper Road

and along to the Penny Shop
to get a couple
of 1d drinks
then walked back

to the Square
and my parent's flat
and that basically
was that.

Some dame
in a pink top
and blue jeans
sits near Johnny
in the coffee bar

she taps into her PC
with pink nailed fingers
sips a coffee

Johnny looks
at the guy she's with
a young bespectacled guy
also tapping his PC
yakking about
some course he's doing

Johnny looks lazily
at her
sips his China tea
wonders what colour
her bra
beneath the pink top
and if she needs one
with her scant *******
as far as he can see
from sideways on

she scans her screen
of words and images
the young guy talks
about straight A's
gives the young dame
a ****** gaze and smiles

I wonder if he's had her
Johnny thinks
letting his eyes
wander her frame
the profile of face
the nose slim lined
the jaw
the lips too thin

she sips her coffee
her slim fingers holding
the cup's thin handle
a small finger
sticking out

the youth taps again
at his PC
his eyes on
a downward stare

Johnny gazes
at the dame's
blue jeans
and wonders
what colour
her underwear?

You used to ride that bike
through these woods
Yehudit said
no tyres

no brakes
a ****** saddle
that almost
castrated you

Baruch laughed
yeah and I could get up
quite a speed
on that thing

and almost break
your neck
she said
they had just

made love
in the old shed
where he used
to store the old bike

he lay on his back
gazing at cobwebs
and leaves caught
in old spider webs

she lay on her side
staring at his profile
I loved that old bike
it was a death trap

she said
he smiled
yeah guess it was
she kissed

his naked thigh
what would your mother say
if she saw you
here now?

he asked
don't ask
she said
before kissing his hip

you know there's
probably mice in here
he said
she sat up

and looked around
where?
how the heck
do I know

he said
he turned and gazed
at her figure
in the half light

the semi light
caught one ***
caressed it
as if

an art piece
spiders too
he added
just to see

her reaction
she looked
on the floor
covered in dead leaves

and twigs
and his old coat
laid out there
I miss that old bike

he said
studying the touch
of light
on her head

seemingly
slicing her face
into two
one in shadow

one in light
what happened to it?
she asked
moving leaves

to satisfy herself
no mice or spiders
were there
Breathwaite kid took it

and it got broke up
Baruch said
she lay on her back
her head

on her folded coat
do people
still come here?
she asked

don’t know
he said
not seen anyone here
in a while

he kissed her cheek
in shadow
she moved towards him
moving her hand

along his thigh
she moved
into shadow
out of light of his eye.

Yiska knows how she feels but how it got that way she's unsure and that aspect worries her the uncertainty of life and being young being thirteen being like an unfolding flower she feels vulnerable and yet excited as if she could suddenly jump up in class at school and say I am me I am who I am and I love Benedict and I don’t give a **** who knows it and such and such but she doesn't she just waits for the school bus to arrive with him on-board see his face in the window peering out looking for her he a year older and in a different class and some days she doesn't see him(except like now waiting for the school bus) or maybe if it is sunny and they can out on the playing field during recess and she meet him and be with him for a while but it looks like rain and she knows that means she might not see him any more that day unless she's lucky and sees him in the corridor in between lessons as she did the other day on her way to biology and he was coming the other way(she can picture him now his hazel eyes and quiff of brown hair and that Elvis smile) and he paused and spoke to her briefly and touched her hand O so softly his fingers gently holding(hots O hots) and she felt perspiration run down the back of her legs and elsewhere and the other students with her were saying O come on Yiska put him down you don't know where he's been and such words but she didn't care she had him briefly and then a prefect came along and said to move on get to classes but now she waits for the bus the rain beginning to come down so she moves under shelter of the front door and peers out through the rain at the road leading into the school the wire fence mesh fence trees each side of the road other students arriving on foot but no bus and she thinks of the time they managed to get behind the maths block and be alone and out of sight of others(the teachers gone for their lunch) and she sat on his knees and he held her around the waist and kissed her and spoke and said things about his life and she was listening but not listening her body was on fire each particle of her was vibrating each nerve tingled her hands around him were wet with perspiration her neck damp where his lips had been and her cheek wet and warm and her heart beat so fast it felt as if it might take off out of her ******* and she wondered how far can they go and how far is far? the bus comes into sight slowly taking the bend and she looks at it her eyes following its every move watching the windows looking for his face searching for a sight of him the rain down pouring now the students getting out of the bus and running towards school and she waits and looks and then there he is Benedict running towards school his head slightly bent forward his coat unbuttoned and flying out like wings and he sees her and waves a hand and she feels as if someone had knifed her guts and ripped her open so that her heart was hanging out there pumping for all to see and he comes over and stands with her in the cover of the front door and his hair is plastered down and his hazel eyes alight with eagerness and he says something but she is only half listening only catches the words and not meanings and he laughs and she laughs too and he whisperers in her ear and the words are warm as his breath and seem to echo through her like kids at play been waiting for you she says **** rain he says won't see you after this unless maybe in the corridor or after school as you get on your bus he looks at her his quiff of hair drowned and limp maybe we might he says maybe in the school gym and she feels a pleasure at this if it's free and no one else is there she thinks sensing him there his hand on hers and warm hand her flesh his skin touching better go he says bell will ring soon and he goes and she waits and watches him go her body a buzz of activity as if she were a bees nest buzzing and O she mutters and nerves seem to explode in her and fireworks in her head and her body best get a move on a teacher says who passes her by the door no place to linger and she looks at the teacher and nods her head but feels like saying drop off drop dead but moves off and out in the rain the wetness cooling down her hotness and she runs through the girl's playground towards the school buildings her coat of green damp and her hair beginning to hang limp by her face and she enters the school with a rush of emotions her thoughts everywhere her body tingling like a live wire ready to set alight on edge about to set all of her on fire.

Yours was the bed
at the far end
of the ward.

Seems darker now;
the end of it all.

I walk that path
to your bed
in my dreams;
wanting to reach
you again;
wanting to be able
to hold you tight
night after night.

Dreams betray,
they never fulfil;
never bring up
what they promise.

I see you there
puffed up and breathless;
hear your words
fight through
a tightness of lungs
already closing down
(although
we didn't know).

I felt along your arm
and touched,
sensing the puffiness
of skin,
the tired look
in eyes,
the fight for words.

I asked you questions,
sought for an answer
as a father does,
looking for the purpose
of a hurting son.

I argued with the nurse,
pointed out
your fading state,
your puffed up
skin and frame,
how you could
hardly hold
the mug in hands,
barely talk
through hard to
catch breath.

Unknown
to us then:
the start of death.

The coach had left Paris
and it was still dark
apart from street lights
and they became less

as we got
to the countryside
music was coming out
the coach radio

some Mozart
some French
radio station
Miriam sat next to me

her head slowly
resting on my shoulder
her curly red hair
tickling my cheek

she'd swapped with Bill
at the restaurant
in Paris
he sat with

some other guy
whom she's *******
beside her
music makes me sleepy

she said dreamily
don't mind me
resting on you
do you?

no sure
go ahead
I'd said
and she had

I thought of my mother
and her parting words
be careful
of your wallet

and your morals
and changed
your underwear
every day

I had my wallet
safety-pinned
in my coat pocket
and I changed

that morning
at the Dover B&B;
Miriam was nodding off
the slight sway

of the coach
meant she slowly
drifted into me
I saw her reflection

in the darkened
window beside me
her eyes closed
her mouth open

my shoulder
her rest
I studied
the pink

reflection cleavage
of her soft breast.

My old man
took me
to the West End

it was evening
bright lights
from shops
and theatres
and such

I was dressed
in my best suit
my old man in his

a handkerchief
tucked in
my top pocket

my hair Brylcreemed
flat and tidy

we going
to see a film?
I asked

no we're going
to the amusement arcades
spend a penny or so
then have a drink
some place

see who's about
sometimes
you can see
a film star
here at night
in between shows
he said

I nodded
and gazed about me
usually we saw
a movie
took in some
old chestnuts
from a stall
on the roadside

once he took me
to some café
which sold pan cakes
and I ate them
with a sauce

we walked
the bright streets
he at my side
I taking in
all I saw
people passing
all different faces
and shapes

and then
there she was
Billie Whitelaw
I’d seen her
in a film or two
she was standing
between two guys
in suits

she looked at me
as I looked at her
then she was gone
in the crowd

and I said
to my old man
seen her

seen who?
he said

that actress

what actress?

Billie Whitelaw

huh?

she was just there
with two guys
walking along
in a white dress
I think
coat like fur

where is she now?
he said
peering about him

gone into the crowd
I said

he gazed
into the bright lit street
like some pilgrim
who had just
missed Christ
going by

he looked dumbfounded

I looked at the sky
don't know why.

Ingrid's words
were muffled
when she spoke to me
by Dunn's hat shop

where we said
we'd meet
the day before
her thick lip

(where he father
had backhanded her)
moved slowly
does you dad

wear hats?
she asked
looking in
the shop window

no
I said
never seen him
ever wear a hat

not even to cover
his balding head
she looked
at the passing traffic

what happened to you?
I asked
pointing to her lip
my dad didn't like

the way I brushed
my hair
he said it was
too tartish

whatever that means
she said
tapping her
recently brushed hair

I tried to get out
of his way
but he caught me
with a backhand

I’m going
to the cinema
this afternoon
I said

there's a cowboy film on
and I want to see
how the good guy
draws out his gun

he does it
by crossing over
his hands
could I come?

she asked
Mum might give me
9d for a ticket
as long as Dad

doesn't know
she added
sure
I said

come to my flat
after lunch
we walked down
the subway

to get
to St George's Road
to walk along
to Bedlam Park

to try out
the swings there
and buy an ice cream
outside the swimming pool

(money I'd been given
by my old man
for polishing
his brown brogues)

I studied her
as we walked along
she talking
of her old man's temper

and how he punched
her mother
for letting
his dinner get cold

I noticed her
faded grey dress
the flowers red
against watery green stems

grey-white
ankle socks
black scuffed shoes
her thin hands

gesturing as she talked
and the slight smell
of dampness
as I neared her

the bruise
under her left eye
fading
like the morning sun

where her old man
had thumped her
for something
she hadn't done.

I think about you a lot.
Do you? Yes, especially
when you're not near.
John looks towards the

sports field at the school.
Why about me? I don't know.
Elaine has let the words
out, but they're like

uncontrollable hounds.
I guess I think of you, too.
Do you? He nods his head;
sees a blackbird go in a hedge.

What do you think about?
You. What about me?
He looks at her, sees her eyes
like large puddles behind

her cheap-bought specs.
Did you mind? Mind what?
Me kissing you? She feels
his eyes on her; she tries

to hold the words in some
kind of order. No; I didn't mind.
He looks away; sees other
kids at play. I didn't mean to

upset you, just kind of happened.
What did? The kissing, the kiss.
She feels unsure; wonders
whether the kiss was meant

or not. Did you mean to kiss me?
He looks at her again; he sees
how dark her hair is close up.
Sort of, wanted to. He's not good

at words with girls; they make
his words come out all wrong.
Unexpected, she  says, the kiss.
He nods, sees how soft her lips

( up close) now seem. Not kissed
a girl before. He watches her
scratch her head; her fingernails
seem chewed. Not been kissed

before; not by a boy, she adds.
She wants to say more; tell him
how it makes her feel inside;
how since the kiss, she's felt opened

up like an oyster in someone's palm,
waiting to be ****** out and in, but
she doesn't, she just stares at his nose
and a few protruding light brown hairs.

Often when I laugh
at something funny
either on TV
or book

or conversation,
I pause and feel
guilty that
after your death,

my dear one,
my son,
that humour
could still rear

its head
and cause
my laughter,
as if my laughing

was a kind
of betrayal
of my grief
or a hint

of forgetting you
or a watering down
of the pain I feel.
But it is not,

no less pain is there,
the grief still bites
as strong,
its teeth still sharp

as shark's jaws,
and as for
forgetting you,
my son,

more chance
of forgetting
self or my
own image wiped

from memory's hold.
Laughter's medicine
cannot dull
grief's ache or pain

or bring you
back again,
but it permits
a moment or

two or so
for me to close
my eyes or mind
and let it flow

in a calmer sea,
when there was you
alive and well
and happier me.

It's snowing‭;
I can see it‭
through‭
the ward window,‭

drifting slow‭
and filling‭
the branches‭
of the trees,

and out there‭
in the fields about.‭
It looks surreal,‭
like it is being painted‭

as I watch.‭
Glad we're in here,‭
not out there in it,‭
Yiska says,‭

moving next to me‭
at the window.‭  
I can smell her perfume‭
or is it soap‭?

It has a kind‭
of fascination,‭
I say,‭
trying to imagine soldiers‭

on the Russian Front‭
knee deep‭
in to snow,‭
fingers freezing‭

to rifles,‭
feet so cold‭
they freeze off.‭
She says nothing‭;

looks at the fall of snow.‭
You have imagination,‭
I’ll give you that,‭
she says after a few minutes.‭

Some days I want‭
to just lie there‭
and become numb‭
in snow.‭

I read some place‭
soldiers froze‭
where they stood‭
like statues,‭

dead and white,‭
I add,‭ ‬looking at her‭
beside me,‭ ‬her hair‭
unbrushed,‭ ‬her pale‭

blue nightgown‭
hanging loose,‭
no belts or ties‭
allowed‭( ‬suicides‭

always possible‭)‬,‭
her eyes staring‭
outward.‭
If I could get out‭

of this locked ward,‭
I’d be out there,‭
looking for a place‭
to just lie,‭ ‬and go‭

to sleep,‭ ‬she says.‭
I imagine us both‭
laying there out‭
in the falling snow,‭

cold,‭ ‬freezing‭
waiting to go.

The whole thing
about ***
Sophia said

is that it's so
liberating
it takes one
on a journey
of discovery
about oneself
and another

I watched her
brushing her hair
she was still in
her dressing gown

I sat on her bed
waiting for her
to get ready
to go out
after the ***
and her shower

I guess so
I said

light from a window
lit her up
with sunlight

she smelt
of bath oils

I had bathed after her
and I was dressed
and ready

the opening up
the release
of part of one
she said
the joining
with another

a Beethoven sonata
was playing
from her Hi-Fi

I liked it
it opened up
areas inside my head
mood changed me

of course animals
have *** more often
and they don't analyse
about it
I said

ah but we're
not animals
she said
least not all
there is that
part of us
which allows us
to analyse even
a good ****
she said

the word hung
in the air above
her head
like some
dark bird of fate

I gazed at her
brushing her hair
there her hand
and brush
her hair

I wanted
to have her
once more
or get out of there.

There is light
Ingrid sees
through curtains

of her room
as she lays
in her bed

she hears rows
raised voices
her father

bellowing
her brother
answering

her mother
crying out
Ingrid bites

at her lip
what's up now?
She wonders

sitting up
anxiously
her brother

shouting back
her father
barking words

she gets up
out of bed
listens out

at the door
of her room
don't go Tom

please don't go
her mother
pleads loudly

to her son
a door slams
then silence

whimpering
is then heard
her mother

in the hall
her father
swearing loud

which echo
in Ingrid's
ears and mind

she creeps back
to her bed
snuggles down

like a mole
under brown
thick blankets

hopes to God
her father
won't come in

taking it out
on young she
his daughter

but she knows
usually
that he does

she just waits
laying there
in her bed

for the harsh
bitter hurtful
bee-like buzz.

I miss your smile,
your laughter,
the chuckle you had,
the way your whole body
colluded with the laugh.

I miss your step,
the way you walked,
the soft spoken talk,
the humour, the dry jokes,
that I miss deeply,
the memory chokes.

I miss your look,
that gaze,
the big eyed stare,
that look
that seemed to say:
I care.

I miss you
for not being here,
miss your presence
in a room,
the chair vacant
where you once sat,
the photographs of you
looking back,
saying nothing,
looking far away,
nothing more to say.

I miss the whole of you,
not just bits and pieces,
not just this or that,
not just your tee shirts
or black hat.

I miss you
and wait for answers
that may never come,
never find the real reason why
someone ****** up
or why you had to die.

We stopped at some café
just outside Paris
the coach parked
along side the road

our first meal
since getting on
the ferry across over
I still had

that Beethoven
piano piece
in my head
and Miriam

laying her head
on my shoulder
in sleep
her red hair

like an explosion
of redness
her eyes closed
her mouth ajar

small white teeth
shallow breathing
small cleavage
what are you having?

Miriam asked
I looked at the menu
in French
you speak French?

I asked
not much
apart what I learnt
at school

she said
she scanned the menu
I think that's beef burger
she said

pointing at the list
that's egg and something
and curry?
I asked

don't know French
for curry
she said
she raised her hand

Garçon!
she said
a thin guy
came across

with a droopy moustache
and looked at us
you do curry?
she asked

the guy gave
a blank gaze
she fanned her mouth
with her small hand

and lifted her eyes
towards the ceiling
and blew outward
curry

she mouthed
the guy looked at me
sympathetically
I poked a finger

at the list randomly
and the guy
looked intently
I showed 2 fingers

and pointed
to Miriam and me
he smiled
and went off

what did you order?
she said
looking at me
then the menu

God knows
but at least
we'll eat
I said

she shook her head
and stared back
towards the bar  
how about a beer?

she said sure
I said
and as we waited
I felt her hand

on my knee
making
circular motions
and giving

the occasional squeeze  
and I hoped
she'd do the same
to both knees.

Ole-
I want to run
my finger

along the outline
of your jaw.
I was there

when they broke it
years before.
I was there as it mended-

jaw framed, wired,
Stoic, you did not complain,
wrapped up and put away

deep within, the pain.
Now-
Ole, I grieve,

am grieving;
then, as the jaw mended,
I crept down the stairs

to your bed to see
if you were well
and still breathing.

The sun's out
and we sit
on some stones

or old bricks
left standing
from bombed out

old houses
on bomb sites
on the right

going up
Meadow Row
I'm sitting

sharpening
my penknife
on a stone

Ingrid sits
watching me
or passed me

at coal men
loading trucks
with black sacks

with black coal
I spit phlegm
on the stone

and sharpen
the knife blade
my uncle

shows me things
Ingrid says
things he's made

out of wood
are they good?
I think so

and he said
he'll show me
to make things

at his place
I put down
the blunt stone

and fold up
the sharp knife
and will you?

I ask her
gazing at
her pale face

with slightly
protruding teeth
I don't know

she replies
this uncle
is he that

one you said
that does things
secret things?

she looks off
looks past me
at bombed out

house ruins
and blushes
nods her head

don't go there
not alone
I tell her

mustn't tell
she whispers
I won't go

on my own
I promise
she tells me

we get up
and walk off
the bomb site

off to get
2 lollies
at Baldy's

grocer's shop
and maybe
4 Blackjacks

sticky sweets
1 farthing
for each one

hot sunshine
bright blue sky
big hot sun.

Are the boys in?
Benedict asked
no they've gone fishing
with their big brother

Milka said
O right
Benedict said
looking at her

standing there
in her Baby Doll
nightie
best go then

I was going
to the cinema
this afternoon
not sure

if they'll be back
in time
she said
he  looked beyond her

into the kitchen
your mum
not about?
no Dad's

taken her shopping
I’m on my own
she said
gazing at him

want to come in
for coffee or tea
or something?
she asked

no best not
he said
she expressed
disappointment

if your parents
come back
they'll put
two and two

together
and come up
with ***
he said

no they wouldn't
they would think
you'd just come
and were just going

I’ll say you came
for the boys
and had only
just found out

she said
you'd lie to them?
he said
if needs must

she said
needs?
he said
how long

have they been gone?
20 minutes
how long
will they be?

long enough
she said
he looked behind him
at his bike

by the fence
of the field
chickens were pecking
around the barn

I’ll come in
for coffee
he said
she backed in

and he followed
watching her cute ****
swaying before him
take a seat

she said
he sat on a seat
at a large oak table
strong or weak

black or white?
white strong
two sugars
she smiled

and took two mugs
down from a shelf
and prepared the coffee
in both

a radio was playing quietly
in the background
the Kinks
were being played

he noticed
she had nice legs
plumpish but neat
from ankles to ****

she poured water
into both mugs
and dripped in milk
she gave him his

and sat down
gazing at him
we have the house
to ourselves

she said
my bed
lonely upstairs
wanting company

she pouted
and pulled
a baby face  
how comes

your not dressed yet?
I seldom get dressed
till late on Saturdays
unless Mum

has a moan
Milka said
Benedict sipped
his coffee

she sipped hers
we could be doing things
she said
we are doing things

he said
we're drinking our coffees
you know what I mean
she said

he looked
at the wood stove
with logs on the floor
warmth came across

a picture hung
on a wall
by a Welsh dresser
they may not

be back for hours
she said
time enough
he mused on her words

but the image
of her parents
coming back
whilst in play

haunted him
not today
he said
your mother trusts me

Milka frowned
and sipped her coffee
shame she does
Milka said sulkily

a Beatles' song
came on the radio
I could sit on your lap
she said

the door of the kitchen
opened and her mother
came in
with shopping bags

and plonked them
on the table
O hello Benedict
come for the boys?

yes
he said
Milka made me a coffee
while I waited

good girl
she said
but still
in that silly nightie

just as well
Benedict is a good boy
or I don't know
what would have happen

my girl
Milka stared at him
as her mother
put away

the shopping
he looked innocent
as a peach
and knew now

that Milka
was out of touch
and out
of his reach.

Daddy says
it's a sin
to see you

Fay tells me
as we meet
by Jail Park

she dressed in
a white skirt
and pink top

why is that?
I ask her
because you're

not Catholic
Daddy says
just seeing

me you mean
is a sin?
I ask her

or does he
mean meeting
me some place?

I don't know
she replies
he just said

seeing you
we went in
the park gates

and walk pass
the rose beds
the roses

coming out
in colours
of yellow

orange
and bright red
I thought sin

had to have
a wilful
element

I tell her
a deed done
knowingly

and with an
act of will
where did you

read all that?
she asks me
that pamphlet

you lent me
last Easter
I tell her

doesn't say
seeing me
was a sin

in the long
list of sins
I read there

we go in
sit on swings
and push off

with our feet
and ride high
so Daddy's

got it wrong?
she asks me
as she swings

past me high
yes he has
I reply

but don't tell
about that
she swings up

much higher
than I do
her white skirt

billows up
in the wind
I rise up

on the swing
pretending
my Spitfire's

blowing up
**** planes
in the sky

overhead
da-da-da
my pretend

machine gun
is sounding
in the air

Fay's skirt lifts
as she rides
showing off

underwear
but being
a good non

Catholic
kind of boy
I don't stare.

Mrs B said
can I take you
out to dinner
one lunch time

for being
such a kind
young man?
I'll bring Lillian along

not because
I don't trust you Benny
because I do
but just in case

my husband hears
about me taking
you out for dinner
and thinks there's

something going on
and I wouldn't
want that
and I know

a nice restaurant
where we can
have a really
decent meal

and O best dress
in reasonable clothes
because the place
I am going to take you

is quite upmarket
no jeans or tee shirts
I let her talk on
while I studied her

after all
she was old enough
to be my mother
and unlike Lillian

who was of
a similar age
and was a quite dish
Mrs B

never struck me
as being
****** at all
but it was good

to have a meal
and see Lillian eat
and see her
delicate hands

and her pale complexion
and O those eyes
I could so easy
fall into them

and **** her in
O boy
how is that
for sin.

They showered together,
lathered each the other,
soaped up
and then

turned on the tap,
washed off and up;
he moving along
her spine his finger,

moving on around
to her *******,
O boy, what a laugh,
better than a bath;

she washing along
his chest hairy,
soaked, then down
to his orchestra stalls

and Moby ****
washed and soothed,
and he kissing
in his blindness

with water,
her cheek, lips,
forehead;
she licking under

his chin, his jaw,
tongued, kissing
his upper lip
(blinded by

water, too),
then he began to sing,
baritone,

some Italian
love song,
not a note wrong,
his hand moving
along her ****
in circular motion,
she filling up with water
and deep emotion.

Sonya says
the Dostoevsky book
I’m reading
is a depressing read.

Read something
more joyful,
she says,
something less dark.

She's laying on the bed
in the Parisian hotel;
her blonde hair spread
on the pillow;
her hands holding
a book;
her legs crossed
at the ankles.

I look at her book cover:
Either/ Or.

What's that book?

Philosophy book;
by Kierkegaard.

Is that any more cheerful?

Depends on what
you mean
by cheerful;
it's not
a bundle of laughs.

She closes the book
and place sit
on the small table
by the bed.

Come lay here;
forget the book.

I put my book
on the dressing-table
by the window
and lay on the bed.

She uncrosses her legs
and turns to face me.

You need to lighten up;
life is too short
to spend time brooding
on the dark elements.

I look into
her icy blue eyes;
there's a new world there.

Kiss me;
hold me.

I kiss her
and hold her close;
I sense her breathing
on my cheek;
her ******* nudging
my chest;
her hands running
along my spine.

How are you feeling?

Fine,
I say,
feeling along
her thighs,
moving her skirt
as I go.

What do you feel?

Excitement and warm.

This is life;
this is living;
taking hold of the now
and holding on to it.

I sense my pecker stir;
my eyes widen;
I see her lips
readying
to kiss again.

She kisses;
no more words;
no more lectures
on life or living;
just a time
of taking
and giving.

Yiska maybe
dreamt of me
or not I don't know
but I sure dreamt

of her
but that was never
as real as being there
with her

and knowing she
was there
her eyes on me
her hair

fresh brushed
(in the girls'
cloakroom no doubt)
her body tingling

with being alive
and we met
on the playing field
in recess after lunch

the sun out
strong
bright and big
in the sky

and we walked together
she talking about
her morning
and lessons

and O that Mr D
what he thinks
of me
God alone knows

she said
and other things
as girls do
and I was studying

the motion of her body
her lips
eyes
language

wanting to just
kiss her
and have her
hold me

and such
but she did
kind of talk
too much

she giggled
about some deed
or then looked at me
all wide eyed

and said
maybe next week
while my mother's
out for the day

we can go home
to lunch
and who's to say?
I dreamed of Yiska

and it was strange
and things done
and kisses
all lips to lips stuff

and secrets revealed
and told and all
wrapped up
in a cuddling hold.

Her parents
seldom came
despite her

loss of leg
but Anne
didn't care

or so said
too busy
far away

to visit
her at the
nursing home

so she read
between lines
of letters

that they sent
now and then
when the leg

is better
and fresh healed
you can roam

your new home
or green field
the letter

last sent said
but Anne
didn't cry

or reply
as she was
meant to do

she just said
in her head
up you too.

We sit and stare
at the pond.

Summer day;
warm and
almost airless.

She has a white blouse
and blue skirt, sandals,
her toes visible.

I'll be glad
when school's over,
she says,
get a job
and earn some money.

Can't wait,
I think I can get a job
at the garage down
by the crossroads,
I say.

No more ugly
green uniform
and white socks;
can wear clothes
I like, not what
my mother chooses,
Yehudit says.

She turns to me
and her eyes
search mine.

Remember our
first kiss?

Yes, took
my breath away,
I say.

Wasn't here though,
was on that
Christmas carol
singing night,
under moon
and stars,
she says.

We did things
here though,
I say,
looking at her eyes,
how sunlight
brightens them.

And there was that
guy over there fishing
and we didn't see him
until later,
she says.

Maybe he never saw us.

Maybe he did.

He never told no one,
least not that
my mother
ever found out,
she says,
looking back
at the pond,
where ducks swim
and a swan floats by
over the other side.

Just as well
or I'd have been for it,
Yehudit says.

I kiss her cheek.

She looks at me,
her eyes burning blue.

That's how things start.

Guess so.

She kisses me
and we kiss more.

We lay back
on the grass
embracing and kissing.

A blackbird sings,
a woodpecker pecks
on a tree in the wood
near by.

I see a new world
in the beauty
of her eyes,
in the touch
of her skin.

I can enter
that new world
if she'll let me in.