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.

He folds the newspaper,
puts it down, lights up
a cigarette.  The papers

still feed the usual crap,
withhold the truth, Joe
Public never gets to see

the real, the underlying
**** beyond the print.
Wars, big or small, have

the same underlying truth,
not seen or known except
those at the front or on

the ground, or those, like
him, who’ve seen the crap
the big boys at the top relay.

Bill inhales, as the young
guy in the bed beyond sleeps.
One of the perks, a good ****,

no shortage when you know
who to call and who is in
the know.  His father had

the U.S. flag framed neat on
the wall, spouted proudly
the American Way, dreamed

of things improving, sky’s
the limit, he used to say, in
that slow John Wayne way.

Bill exhales, flicks ash, thinks
on the young guy asleep,
the naked arm on the cover,

eyes shut, tight ****. He thinks
on that young guy in East Berlin
he rubbed out, spy or such,

never ask, do the job, keep it
short and clean. He inhales deep,
the latest involvement overseas,

waste of time and lives, he muses,
take out the top guys let the ****
sheep fall after. He closes his eyes.  

He recalls the time JFK smiled at
him in passing, just before the hit,
the week after. All hush hush, lips

sealed, none spoke, rumours spread.
Men dead. A ***** game it all is, he
sighs, opens his eyes, all *******, all lies.

Baruch liked
Yehudit's eyes
the smile that lingered
waiting for her

seemed an eternity  
being with her
always seemed
too short a time

the walk
by the wood shed
the memory
of their first

smoke there
she almost choking
that first time
the path

through the woods
the trees tall
sky above
hardly seen

she by a tree
that time waiting
said she wanted to
but they didn't

not just yet
he said
the walk to the pond
warm weather

unlike that first time
when the frost
bit them
he waited

by the pond side
ducks swimming
disturbing
the water's skin

she lay once
beside him here
talked of ***
or what

she knew of it
what girls
at school said
what one girl

said it was like
he watched the ducks
smelt the weather's air
that first kiss

kisses followed
she and him
the moon shining
above them

he liked the way
she lay
on that bed
the sunlight

through the window
falling
on her *******
he watched the sky

through
the tall trees
clouds passing
he liked her hand

in his
warm pulsing
fingers touching
undoing

doing
waiting seemed
an eternity
he often said

playing out
the last kiss
inside
his morning time head.

She's in love with love.
She loves love’s weblike
Entanglements, its
Holds, its deep woven

Intricacies. She
Loves the waiting for
Him, the hour to come,
The time to tick fast

Away until his
Return, the sight of
Him once more, the scent,
The feel, the hold. She’s

In love with his hot
Embraces, kisses,
Touches, exchanges
Of juices, love filled

Words and gestures and
The unfolding of
Love and love’s fond tale.
She loves the place in

Bed where he may lay,
The pillow where his
Head shall be, the bed’s
Impressions where his

Body’s humanness
Laid the flesh and bones
And dreams and ***. She
Loves the unfolding

Unspokenness of
That hour, those still
Moments, that just them
Laying there, just them

Embracing, that just
Sensing him being,
Him breathing, him just
Being him, being

There waking, sleeping.
She loves by love’s deep
Hold, by love’s profound
Entanglements. She

Wants him there always,
Always in each time’s
Ticking of the clock,
The two hands of time’s

Turning, she wants his
Fingers to explore,
To delve, to stroke, to
Run across her lips

Before a kiss. She’s
in love with love of
Him. She remembers
The first lip to lip,

The first time making
Love, the first row, the
First return. She now
Recalls his last words,

His final gaze, the
Back of him leaving,
The turning of his
Head. She’s in love with

Him even after
Death, following his
Dyingness, despite
Him long being dead.

No child ought to see
Its mother battered;
It leaves behind to
Stew in mind the wrong
Impression. But young
Ceili did, all too
Often; her father’s
Fist through the tense air,
Almost unseen, yet
Captured by youthful
Eyes, keen to view, as

Young eyes are: the red
Bloodied mouth, the split
Lip, the blackened eye
The bruised jaw, the hurt
Huddled body on
The hard kitchen floor;
And if pushed to the
Back of the mind, it
Soon crawled out to scare
And torment her when

The lights went out, and
The high screams and shouts
Replayed themselves in
Her ears, over and
Over, like the stuck
Needle on that old
78 record
Her father played when
Drunk, of Joseph Locke,
As he sat in his
Chair that would go back
And forth and then rock,
Slow rock and slow rock.

I don’t know why you would want to bring those
Types of women into this house Mr
Myner I really don’t it’s not as if

I’m a prudish kind of woman because
I’m not but I have to consider my
Other paying guests who have a rather

Different take on life and who don’t want
To open their doors to those kind of women
Or hear the kind of things I heard last night

And the language Mr Myner I have
Never heard such language in my life and
The type of things those women wear or in

Some cases don’t wear and the make up my
Gosh they look like clowns Mr Myner look
Like regular clowns and the way they look

At me when I complain and they always
Go to your room it’s always your door they
Go to I’ve watched them as is my right to

Keep an eye open to the things going
On and of course I have to take into
Account and consider the welfare of

The bed in that room because after what
I heard last night I’d be surprised if there
Are any springs left on the bed and I’m

Not a rich woman I have only quite
Limited funds and I can’t go around
Replacing beds every time you decide

To bring home here those types of women or
Encourage them to come to your room
And Mrs Tarnshower paused and looked at

Herself in the mirror and said that’s what
I‘ll tell him next time he comes in with those
Kinds of women yes sir I will amen.

That last time
we talked, my son,
the very last,
unknown to us,

never ventured
on profound subjects,
(as they do in films
or heroic novels)

we conversed
on the mundane:
how did you sleep?
What was the food like?

or trying to explain
the puffed up limbs
and pain( having
complained to the nurse

about your visual state)
when you did you pass
***** last? and some
such usual things.

You were tired
your eyes were closing,
and unknown
to either of us,

you were probably dying
for the first time, then,
without priest
or prayer or amen.

What was it like
that first time?
Revived, they
called us in,

while they set you up
to machines and monitors
and wires and tubes
and all such things.

You were comatosed,
eyes closed, lying there,
hands at your sides,
puffy and discoloured.

Did you hear us talk?
Did you know
we were there?
We held your hands

at the end, my son,
wanted you to stay,
wanted you
to be with us,

but death took you quickly,
far and away.

I watch
as Yehudit
walks towards me,
the sway of her hips,

her hair held back
with grips,
her blue eyes lowered,
her hands

in the pockets
of her dark green coat.
It's late November,
chill winds,

greying sky;
we meet on the edge
of the woods.
Got held up,

she says,
Mum wanted me
to help fold
the washing.

She knows you're here
meeting me?
Yes, of course,
although didn't

say where;
she assumes
it's at your house
with your mother

keeping an eye.
She looks towards
the wood.
May have been

a better idea,
than out here,
she says.
We can go

to my place
if you like,
my mother
won't mind.

Then we won't
be alone.
Yehudit looks at me.
We can always sit

in the front lounge,
I suggest,
no one goes
in there much.

She looks
at the woods.
Ok, then,
your house it is.

We make our way
towards the house,
through the back gate,
in through

the back door.
My mother's at the stove,
preparing dinner,
steam rising

from the pots and pans.
Ok, if we go  
through to
the front lounge?

I ask her.  
Hello, Yehudit;
sure you can,
she says,

watching as we walk
through the middle room
into the front lounge
and close the door.

We sit in
the two seater settee.
Her hand finds mine.
We're next to each other.

No wind, no rain,
just us, alone;  
outside
the pitter patter

of rain,
and the wind's moan.

I could have listened
to her heart
all day long,
but instead

I just lay
with my head
in her lap,
seeing her eyes

looking down,
the dark green
or such
as it was

or seemed,
capturing me
in the two frames.
Her pulse beating

along the nerves
of my skull,
her small *******,
hidden there

somewhere,
smelling of
motherliness
or some such,

sweet to the nose,
but out of touch.
We waited
for the school

recess bell to ring
across the field,
waited uncaring,
wanting else,

but kisses
would have to do,
lips on lips stuff,
breath mixing

with breath,
tongues invading,
mouth to mouth;
hot O boy hot,

she was,
not the weather,
staring down,
eye to eye,

my head
on her thigh,
sensing not far away,
Eve's gateway.

You lay there
on the bed
with tubes and wires
coming from body and head.  

Tubes from mouth and nose,
eyes, those large eyes,
bright, laughing, kind,
now closed seemingly
in deep sleep.

You unaware
we were there,
we who loved you
and would have tipped
the scales of the world
to have you safe
and back with us,
who would have given you
limbs or body parts or eyes,
would have searched
the dark corridors of death
to have brought you back,
back with us, us whom
you loved and who loved you.

You lay there still and silent,
the day unfolding,
the artificial light betraying
the hours passing,
the minutes ticking away,
the hushed conversations
between us who watched
and waited, talks to you,
the telling of how things
had been and would be again;
clutching at hope like some rope,
wishing you on, watching
the dials of the machine,
the flashing lights, the hums,
the sounds, and you so still,
Stoic until the end, your
puffed up body, tinged with blue;
your hands, warm, soft,
which we took turns to hold,
arms which would have once
embraced, now still, unmoving,
touched, as if we might wake you,
see your large eyes open,
that hint of a smile, your smile,
that infamous smile and spread of lips.

You lay on the bed, tubed and wired,
unaware we were there watching
from the shore towards a deep sea
of approaching dark unbelievable death,
or maybe you were aware of us
standing or sitting there, taking
your last walk amongst us, unseen,
touching us, brushing a hand
against us as you passed,
and we unaware of you going by,
right until the last second of time
as we watched you die.

It was raining
and we were in
the school assembly hall
waiting
for the school buses
to take us home

Lizbeth put her hands
around my waist
and said
guess who?

Mrs G
with the stutter?
I said

she released her hands
and I turned around
no it's me
she said

I guess as much
I said

why did you say
Mrs G?

the first name
that came
into my head
I said

she frowned
then looked around
the hall

how long
before your bus comes?
she asked

shouldn't be long

I wish
there was a room
in this **** school
we could go

why's that?
I asked

she looked at me
seriously
and drew me
away
from other kids nearby

so we could
she said

could what?

you know

play cards?

no
you know
her voice
was a whisper
but a heavy loaded one

play strip poker?

she spelt out the words
with her lips
S-E-X

O I see
I said

I tried hard
to imagine
any room
for such a purpose
but she looked
around the hall
as if a magic room
would appear

can't have it all
I guess
I said

hey Benny
a voice called
the bus is coming

sorry got to go
I said to Lizbeth
try not
to carry on
without me

and I went through
the crowd of kids
and prefects
to the exit
and out through the rain
to the bus
that was waiting

I thinking of Lizbeth
and her need
for *** and mating.

You think you can just
dump me, huh? Think
I am just going to let
you get away with that,

eh? Who do you think
you are? Well let me tell
you, mister, you ain't
nobody; you're just a

woman dumper,
a woman chaser, and
woman beater, who ain't
got no brain, just that

weedy thing between
your legs, that is all you
are. She puts down the
photograph on the white

mantelpiece, glares at it,
sticks her tongue out at it.
Besides you're losing
your hair, except up your

nose and in your ears, yes,
there you have plenty;
like sleeping with a ****
ape; you know that, huh?

She lights a cigarette and
puffs smoke at the photograph.
You know what your mother
said when I got in with you?

Huh? She said you're very
welcome to him; you can
have him; hope you can make
something of him, she said,

well I couldn't do it; I let her
down. She inhales deeply and
exhales over the frame. I hope
the dame you're with now,

gets to know what you are like
early; hope she ain't no push
over; hope she bangs you one;
hopes she gives you the pox.

She stares at the guy in the
frame; the celluloid image
black and white. I don't miss
you mister, she says, not in

the day, and certainly not in
bed or any time of  night.

I meet Nima
on the Embankment
behind Charing Cross
underground station.

She's waiting for me
with hands in the pockets
of her coat,
collar turned up,
looking down
into the Thames.

I cross over the road
towards her,
her back is facing me,
slim figure,
hair tied back
in a ponytail.

Been waiting long?
I say.

She turns and her eyes
are tired and drained.

Not long;
been looking
at the water,
she says.

She kisses me,
puts her arms
around my waist.

What's in the bag?
She asks.

I bought a LP
at Dobell's Jazz Shop.

She takes the bag
and looks inside.

Might have guessed
it would be jazz.

She hands me
back the bag.

How are things
at the hospital?

She shrugs
her shoulders.

Difficult;
the ******* want me
to do this and that;
had a job
to get out today,
she says.

Let's go get a drink
and chat,
I suggest.

She nods and we
walk up towards
Charing Cross Road.

So how did you
get out after all?

I sneaked out,
she says,
got some clothes
and here I am.

Whose clothes?

Don't know;
underwear are mine,
the rest I borrowed,
she says.

Won't they be looking
for you at the hospital?
I ask.

Who cares.

We take a coffee
in a cafe off
Charing Cross Road
and sit down.

You're a drug addict,
they're bound to be
looking for you,
I say.

I wanted to see you;
needed to get out
of that hell hole
and the **** nurse
and quacks,
she says.

I give her a cigarette
and take one myself
and light up.

Don't you want
to see me?
She says.

Sure I do,
but I'm worried about you.

Don't worry.

I do.

She inhales
and looks at me.

I want *** and a fix,
she says,
I know where
I could a fix,
but I want ***
with you, Benny,
not just anyone.  

I look around
at the those nearby
in the cafe
who heard her.

She closes her eyes.
I know,
no place available,
some nights
I’m that desperate
I fancy the night nurse.

I raise my eyebrows.

I don't,
just saying,
she says,
her closed eyes still,
unmoving.

I recall the quickie
at the hospital that time.

I look at her
sitting there,
eyes closed,
cigarette smoke
rising in the air.

Helen sat next to me
on the grass
outside Banks House

I was attempting to open
a bottle of lemonade

can I have a drop?
she asked

sure
once I get the thing open
I said

she looked around her
then over at the coal wharf
where coal men
were filling up
their trucks and wagons
with sacks of coal

I unscrewed
the lid of the bottle
and handed her
the bottle

she took it
with both hands
and took a swig
then another

pearls of sweat
sat on her forehead
her brown wet hair stuck
to her face at the sides
it was a hot summer

here
she said
handing me the bottle

I wiped the top
and took a swig

that's better
she said
I was really thirsty
my tongue felt
like the bottom
of my baby sister's pram

I handed her the bottle again
she wiped the top
and swigged some more

I watched her
as she drank
then looked away
and looked at the flat's
behind us
no curtains moved
no curtain twitchers
looked at us

she gave me back the bottle
and I ******* the lid
back on
and placed it
beside me on the grass

I’m getting
a new school dress tomorrow
she said
Mum said I’ve outgrown
my old one

I gazed at her
she was wearing
a tomato stained white blouse
and grey pleated skirt
white ankle socks
and black scuffed shoes

I may get new blouses
if they can afford them
otherwise I’ll have to wear
those second hand ones
my mum got
from a jumble sale
not that I mind of course
but new ones
are always better

I took a white paper bag
from the grass
and said
want a bun?

is it fresh?

this morning's

OK thank you
and she took a bun
from the bag
and ate into it

I took one
and ate it
piece by piece
picking out the currants

I need shoes too
she said
but don't expect
to get them yet awhile
will have to
make them do

a horse drawn
coal wagon
moved out
of the coal wharf

Helen still talked

I watched the horse
trotting along the road
he didn't seem strained
pulling the heavy load.

West rides home for lunch
then back again to school

he is a short tubby kid
with black well-oiled hair
slick as silk
and eyes dark
as oil wells

I see him enter
the playground
in his bright coat
and tie and neat
white shirt and well pressed pants

how was dinner?
he asks

I bring sandwiches
I say
can't stick school meals
lessons are punishment enough

he smiles
offers me
a white paper bag
of peppermints
mint?

I take one
sense its coolness
on my tongue

how's the maths?
he asks
any better
with the time tables?

I look beyond him
towards the girl's playground
but she's not in sight
other girls play skip rope
or tag games

got stuck on 7s and 8s
I tell him

he frowns
and  talks of patterns
and number flows
and how it goes

I watch his lips move
but the words are like gone
like dandelion seeds
in the air

a girl waves
is it she?
I wonder

but no she wouldn't
not her style
too shy
some other boy
has that joy

another mint?
West asks

I take another
to keep the freshness coming

he doesn't talk of girls
or their ways or clothes
or figures or hair

he talks of how well
his new bike runs
and how he likes
the shiny blue
and the loud bell
he rings
to clear his path

over the heads of boys
I hear a girl's laugh.

Your black,
heavy overcoat,
hangs from a hook
on the door.

It looks
haunted now,
a black phantom
of serge, with arms,
without hands,
unbuttoned,
holding a memory
of you inside its hold,
snuggled up within,
safe from the cold.

Your youngest brother
has inherited,
your black coat now,
he wears it higher,
being taller,
but it does not fit
so snug or hold him
so tight as it did you,
a short while ago.

He wore it
to your funeral,
buttoned up neat,
your heavy overcoat,
serge of black;
but he would gladly
have given to you,
if he could have
had you back.

I finger the sleeves,
smooth along
the black serge,
sense you there still,
in my mind's eye,
with black hat and tie
and black shades,
that Blues Brother gaze,
back in the good times,
my son, in your
good young days.

It rained
and Janice and I
stood under
the railway bridge

in Arch Street
with the coal wharf
on the left
the bomb site

on the right
the cobbled road
shining with the rainfall
horse drawn

coal wagons waiting
for the sacks
to be filled
a weak sun overhead

how long
will it last?
Janice asked
don't know

I said
looks like it's here
for a while
she looked up

at the darkening sky
Gran will be angry
if I’m late for lunch
she said

you have a choice
I said
go and get wet
but be on time

for lunch
but then Gran
will be angry
if I get my clothes wet

she said
well there you go
I said
what do you want

to get told off
for getting wet
or being late?
Janice ******* up

her nose
and put out a hand
to feel how
wet it was

it's quite heavy
she said
what shall I do?
either way

you'll get scolded
I said
she stood
with her hands

enfolding her arms
as if she were cold
I could come with you
I said

and explain
to your gran
Janice looked uncertain
what will your mother say

if you're late for lunch
or if you get wet?
she asked
nothing much

she’s used to me
getting wet
or being late
I said

the rain
came down harder
the sky got darker
the horses

on the wagons
became unsettled
let's go
I said

let's run
let's see
what happens
and so I took

her hand
and we ran out
into the pouring rain
through puddles

of water
over the cobbles
the rain soaking
into our clothes

and hair
her hand
still in mine
damp and slippery

getting
wet wet wet
I thinking
of what's for lunch?

and she thinking
of getting scolded
or spanked
I bet.

Between you and me,
I kiss your photograph
when I pass,
the one on my phone
or the ones in frames
or  behind glass.

I do it secretly
so no one else
can see,
just between
you and me.

Sometimes
I blow a kiss
from my palm,
hoping it
will reach you
wherever you are,
a mere spiritual
world away
or maybe so
not quite far.

Some days,
I hold things
which were yours,
try and sense
the feel of you,
the scent of you
within the cloth
or book or other things,
holding tight to see
what comes or what
you may bring.

There is a part of me
that's forever lost,
part of me
that has a hole,
a scar, a wounded
heart and mind;
but also there are
parts of you which
none can take,
the link of memories,
the genetic hold
within me still,
your sound of voice,
the way you were
and stood, joked,
laughed or looked,
that picture of you
within my mind,
which none can see.

I kiss your picture
when I pass, secretly,
between you and me.

Helen awakes
to dawn's light.

Tick tock
of hall clock.

Light peeps
through blue curtains
like a nosey child.

What day is it?
she muses.

Monday.

Sighs.

Looks at her doll,
Battered Betty,
beside her
in the bed;
one eye open,
one eye shut,
dressed in
an old grey dress.

Time?

Radio plays
from sitting room.

Music drifts.

Tick tock
of hall clock.

She counts.

Seven fifteen.

Tick tock.

Time to get up.

Sighs.

Pushes back
grey blankets.

Puts her feet
onto the cold
linoleum floor.

Cold.

She sits
on the edge
of her bed;
looks at her toes,
her feet.

She looks back
at Betty.

Lazy girl.

Sighs.

She gets up
and walks
to the window.

Peeps through
the curtains
at day's dull light.

Coldness bites
at her limbs.

She stares
at the wall opposite;
dull coloured bricks.

She can smell
bacon frying.

Breakfast.

She walks across
her room
on cold linoleum.

Opens the door,
goes out
and closes door;
leaves Betty
to sleep.

She walks down
the passage.

Radio plays.

Music filters.

Bacon smell.

Her mother is
at the gas cooker
frying bacon.

Her hair in curlers,
dark hair,
plump features.

Fairies wake you up?
Mother asks.  

No, just woke up,
Helen says,
sniffing the air,
looking at
the kitchen/ bathroom.

The table has been lowered
over the bath.

Plates set out.

Wash before food,
Mother says.

Helen takes
the boiled water
in the kettle
to the sink
and places a plug
in the hole
and pours
the water in.

She puts the kettle
back on the stove.

She turns on
the cold tap
and feels
the water get
to the right
temperature.

Turns off the tap.

Rolls up the sleeves
of her night dress
and washes: neck,
face and hands.

Dries on the towel
behind the door.

Go and sit
in the sitting room
and I'll bring in
your breakfast,
Mother says.

Helen walks through
the passage
to the sitting room.

Her father is
at the dining table.

Tea sipping.

Smoking
a cigarette.

Smoke rises
to the ceiling.

She gets that
dull Monday morning,
yuk school,
feeling.

I'd taken Ingrid
to see a film
about Daniel Boone
in some flea pit cinema
in Camberwell Green

and we stood outside
and waited
for a bus home
and it started
to spit with rain

she looked cold

should have brought
your raincoat
I said

it's torn at the arm
and Mum hasn't
mended it yet
she said

about time
she did then
what's she waiting for
summer?

Dad told her
to make me wait
for being naughty

I looked at her
standing there shivering
her brown hair
getting damp
and looking bedraggled
her grey dress
beginning
to cling to her

here have my jacket
I said

but then you'll
get wet

so what
I'm a boy
I'm like Daniel Boone
I can take stuff
what's rain?
just water
coming down vertically

so I took off my coat
and put it
around her
and she held it
tight around her

that better?

yes warmer
she said  

I stood there
getting wet
my sleeveless jumper
and shirt dampening

now I feel guilty
you getting wet
she said

I like getting wet
reminds me
of the soldiers
in WW1
in the trenches
getting wet
standing in mud
and some one
firing at them
this is a piece
of cake compared

my uncle said
he'd get me
a new coat
she said
but Dad
won't let him

is that the uncle
who gives you money
for doing things?

she nodded

just as well
you don't get
the coat
or God knows
what you'd have
to do for that
I said

she looked away
going a tomato red.

I see Fay's old man
arguing with the baker
in the Square

the baker's horse
eats from a nose bag
unconcerned
about the raised voices

what's up
with your old man?
I ask her

she stands next to me
on the balcony
looking down

he thinks
the baker's a Jew
and says she doesn’t
want no Jesus killer
handling his bread

but it's the same baker
we've always had

I know but you know
my dad once he gets
an idea he follows it
through to the end

I watch
as the two men argue

the horse eats away
a crowd gathers

why take it out
on the baker
he didn't even
know Jesus?
I say

Fay looks embarrassed
and bites
her finger nails

he's like that
if he thinks anyone
had anything to do
with the Crucifixion
he's on their case

we watch
as the baker
shrugs his shoulders
and strokes
his horse's neck

Fay's old man
walks away
pointing his finger

best hide
she says
if he sees me
talking to you
and thinks I’ve
been watching him
he'll have ago
at me and you

so we move along
the balcony
and crouch low
down by the wall

we hear her old man
coming up
the concrete stairs
moaning still
his voice echoing
along the balcony

but Jesus was a Jew
I whisper
and so was his mother

she puts a finger
to my lips
and says

I know
(in a low whisper)
but Dad doesn't think
that way

I look at her
crouching there
her blue eyes
and lovely fair hair.

Sophia leans over
the fresh made bed
of old Tom
and says to me

film on at cinema
(she's Polish
and her
English's broken)

is there now
I reply
folding neat
the old boy's clothes

it good film
I put away the clothes
in the top drawer
of the chest of drawers

you take me?
why would I do that?
it good film
after we go back

to my home for coffee
you want me
to meet your parents?
no they out

at some ex army thing
my Tatus was in War
over here
she says

I stare out the window
of Tom's room
not sure
I can make it

I say
maybe we could
be having **** after?
she suggests

the sky is off grey
the clouds are heavy
the grass below
is bright green

don't need ***
I reply
just a film
I look at her

standing there
blonde hair tied
in a ponytail
eyes bright

as new stars
you go?
she asks
dare I say no?

I muse thinking
of the times
she's nearly
seduced me

on the beds
in this old folks home
me a nurse
she a cleaner

a seductive one
at that
sure
I say

looking away
making sure
all the jobs are done
in Tom's room

so I can leave
she smiles
it be good have
coffee after

I nod
and down the hall outside
there's an old boy's
rattly laughter.

He slurps his soup,
the Dutch monk;
the monk on the stall,

reads
from
the life

of Cromwell.
I see onions swim
in the thin soup;

she invited my hand
to Eve's garden,
to **** amongst

the growth there.
The abbot
beneath

the crucifix,
bites an apple,
juices seep

from his plump chin;
as did she
with me.

Lizbeth stares
at her hands

opened up
palms upward

lines across
the skin where

Benedict
had held her

his palm there
squeezing tight

holding on
puts fingers

to her lips
where he kissed

his moisture
there somewhere

wanted more
more of him

inside her
as she's seen

in the book
her friend gave

a picture
of a man

and woman
having ***

he on top
she beneath

the man's ****
beautiful

she had thought
the long legs

benedict
would just kiss

or hold hands
nothing more

we're just kids
he had said

when she had
said they could

in the barn
in the church

in her room
all alone

her mother
out shopping

or maybe
in the field

hidden by corn
but not him

leaving her
feeling numb

unfulfilled
just them there

holding hands
and kissing

no *******
in the field.

She tries to knit.

Her mother
showed her how
times over time.

Tapping the knuckles
if she got it wrong.

Drops a stitch.

Puts down the knitting
on the school desk.

Angela her friend says:
Never got it myself;
all fingers and thumbs.

Yochana rubs her knuckles.

That Benny boy
is looking at you?
Angela says.

Is he?
Yochana says.

She daren't look.

Blush.

Feels it coming
at the mere thought.

She picks up
the knitting again
and begins to knit
(of sorts).

Still looking.
What's he looking for?
His friend's gazing too.
Couple of loons,
Angela says.
Don't bother with them.

Drops a stitch.

All fingers and thumbs.

Blushes, thinks of him
and that kiss.

Cheek ward.

Suddenly there
he was that day.

Kissed.

Now and forever
still there
the memory of.

She glances over
her shoulder.

He smiles
and mouths a kiss.

She looks away.

The blown kiss
runs down the back
of her neck,
she can sense it there,
damp, warm,
a light running feel
(between thighs)
a mild inner storm.

Grief tests ones faith,
Mrs Mullins said.

Her son was dead;
killed in the war.

Makes you wonder
how a loving God

can take away
the one you love

and what the reason is
and what for.

Maybe,
her six year old

daughter said,
He loves him more.

It was her final letter,
The last love letter before
Her death. He held his breath; sat
Down in a chair, stared slowly

At the pink envelope held
Between warm fingers and thumbs.
He sniffed along the rim for
Any perfume she may have

Left for him; some hint that she
Had held it long before she
Posted; none was there. He slit
Along the top, opened up,

Took out the folded letter
With care, her sweet perfume hit
The air. He then unfolded
The paper and set it straight.

Her writing; that way she had
Of twirling her first letters,
The fine hand, the perfect word.
He read slowly through, taking

Each word in his mind, turning
It over, letting each word
Pour out its purpose, its sense,
Its love. He read a sentence,

One that took his breath away,
Which made him ache. “That last time
You held me and kissed me in
L.A, made me feel wanted,

So alive, so real. I love
You so much, and cannot wait
Until next week when we can
Seek each other out, and kiss

And love until our throbbing
Hearts give out.”  Her final words
Came after, “Love you always,”
And her scribble name above

A row of cross like kisses.
It’s hurtful what one loves best,
He mused, what one most misses.

They must know why,
you said
in your quiet voice,

doubts beginning to knock;
knocked sideways.
Two days later,

my son,
you were dead.
That corridor,

the time ticking by,
you-
yes, you,

shadowy,
come to me still,
dreams, maybe.

Your touch
on your mother's shoulder
the other night?

I played the Led Zeppelin
once again,
recalling you saying:

always the rocker.
Dark waves,
light at the end

of no tunnel so far.
No other light
except a dying star.

What you think
you see is a man
at prayer, but he
could be just a man

tired of war, eyes
closed, head in hard
hands, sitting there.
He sits in mud, his

uniformed backside
stained, smeared,
like a young boy
having played some

ball game in a muddy
field, with broken
wagons and dead
horses and men lying

all about, stuck in
or ****** in mud
of clay. What you
think you see is now

frozen in time, dead
men or horses counted
in millions far beyond
the mind’s conception,

lay scattered here and
there, as if some god
had cast a hand or arm
to clear (like some bored

child) his view of toys,
all games grown stale.
What you think you see
in sepia echoes through

the days of now and years
of yore, the folly, the all
unstoppable, called war.

I saw Enid’s old man
go off into the Square
cigarette in his mouth
swagging on his way

I watched him
go down the *****
and out of sight
into the evening's
dimming light

Enid was on the balcony
just over the way
she waved to me

we met
on the concrete stairway
with the electric
light bulb above us

he's gone out then I see
I said

yes to the pub for a drink
she said

why did you watch him go?
miss him being there?

she looked up the stairs
then down the stairs
no just making sure
he went
she said softly

the light bulb showed
a bruise on her chin

been at you again?

she rubbed her chin
hit my chin on a door
she said

the door he pushed at you
or the door he pushed you into?

she said nothing
but walked up the stairs
to the balcony
outside my parents' flat

I followed her
she leaned over the edge
and gazed into the Square
it was quiet
the kids gone indoors
the moon bright in the sky
stars shining

it was an accident
she said
he didn't mean it

I studied her
the dark hair straggly
her dull dress
her eyes rabbit-like
in fear

mustn't tell no one
she said
looking at me

I won't
(I told my mother later)

she rubbed chin
with her fingers
it must be me
he doesn't hit
my big sister or brother
he glares at me
she added
in a whisper

I moved closer to her
she smelt of damp clothes

if I were bigger
I’d punch him
down the stairs
I said

you're 9
she said
he's 35 and twice your size  

I looked at her
and smiled
I had him in the sights
of my six-shooter gun
the other day
and when the cap went
BANG
he nigh on messed his pants

she laughed
then looked worried
did he see you?

he looked up
but couldn't see me
through the metal grill

she relaxed
and leaned her head
on my arm

next time
I’ll use my Wyatt Earp rifle
and get him in the back
she nodded
and I gazed
at the sky
turning black.

Lizbeth insisted
on us going
to the small church again

we walked
as she had parked
her bike
by the shed door
at the back
of the cottage

it seems longer
when you walk it
she said

same length
different speed
I said

she'd put on
her short black dress
for some reason
not fitting
for this kind
of countryside
her shoes had mud
on them already
where a tractor
had deposited it
all along
the narrow road

don't you have
buses here?
she asked

once a week
I said
Saturdays
2 hours
to do your shopping
in town
then back

2 hours?
she said
I need longer
than that to shop

that's all there is
I said

I hate the countryside
she said
the smell
the quiet
the emptiness
the silly blue sky
and those puffy
white clouds
she seemed annoyed
Benny
how do you stick it?

it's ok
I like it
it has a sense
of peace here
and there are birds
to study and butterflies

O my god
Lizbeth said
I’d die
of boredom here
you'd find me stiff
in some corn field
or whatever ****
grows in these fields

we walked on
in a uneasy silence
for a while

what's she like?
Lizbeth said

who?
I asked

that girl
who lives near you
the girl with
the long straight black hair
and a face like a ******

I knew who she meant
but I said nothing
but pretended
not to know
she lives near me?
I said

yes
well she gets on
your school van
in the mornings
and afternoons
always dresses
like she's going
to a funeral
I see her
in the girl's playground
little Miss No Mates

O you mean Jane
I said
she's good
we have long walks together
and she knows a lot
about nature and birds
and butterflies and beetles
and so on

you walk with her?
Lizbeth said

sure
we often go for walks
when its fine and warm

what do you do?
is she up for it?

up for what?

you know
***?
Lizbeth spat out
the last word
as if
it were too hot
for her tongue

we don't think
about that
kind of thing
I said

Lizbeth looked at me
with raised eyebrows
thought not
she said

we walked up
the narrow lane
to the church
sunlight warming
our heads and backs

if the church is empty
maybe we can
she said

can what?
I said

you know
have S E X

I looked
at the church
appearing above
the hedgerow
and hoped to God
someone was there
some visitor
or vicar
or anyone
to save my day
and stop her fun.

As I came
from the Embankment
underground station
towards Charing Cross

I saw Julie standing
looking in
a shop window
she looked thin

in the jeans
and yellow tee-shirt
her hair was drawn back
in a ponytail

she saw me
and walked towards me
thought I’d meet you here
she said

got bored waiting
in Trafalgar Square
ok
I said

good that you're here
we kissed and walked
hand in hand
up to Charing Cross

how are you?
I asked
******
she said

the doctors
have been on my case
all week
and the nurses

have been
breathing down my neck
into everything I do
can't even go

to the bog
without them
standing outside the door
in case I’m shooting up

and are you?
I asked
course not
where am I

going to get anything
to shoot up?  
we came to the road
and crossed

at the lights
and into Charing Cross Road
I missed you
she said

missed you too
I said
wish I had
a photo of you

to put by my bed
can't get one
she said
the parents won't bring

a thing from home
unless you have a camera?
no I don't
have a camera

I said
shame
she said
I’m going

to a jazz concert
next week
I said
jazz? yuk

she said
I’d rather
have an enema
who are you seeing?

Charles Lloyd
jazz sax guy
but I can see you
in the day time

it's in the evening
she looked at me
we could try book
into that crazy hotel again

for a few hours
she said
get that same room
and bed

today?
I asked
no next week
she said

OK
I said
I’ll ring through tonight
she smiled

give me something
to look forward to
all week
get me through

the nonsense
with the docs and nurses
we went into
Leicester Square

and into a café
for two coffees
and a slice
of chocolate cake each

and I studied
her face
and small *******
just out of reach.

Who's she then?
Netanya asks
as I sat in the bar
of the local
beside her
at a window seat

who?
I ask her

that fancy bit
with the ****
sticking out a mile
who smiled at you

where?

there at the fruit machine
putting in
her ill-gotten gains
Netanya says
nodding in the direction
of the newly installed
fruit machine

I eye the woman
standing there
she smiled at me?

yes she ****** well did
didn't you see?

no I was looking
at the dart players
I say

dart players my ****
you were gazing at her
and all that
she flashes at you

I look away
from the woman
and stare at Netanya

never seen her
before in my life
I say

she stares
back at me
her eyes boiling blue

if you're going
to accuse me
all night about women
who may or not
smile at me
then I'm going
I say
taking a sip
of my beer

she pouts her lip
then sips her cocktail
with the cherry
on a stick

every time I go out
with you
you think women
are making eyes at me
or that I'm having
an affair with
one of them
I say

don't come to me
tonight for the ***
because there won't
be any
she says

very encouraging
I say
lighting up
a cigarette

she smiled at you
Netanya says
I saw her
with my own eyes
it was that
come to bed eyes
look and smile

I'm not familiar
I say
maybe you are

she slams her glass
on the small table
and her cocktail
cherry stick
jumps out
AND WHAT'S THAT
SUPPOSED TO MEAN?
she says loudly

people stare at us
from around the bar

I sip my beer
and take a drag
on the cigarette
and stare at the floor
if the hat fits
I say

she picks up
the cherry
and ***** it
off the stick

she sighs
then sips her drink
where we going
after this?
she says
leaning into me
and damaging me
with a sticky kiss.

The sun was still warm
through her bedroom window
her sister played
the Ricky Nelson record

over and over
which came through
the wall
Elaine leaned her back

against the door
and looked at the bed
with the Teddy Bear
her parents had bought her

years before
her mother down stairs
said about bringing
down the soiled washing

she walked towards the window
and looked out
the garden was tidy
her father

had worked ******* it
the green house sparkled
in the afternoon sun
she walked to the dressing table

and stared at herself
was she a frump?
the girls in class
said she was

even some of the boys
who bothered
to talk to her at all
said she was

she pushed back
her dark hair
from her eyes
and stared hard

the boy John liked her
and after the kiss
the other day
she felt unsure

when she was with him
he seemed friendly
he seemed a little odd
when he talked

of birds and butterflies
she sighed and took off
her school blouse
and dropped it

on the bed
then unzipped
her school skirt
and let it fall

to the floor
she was frumpy
she thought
looking at herself

standing there
her reflection
in the mirror
wearing the small bra

and green underwear
she closed her eyes
the Ricky Nelson voice
echoing still

the memory of John's kiss
on the edge of her mind
she pressed
her lips together

pouted
pretended he
had kissed her again
his lips pressing

she ran her tongue
over her lower lip
back and forth
side to side

she turned away
from the mirror
her back to it
she opened her eyes

and embraced herself
her fingers visible
over one shoulder
and at the side

of her ribs
she pretended
they were his
fingers visible

his arms
holding her
she kissed
her shoulder

it was just pretence
she didn't think
she could face
the real thing

not his lips there
not his hands
embracing her
she walked to her bed

and lay down
staring at the ceiling
unsure what she felt
or what it was

her 14 year old body
was hotly feeling.

Knowing I couldn't take
my silver looking toy
6 shooter to school
I had to make

a pretend gun
out of fingers and thumb
Dennis went one better
and had this quite

imaginative machine gun
between his two
closed fists
and made a

hurthurthurt sound
as he pulled
the pretend trigger
or take from his jacket

a grenade and pulling out
the pin he'd throw it
and go BANG
loudly in the playground

luckily
he was on my side
and with Derek
who had a 6 shooter too

we managed
to continue
our version of WW2
accidentally

in the process
catching the teacher
Miss Ashdown
in the ****

a few times
but she never
seemed to notice
but on the way home

from school
in the late afternoon
Helen said
why do you boys

have to play war games?
why can't you play
skip rope or a catch game?
I looked at her

sideways on
taking in her
two brown plaits of hair
and thick lens glasses

and the grey skirt
and whitish blouse
and she looked at me
kind of serious

frowning
boys do that
they make war
they shoot

the bad guys
they are boys
she wasn't convinced
but the noise

you make too
the drrrrrrrrrrrrrrr sounds
or bang bang noise
we crossed under

the subway
her drrrrrr sound echoed
along the walls
can you imagine

us boys with skip ropes?
or playing catch games?  
yes
she said

why not?
we do other stuff
I said
we play card games

I won 13 film star cards
the other day
playing against
some kid

in the playground
and the Monroe one
I swapped
for 3 footballers

we came out along
the New Kent Road
and walked by the cinema
how about coming

to the cinema with me
Saturday
they've got
a good Western on?

she looked
the billboards
with small photographs
can't

haven't any money
she said
I’ll pay
my treat

I said
and where will you
get the money?
she asked

my old man
will cough up
he won't mind
I’ll have to ask my mum

she said
I gazed
at her brown hair
and ribbon

coloured a fading
dull red.

Listen kid, Max’s father says,
All a broad wants is babies,
The rest is incidental, have a

Good look at them, see how
They’re built, they’re built
For breeding kids, nature’s

One concern the survival of
The species. Max looks at his
Father’s cigar that wags as

He talks, the smoke going up
In short bursts. And kid, don’t
Let them fool you with all that

Love talk, it’s just their yak to
Keep you sweet, and they want
Guys to get all gooey eyed when

The babies are around and expect
The dough handing to them to
Keep the kids, to keep them on

The way to growing up. Max nods
And remembers his mother yelling
At his father not to wake the baby,

You’re too heavy footed, you talk
Too loud, and that cigar smoke it’s
Everywhere. And kid, whatever you

Do don’t settle down too soon,
Don’t get trapped in the spidery web
Of a broad’s charms, don’t get too

Serious too soon, kid, hold out a little,
Run the field, find the cheap dames,
Give the serious motherly types the

Wide berth. Max blows a huge bubble
With his gum, his father’s words take
Wing around his ears like black bats

In evening flight. And kid, don’t let
Them tame you with their words and
Ways or haul you in with lines of woe and

Love needs; hold out as long as you can,
Don’t be like the rest of the wimps, be like
Your old man. Max nods and puts on his

Steely stare as his father drives off in his car.
When Max grows up, he wants to smoke a cigar.

I caught glimpse
of her between
double maths
and English Lit;

eyes feasted on her
as she passed,
she looking,
smiling,

her head turning,
then she was gone,
and I walked on;
but all through

English Lit,
the teacher
moaning on
about some Milton bit,

some lost paradise
or else was
something like,
but I thought on

about she who
passed me by
with that look
in her eye,

that sway
of her hips,
that swish of skirt,
that glimpse

of white socks,
and such,
and all too much
for Milton’s loss

of this or that
or teacher’s talk
or scribbled chalk
words upon the board,

my mind was fixed
on the sway
of hips
that caught my eye,

the smile of lips,
thrilling me
from toes
to finger tips.

Sunny day
that hospital
visiting day
she outside

in a chair
smoking a cigarette
I sat  in a chair
next to her

wouldn't
let me out
she said
wanted to meet you

in London
but the docs
put their spoke
in the wheel

and the parents
are none too happy
about it
means

they have
to visit me
rather than I
go to them

I said nothing
let her speak on
get it out
of her system

she had this
dressing gown on
her hair tied back
in an untidy bun

bright red slippers
on her feet
if I didn't have
these cigarettes

I’d go completely
over the wall
with the other
fruit cakes in here

she said
they said
you were here
at the hall

I said
I went there first
Warwick said
you were here

bought you these
and I gave her
a pack of smokes
and a small box

of chocolates
she took the gifts
with her free hand
and placed them

beside her
on the grass
God you are good
to me

if we were in the City
I’d repay you
she said
no need

I said
given out of love
not lust
she smiled

guess so
she said
they keep
that small cupboard

locked now
she said
after that time
we had it off

in there
she said
I looked back
towards

the hospital ward
a few yards away
too small anyway
I said

she inhaled slow
on the cigarette
her eyes half closing
due to the smoke

do you really get
that church
tambourine
banging thing?

she asked
the essence yes
I said
not necessarily

the trappings
she stared at me
her free hand
in her lap

the other holding
the cigarette
to one side
I suppose people

need to believe
something
in this **** circus
of a world

she said
guess so
I said
she looked down

towards the road
some fifty yards away
where traffic
moved slowly by

and as she moved
she crossed her legs
a glimpse of thigh
caught my weary eye.

Of course there was ***
Before 63 and the Beatles
First LP. You found some

Proof. Grandmother kept
That quiet. The photo was
Tucked away between pages

Of a Percy Shelley. One lives
And learns. New knowledge
For old. Who was the man

Kissing Grandmother’s neck
And embracing her fondly?
Passionate whoever he was

And she enjoying it quite a
Bit, and scantly dressed at
That, you muse, turning the

Photo over to the back. In
Fading ink, some pen had
Written, you were never shy

And always bitten. What a
Way to be remembered, you
Smile, tucking the photo back

Between pages of the book
And put it in your pocket for
Safekeeping. You’ll keep it

Safe all right, tucked beneath
The pillow where you’re sleeping.

We paused
for a few hours
at Rouen
and got off the coach

and the guide said
have a look round for a while
but don't get back late
we got a long way to go yet

so I wandered off with Miriam
to see a few sights
she said she was feeling
tired and hungry

and so we took in a café
and had a coffee and cake
and then went
to Rouen Cathedral

and had look round
can't see the point
of these places
she said

no one believes any more
you know that's not true
by saying no one believes
any more

many people believe
but they don't make
a big deal of it
I said

these places
have a beauty
apart from whatever
religious attraction

they may have
she wasn't impressed
and we didn't stay long
and walking back to the coach

she said
the whole religious thing
is a hangover
from the last century

I let her have her say
I liked her blue eyes
and red tight curled hair
and her way of walking

the hips moving
the tight ****
bobbing up and down
in her yellow top

do you believe then?
she asked
believe what?
all this God

and Heaven thing?
guess so
I said
but it's more like

a comfortable tee shirt
I like the feel of it
and it keeps me sane
in a mad world

we reached the coach
and got on
and sat together
on the right hand side

half way down
I can make you
feel comfortable and sane
she said

do you believe in me?
sure I do
she took my hand
and kissed it

and the driver
put on the radio
and a Beatles song
came on

and she leaned close to me
as the coach took off
out of Rouen
and I smelt her perfume

and her closeness
warmed me
and the  world seemed
a little less mad

and her hand moved
between my thighs
and I was comfortable
and sanely glad.

They were dropped off
at the church
like the others
ready for choir practice

but they held back
and crept into
the front porch
to be alone
for a few moments

the voices
of the others
died down and away

Yehudit gazed out
into the evening sky
feeling Benny near her
you do love me
don't you?
she asked

sure I do
why ask?
he said

you seemed
distant today
at school
and when I looked over
at you in class
you looked away

he gazed at her
outline in the door way
of the porch
you know
how it is
Rowland was saying
how's your love life?
and all that stuff
and I was trying
to make it seem
I didn't have one
and wanted
just be free
of his words
and jest
I guess

she looked back
at him
aren't I worth
getting jest about?
if you loved me
it wouldn't matter
she said

I know
you're right
but us guys
are stupid at times
we don't think
in your league

girls like
to be seen
to be loved
not just words
she said

a bell rang
from the tower

must go
she said

wait
he said
look I’m sorry
I made a mistake
I do love you
and it's more
than words

she walked out
of the porch
and into the evening
semi-dark
looked at the stars
and moon

the next time
I look at you
in class
at least smile
at me
she said

sure I will
he said

she kissed his cheek
and ran off
around the back

and he stood
watching the moon
and stars

and her footsteps
faded into the night
and he thought
she's right.

You have seen flowers fade,
Grown men falter, hard rain
Against bedroom windows,

Felt the numbness of the still
Born babe, sensed the slap
Across the face from Mother’s

Hand, felt the wind of time
Finger your hair, your lover’s
Kiss dry on the brow. You have

Known the hammer blows of
Love, the silence of the night
Alone, the empty bed of lust,

The tiredness at dawn. You
Sought unconditional love,
But found only the love with

Strings attached, with a price
Tag on the gift of love and touch
And maybe promises. You have

Felt the dead baby fall, the womb
Ring empty in the troubled nights,
The poxed phallus between the

Thighs, the sour kisses of long
Betraying love. You have played
Bach until the ears bled, played

Cards with a drowned woman,
Dreamed of the sister you never
Had, dreamed of the baby you

Lost, felt the baby **** on the
Dug, sensed the dream fade to
A dead baby’s coffin. You sleep

And you wake, you want to live
And want to die, you want to be
Forever young, a perpetual mother,

A constant lover, an untroubled
Daughter, not be lonely, left in
The dark, sacrificed on someone’s

****** altar. You are and am not,
Born to be, then left to rot, you
Want your mother’s embrace,

Want certainty, want undying
Love, God’s redeeming grace.

Lydia
stops me from
thumping Hem

even though
he'd bruised her
earlier

that morning
on her arm
let it go

she tells me
I've seen Hem
in the Square

sneaking back
like some fox
having been

after hens
we're both 9
Hem's older

but skinny
I watch him
beneath us

looking down
from the third
balcony

of the flats
where I live
her thin arm

loops through mine
to hold me
ain't worth it

she tells me
but she knows
I'll have him

at some time
hound him down
like the fox

that he is
one morning
while she sleeps

in her bed
and I'm up
looking out

from my high
balcony
like a hawk

for its prey
I'll get him
I tell her

smiling soft
on a day
in my way.

John is there
by the fence
arms folded
looking up
at the sky

Elaine feels
very shy
wants to speak
to be near
to feel safe

he sees her
waves to her

she blushes
walks over

you OK?
he asks her

I’m all right
she mutters
looking round
for others
who may see
both of them
together

but none seems
to notice
or to care
that she's there

let's walk on
she tells him
on the field
of the school

they move on
together
she feels his
hand brushing
against hers
electric
sensation
flows through her

beating heart
pumping blood
all around
her body

she stops him
holds his hand
feels his pulse

they tease me
the others
other girls
other boys
she tells him

why is that?
he asks her

they call me
the Frump
the sexless
old granny

you're not that
he tells her
not a frump
(he doesn't
known if she
is sexless
doesn't say)
you are you
a sweet girl
a bit shy

he goes on
talking words

but his hand
is in hers
she senses
the warmth there

the fingers
touching hers
pulsing life

electric
a love feel
running there
not a trick.

Sure
he had it all in mind
the way he was going
to approach her

how he was going
to get the date
fixed up and maybe
other things along

the line if he caught
her right but Hogdig
got it wrong
right from the start

she wasn't into men at all
she preferred her own kind
of the same gender
but at least he tried

and came out
with the usual spiel
gave the usual
****** expressions

gestures of hands
and smiles and all
but the dame didn't fall
she had her own agenda

and he wasn't it
not one bit
so Hogdig having got
the message loud and clear

( still ringing in his ear)
he apologised said he
didn't realize (hard to tell
he thought with that type)

and went on his way
(hoping against hope)
he'd get it right one day
but don't hold your breath

he said to himself
in the usual way he had
with his internal dialogue
an internal debate

going on for some hours
until quite late
all so one day
he'd get himself

(hopefully with a
good looking dame)
a night out
and a date.

Enid and I
stood on the balcony
of the flats
outside my parent's place
looking down at the Square

she rested her chin
on her hands

I held on to
the top bricks

kids were playing below
skip rope
or war games
or chasing each other
in some tag game

that boy over there
called me a skunk
she said
pointing to a boy
playing football
with others
he said he could
smell me for miles

o him
I heard
he still wets the bed
a night
I’ll remind him
about smells
I said

and that one over there
with the ginger hair
said he'd give me a 1d
to look at the colour
of my underwear
she said

what a cheap ****
it ought to be
at least 2/6d
I said

she laughed
he ought not
to ask at all
she said

no he ought not
but that
is a mystery to him
and one should pay dearly
to satisfy one's mysteries

she looked at the early
evening sky
orange sun
weak clouds
birds in flight
heading towards night

I looked at the moon
becoming stronger

I like it out here
standing with you
I said

do you?
she said
most try and avoid me
even my parents
except my father
seeks me out
only to punish

your old man's
an after birth
I said quietly

what's that?

ask your mother

best not
she said looking down
at the Square again
I wish your parents
were my parents
she said softly

I gazed at her sideways on
the uncombed hair
the dark eyes
the left one
still slight bruised
her pale complexion

then you wouldn't be you
you'd be another
and I’d be your brother
and wouldn’t know
you as you
as I do now
and I’d miss that aspect
somehow

she looked at me
then she looked away
at the darkening sky
and closing of day.

It is you, my son,
my first thoughts think on
at dawn's dull light;

it is you I hope to see
in dark dreams at night,
it of you my last thoughts hold

as I drift to my drugged sleep;
memories of you
I hold and keep;

years of yore,
of childhood days,
holidays and day

to day visits,
wishing things were
as they were before.

It is loss of you,
my son, that wounds
my heart, that tears

open and apart,
that final time
we spoke, solemn,

you in pain,
no light heartedness,
no humour, no joke.  

It is of you my son,
my mind returns to,
and the loss reminds me

of our mortal state,
moment to moment
ticking by, taking

for granted each day
we live, each person
we love, each kiss,
each exchange
of words we cast,
not thinking each
may be our last.

Bring back my precious
I miss her warm embraces
That thawed my cold dark.

His tongue
moves
wet and slow
as a snail

from the back
of her bent knee,
up her thigh,
to the place

she'd ***
if he got there
too soon.
He wants to

awake her soul;
wants to
open her up
like budding flower

in spring
and make her
being sing.
She wants to say:

more, more, more,
but all she can do
is open her mouth
and release

a groan or moan,
an utter
of in-distinctive words
fluttering out

from between
hot lips
like free,
random birds.

What's it like?
she asks me
my new friend
Abela

what's what like?

confessions
at the church
where you go

don't go now
lost my way
in limbo
I reply

but back then
when you went?
she asks me

went along
to the church
saw the priest
and confess

confess what?
she insists

any sins
that I had
committed

what's a sin?
she goes on

an offence
against God

involving
what actions?

Too many
to repeat

example
give me some

she lies there
in the bed
**** naked
hands behind
her dark brown
hair and head

having ***
outside of
a marriage
coveting
another's
**** wife
or husband
and so on
I tell her

so you are
committing
a sin thing
being here
with me now?

both of us
are sinning
in God's eyes

but I don't
believe in
God at all
she answers

God don't care
about that
He doesn't
considered
that matters
sin's a sin
in His book
I reply

that's not fair
why should I
be judged so?
she utters

pulling up
the white sheet
to cover
her two ****
from my sight

forgetting
that God saw
what we did
all last night

I kiss her
on the head
on the cheek
on the lips
on the chin
hoping she'll
relent and
let me in
to her bed
and her arms
between thighs
to make love
and not sin.