At the clubhouse‭
in Malaga‭
in the base camp‭

I danced and drank‭
in turn‭
sometimes‭
at the same time‭
sometimes I sat it out‭
at the bar‭
and smoked and drank‭
with Miriam‭

you dance good‭
she said‭

you reckon so‭
I said‭

yes you dance ok‭
she said‭
she sipped‭
her gin and tonic‭
and looked‭
around the club house‭

the disco music‭
is a bit old hat‭
she said‭

it's ok‭
at least‭
you can‭ ‬dance to it‭
I said‭

we sipped more‭
of our drink‭s
and sat in silence‭
for a few moments‭

Picasso was born here‭
she said‭

what here‭
in this club house‭?
I said smiling‭

no here in Malaga‭
she said‭
read it some place‭
I don't like his art‭
she said‭
makes me want‭
to throw up‭

you sure it's not‭
the *****‭?
I said‭

no I mean‭
when I see it‭
she said‭

I love his art‭
it speaks volumes to me‭
I said‭

poor you‭
she said‭
I see nothing in it‭

each to their own‭
view of things‭
I said‭
Picasso touches me‭

don't I touch you‭?
she said‭
wouldn't you rather‭
be touched by me‭
than Picasso‭?

depends on the touching‭
I said‭
he touches my soul‭
where would you touch‭?

she giggled‭
and sipped her drink‭
be telling wouldn't it‭?
you didn't complain‭
the last time‭
I touched or rather‭
we touched‭

she looked back‭
at the dance floor‭
and at people dancing‭
not my fault‭
if the tent‭
was too small‭
for much action‭
she added‭
looking back at me‭

small is beautiful‭
sometimes‭
I said

she gazed at me‭
with her bluey green eyes‭
her hair in tight curls‭
I’d let you come‭
to my tent tonight‭
she said‭
but that fussy cat girl‭
is sharing with me‭
always yakking‭
about her cats at home‭
as if I cared‭
what she calls‭
her **** cats‭
and what she does‭
with them‭
what about your tent‭?
she asked‭

no I got the ex-army guy‭
in with me‭
and he talks on and on‭
about his family‭
and how they don't‭
understand him‭
and how he got‭
chucked out the army‭
and so on‭

a‭ ‬Beatles song‭
was playing‭
I got up to go dance again‭

and she said‭
go dance Benny‭
go show them‭
how its done‭
she leaned on the bar‭
her eyes closing‭

I danced‭
drinking the dregs‭
thinking of the last time‭
I lay‭
between her legs.‭

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.

Never knew grief
could bite so deep,
my son. Dark night
succeeds dull day,
images replay
in black and white,
through dawn hours
following night.

Words captured,
last ones, over
and over in my
tired mind, in order,
exchanges, mundane,
but special now,
being the last.

Never thought
the knife of grief
could ****** so hard,
between shoulder blades,
heart, lungs, throat tight
and seemingly slit,
words choke, unable
to say, fingers push
damp cheeks
of tears away.

Dark day succeeds
drugged up night,
dawn's light
puts nothing right.

Never knew death
could undo so well,
my son, knew nothing
of the end game
until you went.

Life is not forever
just a brief gift
or maybe lent.
Never knew grief
could could so undo.

Dream following
nightmare, looking
for you, my son, for you.

The hay barn was warm
and silent
and it was out
of the rain

and we could look out
and see the rain
falling heavily
on the land outside

just in time
Jane said
we would
have got drenched

I smelt the farm
from where we were
the cows
the dung

the air
birds outside calling
we came in here
once before

I said
she looked at me
then back
into the interior

of the barn
yes I know
but we weren’t
alone then

the other kids
made it seem
more a playground
than a place

we could be
on our own
I caught a glimpse
of her grey dress

the wellington boots
her dark hair damp
from the sudden downpour  
barns have their own

particular smell
I said
she looked at me
with her dark blue eyes

best not
let the cowmen
see us in here
or tongues will talk

she said
what about?
I said
seeing rooks take off

from the tops
of the tall trees
a boy and girl
in a hay barn

gives people
the wrong impression
of matters
I sensed an apple smell

freshly picked
what impression?
you know
that those two people

are doing things
I looked at the grey sky
the Downs were
greying green

kissing?
I said
that and other things
she said shyly

the cowman’s daughter
up the lane
is pregnant
and they came in here

I thought now
that the apple smell
came from her
fresh apple scent

I breathed her in secretly
I heard about that
my mother said something
to my father over dinner

in hushed talk
but I heard them
what’s that
got to do with us?

I said
taking the apples
in my mind
and holding them

in my hands
wanting to bite
into each
nothing as long

as we’re just being us
and not otherwise
my mother likes you
Jane said

she has a good eye
for people
I nodded
uncertain what to say

still it rained
and there was
the strong smell
of warm hay

I saw her on the lower steps
of the stairway
of the flats
on my way
to buy bread rolls
for breakfast

my mother's money
warm in my palm

what are you doing here?
I asked

Enid looked at me
she licked her swollen lip
Dad told me to go out
she said

why's that?

she looked out
at the Square
he's in one of his moods
says he doesn't want
to see my face  

I sat down beside her
have you had breakfast?
I asked

she shook her head
he said I wasn’t to go back
until he'd left for work  

want to come with me
to the baker shop
to buy bread rolls?

she hugged herself
against the morning chill
grey sky above
may as well
she said

so we walked
through the Square
and down the *****
to the baker shop

she looked cold
the shop was warm inside
and she looked around
at the bread and cakes
and other items on shelves
and the smell
of warm bread
in the air

I asked for the rolls
and ordered two more
and gave the man the money
and we left
with a big white bag of rolls
warm in my hands

we walked back
up the *****
and through the Square
and walked to the entrance
to the flats
she sat down on the steps

aren't you coming for breakfast?

she looked at me
what if my dad
looks for me?

he'll look for no one then
won't he?

she looked uncertain
won't your mum mind
me being there?

of course not
she likes you
I said

she hesitated
are you sure?

yes of course I am
so she followed me
up the stairs
to my parent’s flat
on the third floor

we entered
Mum looked at Enid and me
extra for breakfast
I said
and I bought extra rolls

Mum nodded and said
come in Enid
get yourself warm
you look frozen

I gave my mother the rolls
and with Enid walked
to the sitting room

the radio was on
playing some music

I sat at the table
by the window
and Enid sat beside me

her swollen lip
getting bigger
a bluey bruise
showing on her cheek
and on a Monday
first day
of the week.

She brought
two pieces of cake
her mother had made
to the pond

she termed our lake  
and we sat
on the dry summer grass
she unwrapped the paper

and handed me
the slice of cake
looks good
I said

it is
Judith said
she can do
some things right

the cake was sweet
and soft
and mouth watering
I held the cake

over my palm
collecting every crumb
she looked out
over the pond

the still skin
of water
flies hovering
over the top

bird calls and songs
and the sun seeping
through
the tall trees

overhead
she had her hair tied
in an untidy bun
at the back

her grey dress
came to the knees
dimly flowered
I sneaked these out

Judith said
not often
I get the chance
well done

I said
the last few crumbs
were gone now
just a damp palm

where they had been
she finished hers
and licked her palms
do you remember

when we first
came here?
she asked
yes

I said
winter
and I was frozen
and my fingers

were numb
she smiled
yes and I licked them
warm again

I smiled too
it had been
as she said
frozen fingers

****** warm
her mouth over
the fingers
one by one

wouldn't do it
for just anyone
she said
I hope not

I said
that first kiss
recall that?
she asked

of course
Christmas
while carol singing
and the moon bright

and you embracing me
and our lips
kind of met
you embraced me too

she said
your lips met mine
they did I recalled
sitting there

next to her
her body so close
to mine
I could hear

her heart beat
her pulse race
what carol
were the others

singing?
she asked
haven't a clue
I said

too busy kissing
and you had
your hand
drawing me tighter

to you
on my backside
yes I did
didn't I

a bird flew across
the pond noiseilly
we looked up
caught sunlight

with our eyes
bird sounds
clouds passed
her hand

touched mine
a tingle raced
along my nerves
ringing bells

in my head
years have fled
time emptied away
and she is dead.

I thought
I had you

for always;
I was mistaken.

Some God,
or not,

as the case
may be,

has for some reason,
unknown to me,

has you
from me,

hurtfully
taken.

He broke down
when his wife said
the baby in her
womb had died.

He seldom cried,
once when his father
was plucked with cancer,
another when he

thought she’d given
him the elbow before
he’d proposed, and
some kid stuff way back.

But this was a gut ripping
feel, as if some dark
hand had torn through
him and pulled at heart

and guts, no if or buts.
After she’d said it, her
words chiselled deep,
through bone and skin,

deep down within, and
he pictured the baby,
once kicking, moving
tiny hands and fingers,

pushing its closed eyes
against womb’s wall,
mouthing words unheard,
unknown, small not yet

grown, now, he imagined
still unmoving maybe
floating, he didn’t know,
just thought things. His

other babies had come
and grown and climbed
and spoke, but not this
one, there was the rub,  

there the choke. Górecki’s
Symphony no 3 was in
the background piping
through the speakers, he

had walked off to be alone,
the window showed trees,
the lawn, birds, sky, him
and Górecki, the music and
his own gut wrenching moan.

Some nights, my son,
I stare into the dark,
replaying those last scenes
by your hospital bed,
over and over,
inside my head,
like a gum shoe detective
searching through the debris
of memories for clues
to a hideous crime.

Some nights though,
I sleep right through,
looking in my dreams
for images of you.
What else
can a father do?

Some nights are sleepless
to a great degree,
twisting and turning
like a boat at sea,
rising up and sitting
in another place,
putting together,
like a jigsaw,
piece by piece
your smiling face.

Some nights
I want to drift away
and be where you are,
to hold and talk again,
whether near or far,
or just to sit and stare
and just be pleased
to see you and be there.

Some nights, my son,
I lay awake
waiting for the new dawn
and light to break,
recalling to mind
your young days,
the mischievous boy,
the teasing little brother,
the young Sky-walker,
the adventure lover.

Some times on the odd night,
I just get up
and sit and write,
tap in the words,
trying to pin it all down,
trying to get through
the dark waters
and not slip off
into the dark depths
and drown.

Death is a mere inch
or so away;
he stares in at us

day after day,
hour by hour,
moment by moment.

His cold fingers touch,
icily run down the spine;
shivers remember that?

Well Death
was just trying you out,
giving you the feel.

Death will leave you be
for a year or a day
or maybe

a whole decade
or more;
but it's just

a waiting game,
so get living,
take that vacation,

have that read
or go play pool
or have ***

or eat your fill
until you're ill,
but in the end,

my friend,
Death is there,
rubbing his

bony hands;
but Death’s only

a transporter
to another place,
deeper,

calmer,
warmer,
but Death

won't tell you such,
he'll just pretend
it's the end.

We placed a rose
on the plot today,
where in a week or so,
your boxed ashes will lay.

Strange looking at the grass,
the ground damp from rain,
that fell the previous day;
unreal that this

is where your final
remains will lie,
in the casket,
underground

far from the eye.
It gutted me,
looking there,
the lump in the throat,

the eyes full,
slight wind
in the hedges near by,
wanting to pour out,

get the hurt out there,
pushed off somewhere.  
A lonesome rose,
lay on the plot;

all about other stones
and crosses and statues,
names and dates,
words of loss and pain,

other have felt
sometime along the years,
days, hours, ticking quietly
from grave to grave,

flowers placed,
plants in a ***,
and soon you will
lie there in your own

marked plot,
words chiselled
against the black,
but whatever

we have worded there,
can never
bring you back,
dear son,

can never
bring you back.

And who's she?
Netanya asks.

She gave me
a lift home.

Is that all
she gave you?

I walk past her indoors;
she slams the door
behind me
and is behind me
breathing down my neck.

I work with her;
she saw me
at the back door
and asked
if I wanted
a lift home.

O you work with her, huh?

I walk into the lounge
and sit down
in my favourite chair.

Yes, nothing else;
she works upstairs;
I work all over the place.

I bet she's a good lay;
fancy her do you?

She's pregnant;
why would I fancy
a dame who's like that?

She walks the room
like a tiger.

Is it yours?

Is what mine?

The **** kid she's carry;
your kid I guess.

She stares at me;
eyes as dark as death.

Of course not;
I hardly know her.

Liar! I bet she knows
you inside out.

I light up a cigarette
and look at her.

I work at the same store;
she's upstairs
in soft furnishings,
I am security
watching them all.

I bet she's good
on soft furnishings;
I bet she bangs
on soft furnishings.

I wouldn't know
what she bangs on.

Netanya sits in a chair
opposite me.

Why did she give you
a lift home?
bet she fancies you
something rotten.

Any mail for me?

She looks at me;
her eyes soften.

No; just a magazine
for me.

What kind of magazine?

Clothes magazine.

Any good?

Sure it is;
got some good stuff
in there.

Let me see.

She gets up
and goes and fetches
the magazine
and brings it to me.

See; good stuff.

I look at the pages
she shows me.

You like that dress?

It's beautiful isn't it?

Sure is: you want it?

Can I have it?

Sure you can.

She kisses my cheek
and sits on my lap.

You're the best;
I was just kidding
about the *****
in the car;
she's not
your sort at all.

No, you're my sort.

Yes, she says smiling,
that's what I thought.

When can I leave? Not yet.
When? When we’re sure, you won’t
Harm yourself anymore
Ceili. Harm myself? Yes,

Slit your wrists, try to hang
Yourself, take too many
Pills. An accident. Yes,
Maybe, but we need to

Be sure. Sure of what? That
You won’t do it again.
When can you be sure? That
Is up to you, Ceili.

How can I be sure? You
Will know. How will you know?
We are professionals,
We’ll know. Can you tell me

When? When what, honey? When
It’s time for me to go
And when I won’t do things
Like you said. Why don’t you

Go back to bed; you look
Tired. I can’t sleep; it’s
Those **** pills you gave me.
They’re sleeping pills, sweetie,

They ought to make you sleep.
They don’t work. Maybe you
Aren’t trying. I lost my
Baby. Yes, I know you

Did. My third. Yes, I read
That. My man beats me up.
Men can be creeps at times.
My pop did things to me.

When? When I was quite young.
Did you report it? No.
Why not? Scared. Why don’t you
Try to sleep, ceili, things

Will seem much brighter in
The morning. I hate bright
Mornings, they’re worse than nights.
God look at the ****** time.

What time is it now? Three.
That’s when my baby died.
The last one. I hate that
Hour. Do you want some

Hot chocolate? Can I
Have a cookie or two?
Sure you can. When can I
Leave? Not yet. When? When you

Stop asking when, that’s when.

Black robed,‭
the monk pauses‭
in the cloister-‭

prayer mode,‭
eyes glancing,‭
catches sight‭

of Red Admiral,‭
flower to flower,‭
wings a flap.‭

I mow the grass‭
by the church wall,‭
the motor running,‭

cut grass in flight,‭
sweaty brow,‭
wipe with thumb end‭

near palm.‭
The balding‭
peasant monk,‭

head to one side,‭
walks in the aisle‭
between choir stalls,‭

carrying the old broom‭
in his red white‭
knotted knuckled hand,‭

black robes‭
sweeping the floor‭
as he walks.‭

His high brows‭
are raised‭
like awaiting hawks.

Makemkov had a sudden
Thought while sitting on his bed,
Having a smoke, gazing out
Of the window at the new

Apartments across the way,
Where some young dame was slipping
Into something light and cool,
Unknowing that he gazed like this

On other days, the thought he
Had disturbed the **** sight,
The image becoming blurred
Into another lustful

Smudge, he was going to be
Dead one day, the thought revealed,
Unclean or not so, he did
Not know, but die he would, he

Neither grand nor good, his death
Would come as all deaths came, each
With its owner’s borrowed name.

Enid takes
a Love Heart
from the pack
I offer

she looks at
the coloured
lettering
on the sweet

what's it say?
I ask her

I love you
she replies

(not something
that a 9
old year boy

wants to hear
from a girl)

I take out
a Love Heart
from the pack

what's yours say?
she asks me

Kiss Me Quick
I read out

her dark eyes
gaze at me
shall I then?
she utters

I wouldn't
you don't know
where I’ve been
I tell her

her lips pout
then we mouth
our Love Hearts
and **** them
in silence

no one's said
I love you
about me
or to me
Enid says
seen it said
in the films
at the flicks
but one one
has said it
to my face

(I knew that
her old man
wouldn't have
said those words
her mother
couldn't form
that sentence
of warm words
for all tea
in China
I think that
but don't say
as we sit
on the top
of the brick
and concrete
bomb shelter
on the grass
of Banks House)
we swallow
the Love Hearts

have you said
kiss me quick
to a girl?
she asks me

not ever
while awake
I tell her

(what 9 year
old boy would
say such thing?)

she looks at
the black steel
railway bridge
across from
where we sit

but would you
say it now?
she utters

don't think so
I reply
another
sweet Love Heart?

I offer
from the pack
she takes one
and reads it

what's it say?
I ask her

broken heart
she tells me

I take one
from the pack

what's yours say?
she inquires

take a kiss
I reply

her dark eyes
feed on me

can I then?

(O my God
what to say
I’m thinking)

I guess so
I utter

preparing
for the worse
her 2 wet
9 year old
little lips
kiss my cheek
the wetness
seems to stay
even when
she has moved
her 2 wet
lips away

was that good?
she asks me

it was fine
I reply

I then put
the Love Hearts
pack away
in my coat
as we ****
on our sweets
the flavours
sickly sweet

she gazes
at me with
affection

I look down
at my feet.

I guess
I’ll never forget
you sitting there
on that bed
at the end
of that ward.

It seems burnt
into my memory
like some old
piece of film
repeating over
and over
in my mind.

I go over
the last words
you said,
try to get them
in order, try to
unfold each word
as if it were
a puzzle
to be solved.

That look you had,
the deep set eyes,
tired, worn;
the breathing laboured
hard to get;
the puffed up
hands and arms.

You were eating
some chocolate mousse
I think, small dish,
small white spoon,
half eaten sandwich
to one side.

I felt along
your puffed up arm
with my fingers,
felt the hand, puffy,
not the right colour.

We talked,
you slow,
pushing out
the words.

Not a good night,
you said.

Dinner wasn't up
to much, some
doctor came,
some scan
to be done,
you said,
what for?
Dunno,
you replied.

I helped you back
on the bed,
set your pillows
neat and firm.

We talked
some more,
unaware
these would be
your last words,
mundane matters,
not deep
philosophical dealings,
these were
small talk mutterings,
sick bedside chatter.  

No famous last words,
no farewell speech.
I'll see you tomorrow,
I said.

OK,
you said,
closing your eyes
on the bed.

That was it;
last words all said.

Next day,
late afternoon,  
your heart
flat-lined
and you,
my son,
were dead.

You thought you saw Christ
In Central Park
With beard
And matted hair,
You passed him by
Without a thought,
Then looked again,
But he wasn’t there,
He wasn’t there

Again tonight
Or the night before;
Perhaps it wasn’t
Christ that night,
But someone else
You saw. You’ll never
Know now, can only surmise,
But you thought it was he
By the light in his eyes.

Can't get over
missing the first death;
we were there
for the second.

Who failed
and what failed?
What the last words?
What last thoughts
did you have
when you slipped away
that first time around?  

We were there,
but you were in coma;
eyes shut;
breathing shallow;
machines flashing
and making
their technical noise.

We were there waiting.
Waiting for you
to come around,
waiting for you
to open your eyes,
waiting for a recovery,
waiting holding
your hands and arms,
kissing your forehead,
kissing your cheek.

We waited for time to heal,
waiting to hear
your laughter,
to see your smile,
to hear your soft words
on your breath.

We waited in hope,
unknowing,
we waited for death.

Love the trains
Lydia said
love the smell

me too
I said

we'd gone
to King’s Cross station
and were sitting
watching people
come out of the trains
and getting on

wonder where
they're all going?
she asked

some place nice
I said

but where?

Edinburgh
or York
or Newcastle

how do you know?
she asked

it's written
on the board
back there
I said

she gazed
as passengers passed
us by

a porter went by
pushing a trolley

a man in a bowler
stared at us
as he went by
his nose in the air

my dad works here
sometimes
Lydia said
mostly he's at Waterloo

I looked at her
she was very thin
her lank brown hair
touched the collar
of her off white blouse

she sat there
moving her thin legs
back and forward

I bet that steam train
gets hot by the time
it gets to Edinburgh
I said

bet it does
she said

a steam train made
a loud hissing noise

wish we could go
to Edinburgh
she said
bet it's good there

one day we might
I said
go see the places there

stay in a hotel
she said
have a nice room

wonder if they
have haggis everyday?
I said
and porridge

yuk don't like them
she said
I’d like Cornflakes
or Puffed Wheat

a few people ran
for the train
and then it was all
still as the guard
raised his green flag

and the train began
to hiss and puff
and steam came out
of the train
as it began
to pull away

Lydia waved at it
as it pulled away

and I sniffed
in the steam
and smell
of the train

goodbye people
she said
enjoy Scotland

we stood there
on the platform
watching the train
go off
steam bellowing out
and then it was gone

and we stood there
kind of empty
as if part of us
had gone away

we'll go to Scotland
one day
I said holding
her thin hand
but not today.

The black robed monk
walks from the woods
by the abbey

carrying two
dead rabbits,
their head lolling

by his leg.
I wash the pots
and pans

in the abbey kitchen
with soapy water;
I recall her

biting into my neck,
her hands investigating
my fellow,

her fingers
like bird's beaks
reaching for

a morning worm.
The French monk
sits in

the choir stall
in the abbey church
alone with his God

muttering in Latin
some recent sin.

And she guessed they would
Have told her about
Him soon enough if

They had wanted to,
But they hadn’t, so
That was it, and she

Couldn’t understand
It; the whole **** thing
Was about to fall

Apart and break her
******* fragile heart.

Counting off on fingers
with other finger
taking count of days.

Hate Mondays.
Laden with memories.

Machines,
wires,
lights going
blip blip blip,
sounds of this
and that showing
something we
did not understand.

We were there watching,
seeing you,
touching hands,
arms,
whispering words.

Coma had you;
you were sleeping;
we viewed you,
hoping,
expecting your eyes
to open
and that lovely smile.  

In a minute,
we thought,
in a short while.

You never did though.
Just the rise and fall
of your heart ticking
on the machine,
***** being pumped out,
blood checked,
wires here and there.

We stood or sat waiting.
We talked of who
would take turns to stay
while others took time away.

Then it was just me,
sitting,
watching,
others gone for a break.
Then your heart faltered
the machine said.

Your mother and brother came.
We watched,
holding your hands and arms,
talking to you to hold on.
Hoping against hope,
watching you,
the machine,
the light indicated
your heart plummeted
and flat-lined
and you were gone.

Counting off fingers,
with other finger
counting off the days.
I hate Mondays.

We came out
of the small door
at the back
of the church

after the Sunday service
in which we sang
in choir
and stood looking

at the gravestones
spread around us
going back
to the river

I guess
we'll end up here
one day
Yehudit said

here amongst the dead
mournful aren't we?
I said
we're only young

not fifteen yet
and here you are
talking about
being here

we walked on
along the path
beside the church
but it's true though

we will one day
she said
one day maybe
I said

but why worry
about it now?
I'm not worried about it
just saying

she said
anyway the news
of Mr M's wife
drowning herself

in the park pond
brings it home
just how fragile
we are

we walked on
past more gravestones
some names
wearing away

with time and age
yes that was
a bit of a shock
sad when people

get to that stage
and feel the need
to end it all
I said

Yehudit's sister
passed us by
with a friend
walking faster

Yehudit held my hand
I sensed the hand there
feeling the warmth
her finger wrapping

themselves about mine
but we must focus
on living
she said

us here now
holding hands
being here
on a bright morning

not about death
or dying
we walked along
the lane away

from the church
between hedgerows
at the side
to avoid

passing cars and bikes
I'll see you
this afternoon
if I can get away

Yehudit said
if Mum doesn't want
this or that done
we walked on

she thinking about
Mr M's wife's death
and I thinking
of the afternoon

by the pond
and a kiss or two
and whatever else
young people may do.

Benedict never
hit a woman
but he came close
when Netanya

threw a cup
at his leg
during an argument
and it felt

as if she'd
cracked a bone
and he rose up at her
and stood almost

in mid air
and stared at her
knowing that
had it been a guy

he would have
decked him
with a right
but it was she

who stood there
in her 5'3' height
and he fumed
through his nose

and walked away
and said
if you hadn't
been a woman

I'd have put you down
and she said
didn't mean
to throw it

at your leg
I meant it
for your HEAD
and that was it

he went into the garden
to cool down
and she lit up
a cigarette

in the kitchen
and inhaled death
into her lungs  
he lit up

and inhaled
what he could
of calming juice
and after they'd

cooled down
she came out
in the garden
where he was sitting

in an old deckchair
and she kissed his head
and said
if you'd been a woman

I'd not have kissed you
like that
and he said
if you'd not been a woman

but a kissing guy
I'd have knocked you
in the eye
and she smiled

and walked away
and that was it
for another day.

We leave the cinema
after the film
it's getting late

Sophia says
you go to my place?

won't your parents
be there?
I ask

no they out
not be back  
till late
she says
they go to theatre
in London see play
by Polish writer

I see
I say
looking at her
standing there
but it's still late
I say

it not matter
I get you coffee
then maybe see
what happen
she says

I am reluctant to go
to her place
as it's a good walk away
and it means
I'll have to get
a taxi home
and take the risk
her parents aren't
home earlier

Sophia says
I show you
my parent's bedroom
it is good

I look at her
standing there
smiles
blonde hair
neat dress

ok
I say

so we take a taxi
to her parents' place
(save time and effort)
and she takes me
in by the front door
and turns on the lights

see no one here
she says
place to ourselves

she take my coat
and we go
into the lounge

I get coffee?
but wait after yes
we go see
my parents' room

so we go upstairs
and she opens
her parents' bedroom door

she says
they have big crucifix
above bed see
so the Christ can see them
keep them safe
but he has eyes closed
so not see them
doing stuff
she smiles

I look in the room
and there is
the big wooden crucifix
with a plaster Christ
painted with all
the skin and wounds
and such

now I show you
my room
she says

she takes my hand
and we walk along
the landing  
and she opens
the door to her room

what you think
it good yes?

yes it is good
I say
taking in
the single bed
with matching covers
pillows and curtains

but now we can
have coffee
I say

not yet
she says
we have the *** first
and then coffee?

but what if
your parents'
come back early?

they not be back yet
be hours

she is eager
she undresses
as she shuts
the door behind us

I stand there uncertain
fiddling with my tie

come on
she says
not waste time

she is already
down to her underclothes
and she begins
to unbutton my jeans

we have it
you not want?

just as I'm about to reply
we hear a door
open and close
and voices downstairs

she freezes
her unbuttoning
and looks in mid air
as if there was
an answer there

quick get dressed
she says

and she runs
to the light
and switches it off
and puts her clothes on
in the darkness

I look at her outline
shadowy
her Polish curses
fill the air in whispers
razor sharp

I tighten my tie
and prepare
in my mind
to die.

What would we
wish different, Milka?
Youth we had,
plenty of

and wisdom lacked;
your beauty,
my wit;
the summer,

flowers,
butterflies,
bees and us
when we could,

being alone,
when your parents
were out or
out of sight

and your brothers
fishing or gaming;
we could kiss
and embrace

and do what lovers do
when nature
permits or allows.
The room,

yours, untidy
as girl's rooms can be,
was out sanctuary,
our bedding place,

lover's nest,
secret hole,
could tell secrets
if walls could talk

or ceilings tell tales.
We would do
nothing other, Milka,
than what we did,

except, maybe,
do it better
or sooner
or with more passion

if more was to be had.
That first walk,
the smell of flowers,
the air fresh,

the woods echoing
bird calls or song
and rabbits
on the run

or squirrels running
from tree to tree
and branch to branch,
and we there

innocent as lambs
knowing nothing then
of nature's bounty
or ***'s depth,

but we walked and talked
and then by the fence
by the field
we saw sun's glow

and sky's blue
and I knew then
I loved us,
but more so you.

Dennis sat by me
in the playground
we'd swapped cigarette
football cards
and he was seeing
what he had

how can you talk
to that Enid girl?
she stinks
and I’m sure
she has fleas
he said

Enid had stopped
and talked to me
a short time before
she's ok
I said
home life isn't good
what with her old man
and that mother of hers

she still smells though
he said

it's an acquired taste
I said

what's an acquired taste?
he asked

Enid is
once you get to know her
and be with her
she's kind of special
I said

he laughed
you can acquire it
if you want
he said
but to me
she isn't nothing special
just smelly
he sorted through
his cards again

I looked over
the playground
where Enid stood alone
by the far wall
watching girls
play skip rope

the evening before
after tea
I met her
by the entrance
to the flats
the sky getting dark
kids still played
out in the Square

had your tea?
I asked her

my dad said
I wasn't to have any
because I'd not
made my bed properly
Enid said

you haven't eaten?

she shook her head

but I'd seen her old man
go out earlier
to the pub
won't your mother
get you some
now your old man's out?
I asked

no she's frightened of him
Enid said
she thinks he may
come home
and see me eating
and then we'd both
get it

I can get you something
back at my place
I said
my mother'll
get you something

no best not
Enid said
she looked out
at the kids playing
over by the wall

come on with me
I said

where we going?
she asked

chip shop
to get you some chips
and a 7Up
I said

she looked at me
what if he sees me?

he's in the pub
getting plastered
I said
we'll go the other way
he won't see you

she hesitated
but what if he does?

then I’ll say
I dragged you there

she looked out
at the darkening sky
I’ve no money
she said

I have 1/6d
I said
that'll get it

she fiddled
with her fingers
it's getting dark
she said

I don't care if its so dark
you can't see
you're coming
to the chip shop
with me

I took her thin hand
and we walked
through the Square
and down the *****
and along
Rockingham Street

she had her own
kind of scent
an acquired taste
but not bad
but not sweet.

Warm midday break
by the maths block
out of sight of others
(teacher gone for lunch)

Yiska sat beside me
against the fence
hair let loose
no ribbon
her mother's borrowed scent
nice as I leaned close to her
touched her hand warm
pulsing slightly

thought about you
all through science
she said

what did you think about?

you and this
she said
being close out
of others' sight

kiss
lips wet
warm
close as close

parted
looked at each other

what do you think
my parents would say
if they could see me now?
she asked

put him down
you don't know
where he's been?

she laughed
no
Mum'd break out
of her dark mood
and most likely spank me
and Dad'd recite
some prayer or worse

I fingered her hair
smooth
soft

best they don't see you then
I said

best my brother
don't know either
because he'd tell
she said

kissed on lips again
my hand felt
along her thigh
her hand touched mine
our eyes searched
each the others'

do you think of me
in class?
she asked

and out of it
I said

she smiled
you would
she said

kissed her cheek
touched both thighs
her hands held mine

watch out
prefect over there
by the English block
she said

we parted
the sense of her lips
still wet on mine

the prefect called out
WHAT YOU DOING?

we walked along
by the wire
where he stood
looking at us
tall
thin
dark eyed

what was you two doing?
he asked

she wanted to know
the history of England
in 1066
I said

he didn't smile
he gazed at Yiska
you get back on the field
he said to her

she went off
he gazed at me
I watched her go away
looking behind
his narrow frame
she looked back
and blew me a kiss

girls aren't allowed
with boys
off the playing field
he said
what were you doing?

nothing but exchanging words
I said

he frowned
you could get into trouble
for this
he said
but seeing
as you were just
talking with her
I’ll let you off this time
now scoot
he said

I walked away
he watched me go
in the distance
on the playing field
I saw Yiska
with her fiends

that's the way
the world goes
I mused
maybe how it ends.

The nights
seem longer now,
darker, depressing,
the moon
a laughing clown,
getting me down.

The days seem
less brighter now,
the hours passing
like ghostly scares,
minute upon minute
clocking up a speed,
the joy of being
in need of watering
or a newer feed.

Certain days
of the week
come and haunt
and replay
the dark hours
and ugly pain,
the losing of you,
my son,
all over again.

I see your face
as it was
those last days,
it come to me
in dreams or
in the still hours
between this or that,
comes vivid
yours eyes,
my stoic son,
that liquid blue,
darker seeming,
a different seeing,
another you.

Yochana
waits for me
to get off
the school bus

she stands there
in her school
uniform
black straight hair
thin features

missed me then?
I ask her
getting out
of the bus

not really
she answers
her thin hands
are clutching
each other

can we talk?
she asks me

sure we can

so we walk
towards school
kids passing
beside us

what is it?
I ask her

Angela
my best friend
at the school
says not to
talk with you
but I must
I can't sleep
otherwise

we pause by
the school gates

what is it?
I ask her
noticing
just how thin
her frame is
her features

you kissed me
why did you?

why did I?
I wonder
watching her
on her cheek
it had been
just like that

felt like it
I answer

is that all?
nothing more?
she asks me

I like you
I tell her
think of you
all the time

so you say
she utters
shouldn't kiss
just like that

hurry up
get in school
a prefect
near the gate
says to us

what's the rush?
I ask him

just get in
he utters

we go in
the school grounds

don't kiss me
any more

she mutters
and goes off

I watch her
her thin hips
do not sway

she looks back
towards me

I blow her
a palm kiss

she grabs it
and puts it
to her breast
then walks on
out of sight

Reynard R
my best friend
comes over

who's the ****?
he asks me

just a girl

aren't they all?

some are more

girl's a girl
bit of skirt

then he talks
of football
and would I
be in goal
at lunchtime
on the field

I guess so
I reply

but it's her
Yochana
I think of
and the kiss
on her cheek
at the start
of the week.

Ingrid hides beneath her bed; her father calling for her, bawling out along the passageway; her mother whimpering; she can hear her, hopes her father won't find her, wants him to go off to work, leave now while his mood is dark and violent. She crouches down, sees the floor of her bedroom, the wooden floorboards, the small carpet stained, a few clothes here and there. The door opens, she sees her big sister's high-heeled shoes walk in the room and turn around. She's gone out, probably knew you were in one of your moods, her sister says. Her father's gruff reply; banging of doors; raised voices; her sister goes out, closes the door. Ingrid spreads her hands flat on the floor. Pushes away dust, looks out for spiders, fears to see one and cry out, have her father running in with his slapping hand at the ready, his dark eyes blazing like fires. She flattens herself out, her eyes on the door, her head to one side, the bed springs against her shoulders, touching her hair. The door flies open, her father black shoes visible, his brown trousers, two legs. Well, she was here a while ago; if I catch her I’ll tan her hide, so I will. He moves stuff on the dressing table, moves about the room, goes to the window and looks out. Where'd she go? Her sobbing mother enters, her two feet showing. She's with that boy from the flats; that Benny. Her father curses, pushes the drab curtains aside. I see him about; his quiff of hair, that fecking smile, the hazel eyes peering; she's not to see him; I don't like him, her father says. Her mother sobs, sits on the bed, pushes the springs down further into Ingrid's shoulders and hair. He's no harm, her mother says; his mother's a decent sort. Her father sighs. Why go with him? What she see in him? Her father bends down and picks up a cardigan from the floor, but doesn't look sideways at Ingrid there; he holds it up to her mother. She’s a lazy cow; look, leaves clothes everywhere.  She's just a nine year old girl, her mother says; she's much to learn. She'll learn it, he says, by my hand, she'll learn. Ingrid stiffens; fears he'll sense her under the bed. She knows he'll have her eventually. The last time he beat her, her had to sit sideways for days, even at school. Benny knew something was up; he always seemed to know. He peered at her; his eyes searching her. Where this time? He asked. She told him. Once he said he'd fire his catapult at her father's backside from the balcony, but she said not too.  He'll blame me, she said, he'll think I set you up. She aches. Her body is aching with staying still. She also wants to go to the toilet; wants to have breakfast. Her father walks around the bed, his black shoes walking slow. Her mother moves on the bed, pushing the springs again. You're too soft on her. I'm not. You are; she gets away with too much.  I do my best. The bed springs push down on Ingrid's head. Well, if you see her when she gets back, tell her I’m onto her; to expect a good hiding. Ingrid cringes. The black shoes walk away out of the room. Her mother sobs, moves back and forth on the bed. Ingrid senses the springs pushing down on her shoulders and head. Her mother rises from the bed, walks to the door, then out of the room, shuts the door. All is silent now as it was before.

And John sees
passing trees
fields

cottages
lanes
sky

birds in sky
sees his reflection
in the bus window

going and coming
and going
the other kids

on the bus
most not all
talking and laughing

the bus radio
blaring out
some song

but he tries to focus
on the girl's name
she told him

and well it has gone
but he pictures
her still

thin wire spectacles
dark hair
a grip at the side

and that look of hers
as if she saw
into his soul

fool no such thing
but it seems so
and he sighs

can't recall
the name
her tie

was untied
loosely
dark eyes

he thinks
small ****
he kind

of recalls
but the name
even has he stares

at the passing view
her name
has gone too.

Yochana
when Miss G
put on Bach

in the class
on the old
gramophone

young Reynard
next to me
muttered rude

soft comments
what Bach piece
she played us

I don't know
but you there
thin as wire

your black hair
tied in bows
by ribbons

I saw you
watched you move
your head swayed

your fingers played
imagined
piano keys

I watched them
in a dance
Reynard called

you titless
both hands moved
on the desk

I wanted
to hold them
bring each one

finger near
to my lips
so I could

**** music
from each one
gorge on Bach

from your hands
like some new
explorer

searching out
far away
unknown lands.

Sarasota Beach.
You’d been to this place
Before, long before



You’d met Earl or his
Sour sister Pearl
Or her friend Mrs



Gillespie for this
Picnic on this stretch
Of sand. When was that



Now? A girl then. And
Not picnicking. Who
Was it with back then?



The Milton boy? Yes.
Him with the dark hair
And big blue eyes. You’d



Walked this beach hand in
Hand thinking it love,
Thinking you’d found the



Core to your being.
Didn’t of course. It
Hadn’t got too far.



You kissed, held hands, spoke
Words, laughed, caressed, but
Nothing more. Least ways



You didn’t want to,
Not then, not with him,
Just like that. You stare



Out at the sea now.
Earl says, what are you
Gazing at? Ain’t you



Seen the sea before?
Pearl sits quiet, deep
In thought. Maybe she



Had an adventure
Of love here, who knows.
Mrs Gillespie



Eats away and speaks
Small talk between large
Mouthfuls. You recall



The Milton boy for
His ardent attempt
At going further,



Trying to venture
Beneath your dress back
Then. Smacked his hand of



Course. He stopped, withdrew
His hand, frustrated
And sulked. Never got



His way though.  He boiled
Up inside, you guess.
Went with that Kelly



Girl not long after,
Maybe she gave way,
You don’t know. Smiled a



Far bit after that,
The Milton boy, her
On his arm, looking



At you with that look
Of his. You look back
At Earl and watch him



Eat, holding a dull
Conversation with
Mrs Gillespie



Between bites. The sea
And wind seem the same,
The gulls, the smell of



Sea and salt and a
Long lost age. Aren’t you
Going to eat? Earl



Says. Plenty here, he
Mutters. Pearl stares at
The sea. Maybe she



Had a lover once,
But lost it all, you
Muse, just like me.

Netanya
sits crossed legged
in the bar
(Irish bar
off Whitehall)

her red dress
above knees
the black shoes
pointy toes
and flat heels

I sit there
beside her

loud speakers
easing out
the music
of Ireland

what a night
she utters

never had
such a night

I sip beer
she sips wine

did you count?
I ask her

studying
her features
the slightly
broken nose
now mended
the green eyes
holding me

5 or 6
times it was
she tells me

feels like it
I tell her

she takes out
cigarettes
and offers
one to me
then herself
and lights up
and inhales

I’m 40
she tells me
but I feel
years younger

she looks it
her dark hair
set down loose

and you are?
she asks me

28
I reply

she smiles now
not thinking
about her
bald husband
miles away

we had ***
in the small
hotel bed
many times
seemingly
almost one
big session

then she moves
uncrosses
her fine legs

glimpse briefly
Eve's Eden
paradise
sight of thigh
paradise
ease a sigh.

Baruch laid stone
upon stone
on the grave.

Still warm;
dry weather for weeks.

Deganya put down
a stone gently,
placed it just so,
next to his.

They stood looking
at the stones
on the grave.

Flowers stood *****
in a vase, pink,
white and red.

Hard to believe
she's dead,
Baruch said.

Deganya stood
with her thin hands
at her sides.

Always
she survived things,
always the joke
of immortality,
Deganya said.

Mortality reminds us
who and what we are,
Baruch said,
kneeling down
arranging the stones.

That last time she knew,
Deganya said,
no joke that time.

She put her hands
together prayer-like.

Baruch gazed sideways
at the girl.

We had
our good times
together;
bad times, too.

She never
spoke of it,
Deganya said,
looking
at the flowers.

You made her happy
for years.

Baruch said nothing.

The stones were
as they should be now.

The girl's mother
had been a love of his.

Time had separated them;
the rows too frequent
at the end to repair.

Deganya looked at him
then at the sky,
sniffed the fragrant air.

The canary perched
on Janice's finger.

Her eyes wide
in amazement,
its plumage,
yellow, sickly,
beauty, all in one.

I looked on,
eyes wide
in amazement, too,
not at its yellow
plumage, but at
the bird's whitish poo.

Look what it's done,
Janice cried,
on my finger
and hand.

Her gran,
who usually said,
Make sure
the window's closed,
lay in a chair
and dozed.

Wipe it off
or take the bird,
Janice said.

I took the bird
in cupped hands,
studying its
slight alarm,
its ruffled look.

Janice went to
the kitchen to clean
her hand and finger
under the tap,
while Gran grunted
in her catlike nap.

The bird wanted to
escape my hold,
but I held it firm,
cupped tight in hands,
in captured hold,
studying its yellowness
and thimble head.

Janice returned
and said;
Naughty bird
to poo on
Janny's hand
and finger,
and took back
the bird
into her care
once more.

My hands
were clean;
it had not
shat on me,
not a bit,
if it had,
I thought,
not said,
I’d have
strangled it.

Will it always be thus?
Grief pain stabs, unguts,
turns and turns;
all ifs and buts.

I sleep in the hope
to see you; have to be
drugged to sleep
and I can't remember,
my son, if I have seen
you or caressed or not;
enough to make my soul rot.

Dawn does not excite;
evening stretches before me
with its orange tang
and mellow
sickening glow.  

What was it like
those final hours
of wakefulness?
Should have been there,
if I’d known, I’d have stayed.

Human mistake
I’m afraid,
at least on my part,
wounded soul,
broken heart.

Your Stoic soul
sails on,
no doubt;
you'd have made
old Seneca proud;
me, too,
the way you coped
with all and more.

You are out
on that eternal sea,
my son,
I’m here
stuck
on this
lonesome shore.

On my way
to the shop
across the road
down the concrete stairs

of the flats
I saw Ingrid
sitting on a step
a floor down

from mine
what you
doing here?
I asked

I dropped
a pink of milk
on the way back
from the shop

and now
my dad'll **** me
I daren't go home
I looked at her

sitting there
old grey dress
matty hair
well you can't

sit here all day
your mum
will wonder
where you are

she looked at me
wide eyed
I know
but I can't

go home
until he's gone
to work or I’m for it
how long ago

did you drop it?
15 minutes or so
down by the *****
I thought

of the broken glass
and messy milk
wait here
I’ll talk

with my mum
so I went back
upstairs to our flat
and spoke to Mum

and she gave me
an extra bit of money
to get another
bottle of milk

so I went down
the stairs
and said
come on

let's get
another bottle
how?
she asked

my mum
gave me
some money
to get another

but be careful
this time
she smiled
her goofy smile

and we went down
the stairs and out
through the Square
and down the *****

to the shop
passed
the broken bottle
and spilt milk

and the morning sun
was coming over
the factory
beside the fresh fish shop

and we got
my mother's shopping
and another pint
and never spilt a drop.

Yiska's brother
said she wanted to see me
and so I met her
by the science lab

after midday recess
along by the side
of the playing field
she stood there

arms folded
uneasy
looking down
at the grass

your brother said
you wanted to see me
what's the problem?
one of the girls in class

said that you can get pregnant
if you kiss some one
too passionately
and we did

the other day
and now I’m scared
in case I’m pregnant
she said

in a rush of words
I looked back
at the playing field
Rolland was starting

the ball game
with other boys
some girls
were playing tag in the field

why did the girl say that?
I said
she saw us kissing
the other day

and said
I’d get pregnant
expert is she?
I said

Yiska looked at me deeply
I don't know
I didn't ask
she said

how far have you got
in biology?
I said
what do you mean?

how far have you gone
in human reproduction?
I said
haven't got that far

still doing about frogs
and tadpoles
she said
I sighed

and took her hand  
and we walked
behind the science lab
out of sight of eyes

you have to do more
than kiss to get pregnant
I said
she looked at me unsure

what do you have to do?
she said
nothing we've done
I said

I took in
her bright eyes
her lips just parted
showing her white teeth

the tip of tongue
but what then?
she said
ask your parents

I said
O sure
Yiska said
Mum

how does a girl
get herself pregnant?
is it kissing
or is there something else?

I'm sure she’ll tell me
if she doesn't whack me
in one of her dark moods
Yiska had her hair brushed

just so
neat
and her hand was warm
in mine

you tell me
if you know
she said
I walked her along more

by the science lab
bushes were up
on the bank
behind us

birds sang
I whispered to her
what I knew
she stood back

and gazed at me
are you sure
that's right?
she said

sure it is
I read about it
in this book
she blushed

and took
my hand again
and kissed me
can I read that book?

she said
sure I’ll bring it in
I said
she looked at me

her features bright
and becoming red.

Sutcliffe brings
a magazine
to school
(his old man's
he tells us)
and we group in
under the shelter
near the outside bogs.

He opens it
page by page;
his fingers shaky,
his eyes, blue,
enlarged,
peer the page.

Look at the state
of her,
O’Brien says.

I look over
his shoulder
at the naked dame.

Can you imagine
Miss A doing this
from our old school?
I suggest.

Don't make me puke,
O’Brien says.

What the ****'s that?
Sutcliffe asks,
pointing a finger.

It's where
you were born from,
Davies says.

Can't be,
Sutcliffe says,
I was born
in Guy's hospital.

Your mother,
poor cow,
has one of those,
O’Brien says.

Sutcliffe pulls a face
as if he'd bitten
a lemon.

Shan't look at her
the same way again,
he replies.

Turn the page,
I say,
see something other.

He turns the page,
a centrefold,
opens it out,
arms outstretched,
eyes widening.

Wouldn’t say no
to her,
O’Brien says,
scanning in
like a swooping air plane
to dive bomb.

Me, neither,
Sutcliffe mutters.

I see Sutcliffe's
inky fingers shake
on the edges
of the magazine;
the woman has big eyes
peering out,
her nose has an air
of: had your gawk?
We just stare,
no place
to waste words,
we stand,
open mouthed
and don’t talk.

She would often stare at you
sitting by the pond
the summer sunlight

playing there
on the waters’ skin
the holidays

having just begun
and she’d say
you do love me don’t you?

and you’d look away
from the sunlight’s dance
and reply

of course I do
and you’d see that look
in her eyes

like worlds
being born
and she’d say

Mother wouldn’t want
me here alone with you
and you looking back

at the pond’s water
would say
why is that?

what have I done
to cause her alarm?
Birds flew across

the pond
their cries breaking
the silence of the summer day

she moved her hand
and touched your hand
resting on the dry earth

because she’s jealous of me
being loved I suppose
or maybe she thinks

we do things while alone
you look back at her
the way she sat

the skirt lifted
along her thigh
her hand squeezing yours

that summer
that love
the fresh life

of loving
the being
out of doors.

There’s a fun fair
on the bombsite

off Meadow Row
you told Fay

that Friday
on the way home

from school
and she said

I can only come
if my daddy’s out

he thinks
all such things

are sinful
and if he

caught me there
he’d beat me for sure

Ok
you said

and let it drop
and walked on

beside her
the afternoon heat

making you sweat
and then she said

I will try
to come if I can

and she looked sad
and her pale features

seemed even paler
and her eyes searched you

and you said
I hope you can

but if not another time
when the fair returns

and you both paused
at the kerb

as traffic rushed by
and her thin hand

reached out
and held yours

her fingers
touched yours

her thumb rubbing
against your thumb

and when the traffic stopped
because of the change of lights

you walked across the road
still hand in hand

she just a few steps behind
a case of

(as her father
often said)

the blind
leading the blind.

It's like the world stopped,
like someone
turned off the lights,

like some kid
in a dark room
full of frights.

Where, my son,
do I go from here?

The horizon is dull
and unclear.

I played
the Led Zeppelin album
you bought me last.

Seem to see your ghost,
can't catch it,
can't move so fast.

It's like the seasons
have all gone wrong,
like emptiness
has become the norm,

and can't recall
the lyrics
of my favourite song.

Like a child left
in a storm,
full of lights
and sounds,

and ancient woes,
trying to see
where the dead ones go.

Her last suicide.
Others had been rehearsals
practised in dark rooms.

On the school bus home
she looks out the window
her younger sister
yakking as usual

to her friends nearby
but Elaine tries
to shut her out
and focus on John

and what he said
when they met
on the school
sports field

at recess lunch time
and what she said
to him and still
she couldn't say

to him how the kiss
had made her
feel inside
she watches

the passing view
fields
farm houses
trees

cows
sheep
trees
and she knows

if she looks across
on the other side
of the bus
he'll be there

looking out
of the opposite window
should I look over?
shall I see

if he's looking at me?
her sister giggles
about something
her friends giggle too

she hates it
when they giggle
she thinks
they're giggling

at her
she puts her hands
on her knees
rubs them

take her hands off
runs her palms
along her thighs
she looks over

at John
he's looking out
the window
she can see

the back of his head
and that boy
who sits next to him
is talking to him

she looks away
tries to go over
in her mind
the kiss he gave her

what seems now
some time ago
so sudden
so unexpected

and his hands
touched her
as he kissed
where?

does it matter?
she looks over
at him again
and he looks at her

and she blushes
and looks away
houses pass by  
hedgerows

horses
houses
she feels open
as if he'd spread

her wide
and nothing
is hidden
no place to hide.

I get off the bus to Richmond
and Chaya's waiting for me.

She's dressed in red and white
and her blonde hair is free flowing.

How was the journey?

Long, but worth it.

Bit like life, then.

Sometimes.

She smiles
and we walk
through the park.

I know a café
we can go for a drink
and bite to eat,
she says.

That'd be good.

So she takes me
to this café
on the other side
of the park
and we sit down
and a young girl
takes our order
and walks away.

There's a new group
called the Rolling Stones
played here recently;
they’re good.

I'm an Elvis fan myself,
but I think my sister,
Alma, has a record of there's.

She takes out a cigarette
and offers me one;
we light up
and she puts
the packet away.

These guys play
bluesy rock;
the lead singer's
quite a character;
got his autograph.

Our coffees come
and we sip in silence
for awhile.

How's your work?
I ask.

Steady; I have a few
acting bits.

How's your work?

Boring, but it pays me ok
and keeps me
fed and watered.

What do you do
when you're not working?

I write.

Write what?

Plays and short stories.

Have to read them sometime;
especially the plays.

Not up to scratch, yet.

I look at her hair
and wish I could touch it;
run my fingers through it,
but I don't of course,
I just gaze at her.

Am I that interesting?
She asks

Yes, you are, pretty.

She laughs.

No one has called me
pretty before,
maybe pretty boring.

No, you are;
your lovely blonde hair,
those eyes of yours,
your figure.

She smiles.

Well if you say so, Baruch;
but my father says
not to get too
above myself,
but to be who I am.

We finish our smokes
and coffees
and walk on back
through the park
and lay on the grass
under the warm sunshine.

A brass band
is playing over the way.

People pass by;
kids calling,
laughing.

She lays on her back;
I lay beside her;
feel her next to me;
my body alive
to her presence.

I'm off next week
to Scotland;
got a part in a play.

I look at her.

That's good;
how long for?

As long as it runs;
it's only a small part,
but Daddy says
it all helps my craft;
I’ll write when
I’m back in Richmond.

I feel a sense of sadness,
buy joy for her,
mixed.

I want to kiss her,
but feel it might not
be the right time.

I lay there studying her
as she talks on
about the play;
I think I love her,
but cannot say.

We got off the bus
and walked up the road
towards the church
Sunday morning
warm sun

Yehudit said
had a problem
getting out in time
this morning
mother wanted
this done and that done
before we could leave
and she knew
we had to get to church
and sing in the choir

thought you looked harassed
I said
why she didn't wait
until after church
for these chores?

because she wanted them
done then and there
it's a power thing

we walked up
the narrow lane
that led to the church
high hedges
birds singing
flying
a car passed
now and then

did she say anything
about you being late
yesterday afternoon?
I asked

no not as such
but I think
she suspected something
and that is why
the hassle today
Yehudit said

it was a good afternoon
I said

yes it was
she said
but it ended too soon

did someone see us?
I asked

don't know
maybe someone did
and she has got
to hear about it
Yehudit said

why didn't she just say?

not her way
of doing things

we reached the church
and walked
around the back
to the door to the vestry
and got dressed
into our choir clothes

I thought about
the afternoon before
the sun above our heads
the still water
of the pond
(she called it our lake)
the ducks
the fish beneath
the surface
the dragonflies
skirting the water's skin

and she and me
laying by the pond
on our backs
describing cloud formations
occasionally kissing
or holding hands

looking out
for strangers or passer-by
(although rare)
and we held
and caressed
and kissed
and got quite hot
and at it
out bodies close

don't forget
the vicar said
to sing out loud and clear

I watched Yehudit
brushing her hair
in front of the mirror
of the cupboard
of clothes

the vicar seemed ready
for the service
and I gazed at Yehudit
she gave a smile
and we went into church
her lovely smile
with me
for quite while.

Time's the great healer,
I've heard say,
but not just now though,
not here within this heart

and mind it's not,
least just not
here and now,
and you know,

my son,
and though
I sense you near
in the way

the dead can be,
you're not here
as you used to be
and that's what gets me,

that it will not be
like that again,
hence the grief,
the pain.

But stoically,
as you,
my stoic son,
were right
until the end;

seeing
the larger picture,
view the whole horizon
not just the tiny details

of the here and now;
but I miss you,
right here, right now,
without doubt and how.