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.

My mother's
at the sink,
doing washing
or washing up,
I think.

My old man
made her cry
earlier that day,
but she’s humming now,
so must be OK.

I watch her
as kid's do,
study how
she moves her hands
to work and such,
but the old man
did not care
or do as much.  

My mother's
drying dishes,
eyes about to cry,
I look away
wondering
what or why?

My mother's
dead now,
laid to rest
with Jesus
or God or both
amongst the best.

You often wonder
Where it all went wrong
And why the expanse

Of sky darkened with
The coming of the
Words: no longer love

You, in fact, never
Did, just needed to
Have you about me

To keep company
When no one else would
Do, now they've gone, found

Someone else to hurt
And spoil and bring their
Heart to heat and boil

Then leave to cool like
They left you, just you
Now and the dog all

Alone and Buddy
Holly singing on
The old gramophone.

John watched Elaine
get off
the school bus
with her sister

he looked to see
if she looked up
at him before
the bus went off

his insides were tight
wondering if
she would
not wanting her

to look away
or ignore him
and the fact
that not long before

she had looked over
from her side
of the bus
and they'd stared

at each other
and she had blushed
for some reason
and he had stared

wondering if
she would turn
and look again
but she didn't

and he kept
looking over
but she didn't
look back

the bus began
to drive away
and at the last moment
she looked up

and she stared at him
and he was sure
she began to smile
but he couldn't be sure

and then
she was gone
and hedgerows came
and fields and houses

and then
just fields
and hedges
and trees

and he looked
at his hands
in his lap
and tried not

to listened
to what Trevor
was saying
about football

and how he nearly
scored at lunch time
John tried to hold on
to her face

at that moment
and the maybe smile
he was sure
he'd seen

and the fields
passed by
all was flowing by
like a sea of green.

The Irish monk
reads from a life
of a saint-

refectory lunch-

his eyes walk
the page-

silence as he reads
from others-

eating as a work
of art.

I look at the monks
around me-

one with a patch
over one eye
like a pirate-

and a memory
of her licking
my ear
and whispering words.

The French peasant monk
brings water
for the flowers
in the church
and he labours
as a whole millennium
of peasant monks
have done –

he being solitary
but not the only one.

Do you believe that?

Nima lights up
a cigarette
after the question.

It's a matter of faith
not scientific fact.

She smiles.

Even faith
needs some basis
on the possible,
I mean
a ****** birth?
you believe that?

Benedict looks at her
sitting there
by the fountain
in Trafalgar Square.

With God
all things
are possible.

****** birth
is possible?
you think that?

He looks
at the jawline,
the cheeks pale,
******* holding
the cigarette.

Sure, I do,
like other
articles of faith.

She shakes her head,
stares at him.

Nietzsche said
some place
that God's only excuse
is he doesn't exist.

Without God
there is no purpose
in anything,
he says;
it's all pointless,
absurd.

She sighs.

Maybe that is
the reality,
this absurdity,
but it doesn't mean
therefore
God must exist,
she adds,
looking out
at the people
in the Square,
by the fountains.

Without God
there is no beginning,
no beginning
therefore no end,
just endless turmoil,
he says,
looking at needle marks
on her skin
where the juice
ran in.

Let's go
for a beer and burger,
she says,
then I must get back
to the hospital
before they go
over the top.

He nods and they walk
through the Square,
pass the fountains,
and people,
and she flicks
her cigarette ****
as she went;
like her,
like her life
all spent.

Ingrid seldom laughed;
it made her
protruding teeth
seem more so
than they were.

She spread her lips
tightly to smile
so that only
small gaps
at the sides
became visible.

A Knock-Knock joke,
I said.

She nodded,
waited.

Knock-Knock.

She looked at me
expectantly.

You have to say:
who's there?
I said.

O, I didn't know,
she said.

Knock-Knock.

Who's there?

Me.

She looked
at her scuffed shoes.

You need to say:
Who's me?

She looked up at me
and said,
O, right.

Knock-knock.

Who's there?

Me.

Who's me?

I don’t know
who you are,
but I'm Benny,
I said.

I watched as her lips
tried to stay stiff
and unmoving,
but her lips
disobeyed her,
and spread open
into a wide O,
and her slightly
protruding teeth
came into view.

I smiled mildly:
what else could
a nine year old boy
do?

You, Yiska, you-
eyes,
plums,

settled in cream,
soft,
gazed there,

new worlds,
and lips,
barely touching,

edge of Paradise,
skin on skin,
warm, wet,

pressed.
Yiska, you-
hands,

******* fingers,
you there,
your thighs,

dress raised,
summery,
birds searching

out the sky,
I,
seeking bird-like,

to fly high.
You, Yiska, you-
I dreamed of you,

night searching,
sky darkening,
moon's oil,

stars exploding
in eyes
from window's view,
you,
Yiska,
you.

We saw you
on the sports field
Frumpy
with that boy

at lunch break
a girl said
Elaine tried
to ignore them

pretended
they were annoying
summer flies
or one of ******* fly

that buzzed and buzzed
she had been
on the field
with the boy John again

he seemed
to understand better now
he was still
a little weird

with his talk of birds
and butterflies
and what flowers
they liked best


but it was good
to sit with him
and not have to worry

any more about him
kissing her
as she did
that time before

now he seemed
less keen
or maybe he
was waiting his chance

or maybe seeing
if she wanted to
and she wasn't sure
about kissing

it had been so unexpected
and something stirred
in her as he kissed her
that frightened her

and unsettled her
and she can still remember
the feeling inside
the feelings along

her nerves
she waited outside
the classroom
for the teacher

to come along
the other girls and boys
jostled each other
or whispered

one looked at her
and said
what was he after Frumpy?
did he want a feel?

mild laughter
smiles
she ignored
looked at her shoes

black and scuffed
her mother said
she'd get her
new ones later

she put the toes
of her shoes together
pushed them closer
bet he wanted a touch

of you Frumpy
a girl said
laughter on the air
Elaine stared

at the left shoe
felt her toes push
against the inside
John hadn't touched her

but did he want to?
she hoped not
but what if he did
and what sort of touch?

and where and why?
she pushed her toes
down hard
against the leather

she closed her eyes
hoped the teacher
would be along soon
bet she lets him

touch her
a boy said
he must be desperate
another said

she thought of home
and her bedroom
and the bed
and her doll

waiting for her
and some peace
inside her
14 year old head.

Yiska sits
in the bath
off the ward

no water
just sits there
all depressed
**** naked

scars on wrists
suicide
reminders

I stand there
by the door
never locked
the bathroom
on the high
risk locked ward

didn't know
you were here
I tell her

she looks up
you do now
but who cares
what’s to see
you've not seen
she mutters
got a smoke?

I give her
my packet
of French smokes

she takes one
I light it
and light one
for myself

we inhale
in silence
her pink scars
like medals
on her wrists

her small *******
hang lonely
her *** bush
between thighs
visible

you best go
she tells me
just in case
the nurses
come along

you OK?

I'll be fine
she replies

OK then
hold in there
I tell her
walking off

I don't mind
that you're here
she whispers
we're soul mates
on death's ship
on rough seas
drowning deep

I go in
and kiss her
on the arm
then return
to the ward
of chill dawn
waiting for
my new life
to be born.

Bright morning
Yehudit says
as we meet
by the front gate
shame about school
I’d rather we were going
some place
more interesting
somewhere we could be
alone together

we walk down
the side of the road
towards the bus stop

we were
alone together Saturday
well a good part of it

well yes
but that was someone
else's wedding
and we were
in the choir
until afterwards

but the bubbly was good
and those other plates
of posh grub

we wait
by the bus stop
with others

I seem to recall
Roger had his fill
of those and bubbly
she says

I’d have preferred a beer
but the guy
handing them out
said I was too young

you are
you’re only
14 years old Benny

the bridegroom
looked terrified

the bride looked beautiful

she wasn't a bad dish

dish?
dish?
what a thing
to call a bride

the bus was coming
she stops talking
soon we'll sit apart
on the bus
(she doesn't want others
to yak if they see us
together on the bus)

the bus stops
we get on

she sits at the front
with her sister
and I sit towards
the back with Trevor

he talks of football
I watch Yehudit
at the front of the bus
and she looks
back at me

I don't know what
she's thinking
but I know
where I’d
rather be.

Fay meets me
in the park
by the swings

Saturday
afternoon
after lunch
(the morning
was the time
of the film
matinee)

she looks sad
wearing her
lemon dress
her blonde hair
in bunches

how are you?
I ask her

Daddy said
not to come
unless I
could name all
Jesus's
twelve disciples

and did you?
I ask her

yes I did

how did you
remember
all the names?

I have to
remember
at school too

I recall
about four
I tell her

what now then?
she asks me
that I’m here?

we can ride
on the swings
or the slide
or the fast
roundabout
or hang on
to the ropes
I suggest

she just shrugs

there's a bruise
on her arm
just above
her elbow

not the swings
or the fast
roundabout
or long slide
or see-saw
she utters

why is that?  

hurts to sit
she tells me

we walk on
through the park
to the road
to the shops

I buy us
2 ice creams
1p drinks
and we stand
watching life
us licking
our ice creams
sipping drinks

I thinking
of baked beans
on warm toast
for my tea

she thinking
of Jesus
of the twelve
disciples

and her dad's
holy rage
if she can't
get them all
in order
not reading
from the page.

I see you
Yochana
thin as wire

shiny hair
narrow nose
looking back

towards me
eyes gazing
while Miss G

at the front
of the class
talks music

Beethoven
and deafness
how he had

his piano
cut down low
to feel sound

vibrations
on his skin
how you look

towards me
Yochana
vibrates on

my skin too
I mouth words
you're ****

towards you
your forehead
creases up

eyebrows rise
thinking out
what I've mouthed

I love it
how you are
you look back

at Miss G
and her talk
on music

Beethoven
and not me.

Did you go
to Vegas
after all?

Does the Spirit World
permit such?

I hope you go
if you've not been
and are allowed,
my son;
there ghostly
amongst the gamblers
who have lost or won.

I think of you
good part
of my time,
or suddenly
out of the blue,
something
some tune or photo
brings to mind, you.

I used to be ignorant
of grief's ache,
the hurt loss brings,
but not anymore,
not since you've
been gone.

You gone,
just like that,
no big farewells,
just the final words
vague now
and possibly banal
as most
in real life are,
like faded lights
of a burnt out star.

He was with her
when they came back
from the bar

the moon was out
but dark clouds
hid it now and then

and she walked
with a sway
singing bars
from some song
she liked

and he watched her
walking just behind
looking at her
looking about him
the streets
the street lights
yellow upon black
bright lights

and she said
this is it
this is what I like
being merry
being liberated
from my normal self

and he said
ok let’s get back home
take it easy
don’t what you falling
and breaking bones

she paused on the edge
of the kerb
and looked at the moon
look at that moon
I guess people in Russia
see the self same moon
as we do
looking up
and seeing the same
bright light
the same pits
on the moon’s skin

he said
come on Honey
lets’ get back
and he put his arm
through hers
and tried to move her on

hey hey
she said  
don’t pull me along
I want to see the moon

so he stopped pulling her
and walked on
and looked back
at her staring
at the moon
her voice singing
her body swaying

he walked on
hands in the pockets
of his coat
head down

wait
she called
wait for me
I don’t want
to be swallowed
by the night

and he stopped
and she ran to him
and put her arms
around him
and kissed his lips
and he could taste
the *****
the cigarettes

and he said
come on Babe
let’s go

and so she walked on
beside him
her body leaning
against him
her voice humming
a melody
her feet picking
places to tread

his lips having
the taste of her
on them
the feel of her
on his arm

her voice
humming still
echoing into the night  
hoping she’d be good
once home
hoping she’d stay awake
not fall asleep
but if she did
he thought
the *** would keep.

As the school bus
drove away
Elaine watched it go
she had smiled at John

but it had been
an uncertain smile
unsure if he
would smile

if she smiled
and that uncertainty  
reflected itself
in her smile

she had looked over
at John on the bus
but she had blushed
as he looked at her

and she didn't look again
in case she blushed
and her sister saw her
and that would

have meant being
teased later
the bus went
from her sight

and she walked home
beside her sister
wishing she had
smiled more

and had looked over
at the boy John again
but she hadn't
the walk home

seemed endless
and her sister talked
of her day
and what so and so

had done or said
and who had said
what to whom
but Elaine was lost

in her own thoughts
and once she got home
and had said hello
to her mother

who was preparing tea
she went to her bedroom
to change out
of her school uniform

and into something casual
and having done that
she lay on her bed
and looked

at the ceiling
wondering what she
really felt
about John

and how his being
around her
and talking to her
affected her

she sighed and wished
she was more confident
as her sister was
more sure of herself

and her feelings
the kiss the other week
from John
had unsettled her

and she was still
trying to make out
if he was really
interested in her

or if it was just
some joke
he was playing
although she didn't

think it was a joke
because he seemed
too honest and why
would he carry out

a joke to such lengths
and no one else
at school seemed in
on any joke against her

apart from calling her
Frumpy and teasing her
no one seemed in
on any joke

the kiss was so sudden
and so unexpected
that it pushed her
into unknown territory

but as she lay there
on her bed
and closed her eyes
she thought what it

would be like
if he was in the room
with her and if he lay
beside her

and kissed her again
what would she think
or feel?
she mused

hugging
her Teddy Bear
close to her *******
and kissing the Teddy's head

and even though
John wasn't there
she still blushed
bright red.

Amy draws a curtain
On her mistress’s midday
Slumbers. She wishes she

Could enter her mistress’s
Dreams, could be there,
Closer, sharing the same air,

The same thoughts, the same
View and smell and sounds.
Her master, Marcus has gone

Off on a visit to some man of
Importance in Rome. Good
At least he’s out of the way.

At least I can be here when
She wakes and not have him
Sniffing around like a dog for

A ***** on heat. She draws
Back the curtain a few inches
And looks at her mistress.

The eyes closed, the lips
Sealed in a kind of downward
Slant, the nose breathing the

Midday air without hurry, with
One arm above her head and the
Other by her side. She wishes

She could lie beside her now,
Sense her arms about her, her
Lips on hers, her words soft as

Falling petals entering her ears.
He had her last night; he had her
Beside him in the bed; had her

In the usual way of men. She
Wonders if he could sense her
Presence in his bed beside his

Wife, could feel the indentation
Of her head upon the pillow
Where she had lain some nights

Before his return. Some parts of
Her wishes he could, if only out
Of jealousy of his return and his

Place in her mistress’s bed and
In her arms and him having the
Kisses and not her as she had

Before. She is tempted to sneak
Over and lay a soft kiss on her
Mistress’s brow or cheek. To feel

Again that soft skin, that feel of
Flesh, but she lets the curtain drop.
She will bide her time and wait until

The master goes again, but until that
Time and moment comes she must
Take what little comfort she can

Seeing her mistress and sensing
Her love and in the private moment
When they can, exchange the odd

Embrace or kiss or take some comfort
From just the view of the one she
Loves so deeply as other lovers do.

“Can you get your head
Off my breast,” she said,

The dead weight was killing her,
Sending messages

To her brain to get
The pain-in-the-****

Off of her, go back to sleep;
But when she gazed at him,

At his fine shaped,
Dark-haired, head,

She relented,
Let him lay his head

And thought of him
Dying there instead.

We went by train
to an old familiar
seaside resort
with children
and grandchildren
and others as such;
and it was a good day
with fine weather;
and the laughter of children
and the distraction
of their enjoyment
on the beach, but you
my son,weren't there,
or if you were in spirit,
I was unaware.

But I guess you were,
there amongst us
tagging along,
your silence and humour
there in spirit,
remembering as I did
the days when you
were young and played
upon this beach
with your brothers
and sisters
of a much tender age.

I wish now I was able
to turn back to that time
as if in a book's page;
to relive those times,
hold on to the excitement
and youth of that time,
but time passes us on,
and on we go whether
we wish to or no;
the times passing us by,
moving us on
in a continuing motion.

The children played
on the sand, I watched
the wide expanse of ocean;
the constant rush of the tide;
the memories of you, my son,
out there, playing on the edge
with your bucket and *****,
engrossed in the game.

We went to the seaside and beach,
but it will never be the same;
now you will always be,
seemingly, out of reach.

There's a purity about
falling snow, Yiska said.
She was standing by
the window of the locked

ward, snow was falling,
trees captured some in
their branches, fields
were blanketed. I stood

next to her, gazing out,
smelling soap, stale
perfume. She stood in
her dressing gown,

open at the neck, holding
a cigarette between two
fingers. See they have
allowed you to dress,

she said, looking at me.
Yes, but still no belt or
shoelaces, I said. Do you
blame them? After your

history of attempted hanging?
No, I guess not. She looked
back at the snow. I can't
even have a bath without

one of the nurses sitting in
there with me, she said, in
case I slit my wrists in the
bath again. Red water.

Something dramatic
about red water.  I sniffed
in her cigarette smoke.
Calming. I can't believe

he jilted me at the altar,
she said after a few moments.
Me standing there in my
white dress like some doll,

and he didn't show. I wouldn't
have jilted you, I said. It
wasn’t you I was going to
marry. But thanks anyway.

Undone. Undo-able. The past
like a locked door to a room
you want to go back to and
change the furniture around.

Her smoke entered my lungs.
I felt it ease me. If it wasn't
for the fact that the ward is
locked, I would be out there

in that whiteness, standing
there, arms outstretched,
mouth open, she said. If I
get low can I borrow the

belt of your dressing gown?
I asked. Only if you distract
the nurse when I bath next
time, she said, gazing at me

with her drugged up eyes.
Sure, each waits until the
other dies. There's a purity
about falling snow, she said,

gazing back at the scene
outside. I stared at her: the
thin white abandoned bride.

Come up and see me
Sometime, May West said.
And Chimanski could
Not get the words out

Of his head, they’d buzz
Around like blow flies
In a shut up room;
And he imagined

Her upstairs in bed,
Laying there, ready
And waiting, looking
Like she did in her

Prime, as in the small
Photographs he had
Of her tucked away,
Out of his wife’s scan,

Especially the
One hidden away
In his black wallet,
Behind the dull doomed

Photo of his wife;
And sipping from his
Beer and looking up
At the white ceiling,

He listened for footsteps
In his room; the sound
Of the mattress touched,
The sound of his name

Being called, not by
Mae, but by her poor
Understudy, his
Fifteen stone wife

Fay whom he signed and
Contracted for life.

And I shall love her still,
Said he, though time and
Its cruel sickle cut
Her down in size and

Take the brightness from
Her eyes, and turn her
Dark locks of hair to
Change them into that

Greyish fair, still shall
I love her and her
Being there. And still
I shall need her, said

He, though age passes
Hands of change upon
Her brow and wrinkles
Make like deepest sad

Furrows and time with
Its cruel fingers cause
Her sorrows, still shall
I care and love her

So and more, until
The moon go out and
The sea no longer
Come visit the shore

She said Hem
had hit her

I saw the bruise
on her arm

she was next to me
on the balcony
of the flats
looking down
into the Square

where'd he go?
I asked

don't know
you know
what my brother's like
Lydia said

we scanned the area
about the flats
over by the fence
that led
to the grass area

what did
your mother say?

She said
she'd have a word
with him
but he gets
away with it
and Dad said
o he's a boy
boys do that    

I had him
the other month
when he threw
that firework
at my sister
I said

I know
he told Dad
but Dad said
stick up for yourself
don't whine to me

I chased him
across the Square
and down the *****
and across the road
where I cornered him
against the wall
and thumped him
to the ground

she sighed
he never learns
she said

I looked at her
beside me
dressed in the grey
and red dress
her brown hair
straight and thin
the bruise was blue
on her arm
her arm was thin
as was she
altogether

let's not waste time
looking for him Benny
let's go
to the train station
and look at
the steam trains
going through

I sighed
I wanted to thump Hem

but I said
ok let's go
I'll get him later
if he'll show.

I woke from sleep
and found that you were here
for me to hold and keep

and not gone to death's hold
as I had thought before
and you would be coming

through that front door
and wander the rooms
to look for food

like some hungry bear
with that large eyed stare
and friendly smile

and gentle manner
to enquire what was to eat?
or what's for dinner?

but then I woke once more
and things were
as they were before

the dream had lied
you are gone
you have died.

Dalya holds
the tall glass
of coffee
at the bar
looking round
the café

Ravensburg
I’ve marked it
on my map
she utters
just to see
where we've been
on this trip

I sip beer
looking in
the mirror
opposite
my hair's long
so's my beard
my eyes tired

long way yet
I tell her
there's Denmark
there's Sweden
and Norway

she thinks of
all the sights
on the way
through Europe

I think of
all the stops
all the bars

the shared nights
the hot ***
in the tent
on the thin
sleeping bed

the mornings
waking up
a bird song
from outside
and she there
still sleeping
by my side.

The French monk
scythes the tall grass
on the long drive
to the monk’s abbey;

there is a humbleness
about him
like inexpensive
wine.

I sweep
the refectory floor;
her legs were short,
down-like hair

was there,
I ran my fingers up
seeking her secret cup.
The monk in the kitchen

smiles and shows
his few teeth,
wrinkles explode
about his eyes,

I see the morning sunlight,
as if that,
was where
the sun lies.

A few hours after I left,‭
my son,‭ ‬you‭
died for the first time.‭

I sift my brain‭
to recall what you wore‭
that last time.‭

Black jeans,‭
black tee-shirt,‭
your favourite colour‭
or lack of‭
as some might say.‭

The night gear‭
they gave you‭
the night before‭
out of sight.‭

Neither of us aware,‭
as we spoke,‭
that it would be‭
the last talk.‭

Had I known,‭
I would not have left,‭
would have held you back‭
from jaws‭ ‬of death‭
with every fibre‭
of my being.‭

I wish I had stayed,‭
wish I had said more‭
and more deeper.‭

If wishes were pebbles‭
I could fill a beach.‭

You now gone‭
to another place,‭
near us some say,‭
just out of reach.‭  

I was there‭
at your second death‭;
you in a coma,‭
unaware,‭
or so it seemed.‭

Then your heart flat-lined‭;
all was still‭;
that world we knew ended.‭

That aspect without you‭
seems to lack,‭
like a modern painting‭
oil painted canvas‭
completely black.‭

Netanya
sits crossed legged
on the couch

beside me
her husband
in the chair

by the heat
of fire
their children

and few friends
sitting down
all about

listening
or talking
I notice

her red dress
the dress hem
riding high

up her thigh
capturing
my young eye

stealthily
she puts her
thin ringed hand

up my back
stroking it
her fingers

playing me
up and down
piano like

but she's not
looking round
she studies

her husband
as he talks
her fingers

are walking
and doing
the talking

stirring me
sexually
no one knows

except one
her oldest
married girl

who spots her
mother's hand
on my back

but looks off
and away
unlike her

her face chilled
the room's hot
so am I

my pecker
stirs from sleep
giant like

Netanya
unaware
just sits there

*******
studying
her husband's

balding head
While I stare
straight ahead.

Saw you
go in
those *** shops
in Stockholm,
she says.

We sit outside
a café in Oslo
drinking coffee
and eating
creams cakes.

Just looking
at the books.

Why?
What so good
about the *******
in the books
and not us
other girls?

I sip the coffee
and light up
a cigarette
from a pack;
she takes one, too,
and looks at me.

It's a matter of posing.

Posing?

Yes, how they pose.

She frowns,
sips her coffee.

We can pose
like they do;
it's more than that.

I study her features,
the eyes focusing,
the lips part open,
her hair curly and tight.

It's the way
they look at you
from the photographs.

How do they look?

Haven't you seen
those kinds of books
or mags?

Why would I?

Curiosity?

Never looked.

I inhale cigarette smoke.

I saw my first girly mag
when I was at high school,
when a friend brought
one to school,
and I thought:
what the heck's that?

Don't you find
it belittles women?

Some I saw weren't
belittled any place.

I mean
as a ****** gender,
Dalya says,
grabbing me
with her eyes.

No, it's just dames
posing in the ****
or in skimpy gear
showing what God
gave them,
I say.

It cheapens women;
makes them objects
for men to pore over
with their eyes
and see as just that:
objects,
she says.

I drain my coffee
and put the cup down.

Another coffee?

No, I’ve not done
with this one.

I raise a hand
and a waitress comes
and I order
another coffee;
the waitress walks off,
her black dressed ***,
swaying.

What was it
you were saying?

Miriam finds
that standing
on two bricks

over a pit
to ****
quite distasteful

the door
just about
bolts

voices of others
in the block
waiting their turn

unnerving
some voices foreign
shouting out

balancing
is the art
arms out stretched

but crouching
as if
about to take off

in imagined flight
the stench
of previous users

nauseating
her underwear
about her knees

her skirt
hitched up
no mention of this

in the holiday brochure
she muses
clutching her

own brought
toilet tissue
in one hand

the hot sun above
pushing down
attracting flies

she *****
them away
with her free hand

shoo shoo
she says
bouger sur

bouger sur
some one bellows
that French prat

she muses
get a move on
your ****** self

she bellows back
almost
unbalancing

her hold
she breathes out
then in

finishes
her task
performs the art

of cleansing
redresses
steps from brick

to edge
of dark grass
and unbolts

the door
and pushes through
the throng

feeling undone
sensing something
out of order

like a song
performed
wrong.

The grief will lessen,
the pain become
a mild ache, some said,
after the death
and the son dead.

Somewhat
like telling
someone
who is drowning
the substance
of water.

I cannot
measure out
the length of time
of my grief,
or how deep
the pain goes
by plunging a knife
into the wound
as if seeing
like some cake
or meat
if it is cooked.

I see each
morning dawn
shadowy,
as if ghosts
walk through
or clouds mask
what little light
I see or catch
or gone out
like puffed
out match

Even in silence
I sense his
being there
in the cool
morning air;
feel the loss
like sand
through fingers,
although his image
ghostlike lingers.

And at close of day,
when moon's
kingdom comes,
stars tell lies
by being there
when maybe
long ago they
burnt out
or were lost.

And you,
my son,
that last talk
we had,
mundane,
yet real,
tangible,
real then
as now the pain.

Yehudit walked away
from the bus stop

she'd seen Benny off
it had been more
than she had thought
and she felt unbalanced
all of a sudden

she walked along
the country lane
the  moon shone
her a path
through the darkness
the hedgerows high

the bus would have gone
by now
and Benny aboard
and gone now
after the years
of being close

and now
there was another
and she paused
looking at the moon
listening to the night
feeling an ending
like a cliff edge
a sense of falling

she looked back
at the road way
the lights of the bus
moved over
the horizon of darkness

she remembered the first kiss
that Christmas years before
the meetings
the kisses
the holding and embraces
the ***

yes the ***
and she clutched
at the darkness
and ran her fingers
through the darkness

the bus had gone
and she was there
and he had gone
and another had come
and taken his place
and new love
and new sense
of touch and hold

she moved on
hugging herself
against the winter cold.

We sit by the small pond
after school

Mother's still out shopping
Yehudit says
so we can sit
and talk awhile

the water's murky
no ducks or fish
in this small place

maybe tadpoles
or old boots
or ******* thrown in

trees surrounding
are still in leaf

no one must know
what we did
and where today
she says

I look at the tin can
lying on the side
of the muddy pond

as if I would
I say

if it got out
my mum'd **** me
she says

what about your dad?
I ask

he would **** me too
if Mum told him
he could

a blackbird settles
on a branch
on my left
black
yellow beak
noisy

but worse than that
what would the other girls say?

lucky you?

no they wouldn't
she says
they'd say what a slapper
what a ****
and there of all places

she's quiet
and stares at the pond

but you're not
we didn't plan it
I say

but we did it
and what if someone saw us
what if a teacher
or prefect came in the gym
lunchtime and saw us?

somewhere to our left
a dog barks
smell of the farm
just over a cow moos

no one did
I say
live what is
not what might have been
or may have happened

she sighs
and looks at me
with her blue eyes

guess so

she looks at the wrist watch
on my wrist

better go
Mum'll be back
on the next bus
she says

we get up
and brush ourselves down
and walk through the woods

it was good though
even if it was
an odd place
I say

odd being
the operative word
she smiles

the fear of someone
coming in
made it seem
more daring
I suggest

daring?
absolutely mad
she says
but yes
it was good

we came to the back
of the cottage
where I lived

shall I walk you home?

no best not
she says
Mum's not struck on you
thinks you might
get me into trouble

I frown
me?
but butter wouldn't melt
in my mouth
I say  

she smiles and walks on
I THINK IT WOULD
she shouts back at me
and walks out of sight

I turn into the garden
and along the path
thinking to myself
she's right.

Enid waits
in her room
shivering

listening
for the time
and the sound

her dad leaves
home for work
her thin cloth

white nightdress
providing
no close warmth

her body
screams with pain
discipline

disciplined
her dad said
half hour back

beating her
when he's gone
she'll breakfast

(her mother
will provide)
but for now

she just waits
by the door
listening

feeling cold
her stomach
now groaning

she'll not tell
anyone
but Benny

the boy who
lives downstairs
will ask her

had breakfast?
and he'll look
for bruises

of colours
and he'll know
her father

has had her
she listens
the old white

radio
plays music
some Mozart

then its off
and silence
she cringes

holds herself
then he's gone
the door slams

she opens
her room door
and peers out

her mother
by the stove
one black eye

and thick lip
in the sink
water goes

from the tap
drip drip drip.

I liked
the way you sat,
Yiska,

liked the way
your hands rested
on your knees.  

The sun was warm,
the sunlight
on your hair,

your eyes
wide open
as if wanting to drink

in the whole world.
I would lay there
head in your lap,

eyes gazing
at your neck,
there where the blouse collar

was open,
where the shadow
of a kiss remained.

And that time
you left the class room,
after double science,

the mouthed words:
love you,
moving through silence.

He pushes
an old wheel barrow,
the French monk,

loaded with manure,
fork sticking out
at the front end;

he walks along
the track
by the abbey,

head down,
thinking of Christ,
no doubt ,

and His
loaded cross.
I polish

the choir stall wood
with a yellow dust cloth
and orange

polish-muck;
she let me lay
my head

between her thighs,
murmuring sighs.
The old monk,

lays out the altar,
prepares things
for the high mass

that morning
with the seriousness
of a sad mourner.

Sound me out with the hammer.
Hollowness may be in these bones
That gives structure to frame and flesh.

Sound me out with a tuning fork.
High notes sharp major or minor
Vibrate the strings of my nerves.

Sound me out with crashing cymbals.
Shattering the dreams built on sands
Rebuild the house of my hope and faith.

Sound me out in this silence.
Tune me to the orchestra of the universe
With stars moon sun and galaxies for an audience.

After the first death,
Yiska said, there is
no other. From a Dylan
Thomas poem, I said.  

I know some one who
died twice. Unluck of
the draw, she said.

She crossed her legs;
the pale blue dressing
gown  rose up her thighs.

The locked ward
was silent. Early
morning. Pale light
outside the window.

I looked at the light
peaking through
the tall trees. Rooks
settled in the high
branches. All going
to die, she said.

She inhaled on
the cigarette. Grey
smoke rose when
she exhaled hard.

Dostoevsky said
something about
being in front of
a firing squad made
him realize how
much he wanted
to live or something
like that, I said.

Being left at the
altar made me realize
how much I wanted
to die, she said. She
watched the cigarette
smoke rise, flicked
ash into a tin ashtray.

You aren't much better
with your attempts to
go through to the other
side, she added. Why
did that guy of yours not
turn up on the wedding day?
I asked. She inhaled.

Looked at her fingers.
Said he didn't want to go
through with it. His father
told me. Undecided to
the last, she said. She
uncrossed her legs, sat
back, her head resting
on the back of the sofa.

He was a useless lover
anyway, she said. I looked
at her sitting there: hair
in a mess, no lipstick,
the dressing gown tied
loosely about her waist,
bare feet, unpainted nails.

Will you marry another?
I asked. It's snowing,
she said, pointing to
the window behind me.

I turned around. It was
falling snow, light, but
thick. She got off the sofa
and stood beside me,
peering out. What about
you, she said, breathing
smoke against the window
pane, will you try slit
your wrists again? Who
knows, I said, depends on
the darkness and unfelt pain.

My father
and I
went in
the canteen
on the building site

having completed
one row
of windows

we had our sandwiches
he went to buy
two mugs
of strong tea

I sat and thought
of Marion who
I’d been with
the night before

blonde
lively
a singer
with this band
who bubbled
and danced

and I said
you have
a great figure

O do I?
she said
when a young man
tells me that
I wonder
what his intentions are
she added

and usually
they involve
getting me
in the sack
and doing things
my Daddy
would not have
approved of

no no
I was just saying
I said
going red

I was just looking
as a kind of
artistic viewpoint
like you were
a model for Renoir
or someone

didn't that guy
paint **** women?
she said

sure
some of the time
I said

well then
what kind of model
would I be?
she said
the type
that shows off
her ****?

no no
I said
going redder
the decent kind
no other kind
what have entered
my mind

she sang
a few bars of
Don't Sit Under
The Apple Tree
and sat
on my knee

and my pecker
stirred wastefully

and she talked
of her next gig
and did this
kind of ****
shaking jig

and my father
brought the two mugs
of tea and sat down
at the table with me

and thoughts of
Marion
and my pecker
went away
until I saw her
later that day.

The youngest monk-
holding the holy water sprinkler-
walks beside the abbot

down the aisle
between the choir stalls;
the other monks

bow their heads-
the semi-dark
of the church lit up

by moonlight through
the large windows
on either side.

I polish the floor
of the refectory
with a cloth on

a broom head,
smoothing out
the polish laid-

I think of her-
laying there
on the bed,

hands behind her head,
her Eve's garden visible
and laid bare;

I polish hard
not being there.
The old Belgium monk

listens to the bell
for Compline,
his hand behind his ear,

ready to capture
like a fisherman's net
when sounds are near.

Yochana lay on her bed.

Her mother was downstairs
preparing evening dinner.

The boy at school questioning
began as soon as she got home
from school. Did he look
at you today? Did he show
interest in you? I can always
ask your friend, Angela?

Her mother's questions rained  
down on her as soon as she
entered the door. No he didn't,
Yochana lied, not at all; he
ignored me; he's like that,
she added to add credence
to her reply. She watched
her mother's features. Does
she believe me? The eyes
scrutinised her, peering eyes,
like those of a sparrow hawk.

Yochana wasn't sure if her lying
had gone over. Angela hadn't
been around when she had
seen the boy Benedict that day,
but she couldn't be sure if her
friend had seen or not. If I
find out that you have been
lying, my girl, you will regret it,
her mother had said as Yochana
climbed the stairs to her room
to change out of her uniform.

At lunch time she'd met him
as she promised she would.

Angela had gone home with
women's problems so she had
no fear of a spy. She could hear
her mother downstairs banging
around in the kitchen preparing
dinner, moody, wondering if her
daughter had lied or told the
truth about the boy. She lay there
on the bed. The boy Benedict
there inside her head. The kiss
of cheek and hand, and then lunch
time, she had allowed him to kiss
her again. Lips to lips. How had she?
Not sure if she had or had she?
She had just the once kiss on the lips.

Behind the maths block, briefly.

Lips to lips. Once. She sensed
his lips there still. As if frozen there.

If I find out you have lied, her
mother had said, you will...regrets...

The slaps of the other evening
stung her hand. But what if she
found out I lied? Closing her eyes
she saw him still. Lips and lips.

Felt still. Wet and warm. Later
that evening Schubert songs had
been sung, her mother singing,
Yochana played piano. The slaps
on hands and thighs had stung.

Milka's brothers and I
had been out for a few hours
and rode back on our bikes
and just as I

was about to leave
Milka came out
of the farmhouse
and wandered over to me

aren't you staying?
I watched her brothers
go into the house
I got to get back

I said
what about me?
can't we go some place?
haven't much time

I said
where you going?
cinema
to see Elvis

in some new movie
can't I come?
have you money?
no but you

could lend me some
to get in
she said
I looked back

at the farmhouse
what are you going
to say to your parents?
they will let me go

if you say I can
she said
I looked around
the fields and trees

at the rooks
in the high trees
ok
I said

and walked back
to the house
and saw her mother
at the door

and asked her
she stared at Milka
hope she hasn't
been pestering you?

she said
no I’d like her to come
I said
if that’s ok?

the mother gazed at me
then at Milka
I suppose you
want money then?

she said to Milka
no it's all right
my treat
I said

Milka's brothers
came to the door
poor old Benny
got caught

go back in boys
and leave this to me
the mother said
she gave Milka some money

and told her
to get some
decent clothes on
and I waited

in the kitchen
watching Milka's mother
make a cake
her floury fingers

hard at work
a set look
of determination
on her face

the boys had gone off
to watch TV
leaving the cake making watching
to bored young me.

I probably shouldn't
come this far from home
Fay says

we stand
by Westminster Bridge
gazing over
at Big Ben

it's not far
only a bus ride
from home
besides you've got
to see the world

she seems unsettled
but if Daddy finds out
he'll be mad
because I never asked
his permission

say I took you

that will make it worse
he doesn't like you
she says it softly
looking down
at the Thames

the feelings mutual
but I still like
being with you

she looks pretty
in her pink
flowered dress
and her fair hair
tied in a pony tail

I like being with you
but it's just
he gets mad
if I don't ask
his permission
to do things

if you asked him
he'd not let you go
I say

I know
she says
that's what
I'm afraid of

well don't tell him

he might find out

who's going to tell him?

I don't know
he just seems to know

enjoy the day
forget him
I say
we can go see
Westminster Abbey
and you can say
you went into pray

he'll say it not
a Catholic church
anymore
it doesn't count

what God only listens
to prayers
from a Catholic church?

she smiles
it's what he thinks
not me

forget him
enjoy the now
here together
watching the boats
on the Thames
the bridge
the people passing
the sunshine

she nods
and we walk over
the Bridge to go
visit the Abbey

and maybe later
buy an ice cream each
far from her old man's
eyes and his
narrow minded reach
and eyes so cold
after all
we were just kids
aged 12 years old.

Netanya had just
come back
after a week away
at her daughter's place
up country

and then brought
the daughter back with her
and the daughter
and her partner
had our room upstairs

we were on
the made up bed
on the floor downstairs

did you miss me?
she asked

of course I did

what did you
miss most?

your company

my company?

yes
and the ***
of course

of course
I missed you too
slept in a room
on my own
and thought about you
and had to cuddle
myself and pretend
it was you

we cuddled up
on the made up bed

what did you do?
she asked

I slept with Marilyn Monroe  
and had Liz Taylor
pop in now and then
to break up the monotony  
I said

no really
Netanya said
what did you do?

I hugged your pillow
and kissed it good night
and hugged it all night
until I woke up
and it was
on the floor

on the floor?

yes we must
have a had
a falling out

she laughed
and we made love

and the street lights
went out
and it was dark
and warm

and a dog barked
near by

and I saw
the pale moon
in her right
wide open eye.

Who was that?
Netanya asked

who was whom?
I said

that *****
who has just
dropped you off
in her car
she said

O her
she gave me
a lift home
from the store

what did you do
at the store
that she needs
to give you a lift
in her car?
she said

I work at the store
she said
can I give you
a life home?

O sure
what else
did you give her
to make her
so grateful?

she gave me a lift
because she was going
my way
I said

do you fancy her?
does she get
your pecker going?
Netanya said
in her tight voice

I walked to the fridge
and took out a beer
pulled the ring
on the lid
and took a sip

she's four months pregnant
I said
walking to the sitting room
and sitting down

yours I suppose
she said
she stood with her hands
on her hips
her eyes darkening

no of course not
I barely know her
she works
in Home ware

I bet you've
given her one
Netanya said

I looked
at her frizzy hair
dark but greying

you know I wouldn't
I said

how do I know
what you get up to
at the store?
she replied

I don't fancy any
of the dames
at the store
I lied

Netanya walked off
her backside swaying
like a ship
on stormy seas

thoughts of the young dame
on Perishables
buzzing like bees.

If my old man
said to me
on Sundays

do you want
to go to church
with your uncle

or go up
the West End
with me?

I'd usually say
up West
there I liked it best

the bright lights
the arcades
the pin-ball machines

the chance of popping
into the a feature film
or see cartoons

or have a Cola
and ice cream
and see all those

odd people
on the streets
some singing

some sitting there
giving it
the big stare

but sometimes I’d go
to the tabernacle
with my uncle

and sit there
and sing hymns
or sit and hear

the prayers said
and people smiling
at each other

or being kind
and opening doors
or just being

what others called
being Christian
but most times

I went up West
and had a go
on the pin-*****

or drank Cola
or watched
my old man

eye up the girls
outside the cinemas
or theatres

(******
I later thought
and later knew)

but what's
a 8 year old kid
to say or do?

“Come and see where Alice lies,”
He said. My eyes
Caught sight of tombs and graves
With rest in peace and Jesus saves

Carved on stone,
And then, there alone,
Beyond the rest, beneath a tree,
Against a wall, and hard to see,

A tombstone stood erected,
Green with time, half neglected.
“They placed her here,”
He said, “out of fear.”

And pointing to the stone, which read:
I lie here not in sleep, but dead,
Waiting for the trumpet call
Which will resurrect us all,

In the meantime, not a sound
Or I will drag you underground.

I'm sitting on a fence
by the field
opposite the drive
leading to the church

it's a fine day
sun is out
birds are flying
and singing

I can smell flowers
in the air
and smells
from the cows nearby

Jane said
to meet her here
I wait
watching the drive

then she appears
she's dressed
in a green
flowered dress

her dark hair
is in bunches
tied with green ribbon
I like how she walks

her dress flapping
about her
her hands by her side
I get off the fence

and go meet her
she smiles
I smile
she waves

I wave
been waiting long?
I've been helping Daddy
with his sermon

for Sunday
o good
no not been waiting long
(I had

but I wouldn't
tell her that)
do you mind
walking with me

to the post office
and shop
I need to get
something

for my mother?
no sure
be good to walk
with you

so we walk
and I notice
she has a bag
wrapped up

in her left hand
her other hand is free
and is near me
I want to hold it

but don't want
to seem presumptuous
she talks of her cat
which has had kittens

and tells me
their colouring
and what they
get up to

and what
she feeds them on
and I am listening
not for the subject matter

but for the sound
of her voice
and her near by me
her hand close to mine

mere inches away  
she asks about my pets
we have a cat
it's black and white  

and it doesn't
get on well
with our dog
and chases her

whenever
she gets too near
o dear
Jane says

why is that?
no idea
maybe they'll
get on later

I say
our hands
are nearly touching
hers small and pale

and mine waiting there
itching to hold
but I don't
not until I'm told.

I know as soon
as I see Dalya
that she's in
a foul mood;
we're both heading
for the shower block
across the camp
walking past
tents and grass.

How'd you sleep?
I ask.

Don't ask.

I already have;
bad night?

She looks at me
moodily.

That ****** Yank girl;
if I could get away
with suffocating her
in her sleep, I would.

Bad as that, huh?

Yes, bad as that
and worse.

What happened?

She happened;
I have to share a tent
with her because
no one else will.

I'm sure
the Aussie guy would.

Well apart from him;
I am stuck with her.

We walk past
the camp café and bar;
it's full already.

What's the matter
with her?
she seems jovial enough.

She too **** jovial
and how many men
she's had
is no one's business
and I have to hear
the long line of names
and what not
as I’m trying to sleep
and it's:
and he was a serious thinker;
he had this apartment
in L.A and O boy
could he go it some...
and all that
kind of thing
and it makes me
want to put
the **** pillow
over her head
and keep it there
until she's silent.

We reach the shower block
and we wait outside.

You can always
share with me;
I’m sure the Aussie guy
won't mind;
he can go share
with Miss Yank 1974.

I want more sleep
not less,
she says,
smiling for the first time.

I can only offer.

I'll think about it
under a hot shower blast.

And she walks off
into the female door
and I walk to the male's.

I know she won't,
but the thought is there
reaching out
even if I
can't get there.

I sat opposite her
on the train
the carriage rocking
side to side
as trains do

the art gallery visit
still in mind
Matisse Cut-Outs
and else beside
to please the eye

I gazed at her slouched there
against the carriage side
sleeping
mouth open
fish out of water mode
clutching her pink handbag
a necklace of sorts
about her neck

her short shirt
raised up her thighs
her legs askew

Asian I thought
black hair straight
cheek level

the guy beside her
unconcerned
looked away

wonder what she's dreaming of
if she dreams at all?
I thought
whom she loved
and if she did
and where she lived
and where she came
from and when
and did she prefer
girls or men?

I drank her in
each aspect
of her being
from black haired top
to slip on shoes
and all between
that could be seen  

the carriage rocked
it's gentle rock
her head moved
in a no not now fashion
her mouth still open
taking in air
of crowded space
that snub nose
upon her face

the guy beside her
glanced at her
and gazed at me
then out the window
went his gaze

I wondered whom
she held in dreams
or waking life
was she some one's lover
some guy's wife?

not at all romantic
in that pose
child-like in innocence
a sleeping babe I suppose
I mused

I studied how her legs
slow swayed
to the train's motion
such stocky thighs
not fat or flabby
but kind of welcoming
to the eye

still she slept
mouth closing briefly
then open again
to capture air

some dream taking place
behind the eyes
and in her mind

I sat opposite her
on the train
the art gallery visit
some distant place
this was my new art
this dame's vacant
sleeping face.