Miriam said,
come sit beside me,
I don't want those
hippy types next to me.

I sat next to her
in the base camp
canteen in Sans Sabastion.

They beg people
for food or money,
she said,
I've come on holiday
with money I've saved.

Maybe they've run out
of money before the end,
I said.

Drugs more like,
she said,
they're that type,
you can smell it
on them,
especially her,
she stinks of drugs.

I made no comment,
I didn't know the couple,
nothing to me
what they did or didn't.

The hippies walked by
our table;
she was long haired,
blonde, thin,
had some long coat
and it was hot out,
but she wore this
long coat and saggy jeans.

He was similar,
but taller and had a beard
like a young Marx,
and tired eyes.

See what I mean?
How could she sleep
with him?
Like sleeping
with a dog.

They walked past
a few tables
then sat up front
and ate from a bag.

What are they eating?
Miriam asked.

No idea,
I said.

Looks like bread,
just bread,
she said.

I walked up to the table
where they were sitting
and said,
what are you guys eating?

Bread, man,
the guy said, bread.

What's wrong
with chips and burger?
I asked.

No money, man,
no money, he said.

Here have a meal on me
and handed him
some money
enough to buy a meal
for them both.

Hey,man,
what's the catch?
You want to sleep
with my lady?
The  girl looked at me.

No, just a gift,
no catch,
I said and walked off
back to my table.

What did you give
them money for?
Miriam asked.

I had money
and they didn't,
I said.

That's their fault,
she said,
not yours.

I don't see fault,
just need,
I said.

You're too soft,
she said.

Maybe,
I said,
but if I'm ever in need
I hope there's someone
out there will buy me
a meal sometime.

She said nothing,
but ate her burger
and chips,
looking at the hippies,
thinking God's knows what.

After a while
the hippies rose
and bought two meals.

The hippy girl
looked back at me
and smiled.

I didn't fancy her,
but I was glad
she was about to eat,
maybe put on
some weight.

I looked away
from her
and sat and ate.

Was it you
who touched
your mother's shoulder
that night
as she wept?

(I was drugged up
(sleeping pill),
so slept.

She finds
Mondays
the worst,
the day you died,
than the rest.

Cuts her up,
brings her
to a low ebb.

Saturdays are mine,
the day it all seemed
to go wrong,
two days before
your death,
the incompetence,
the mistakes
seemingly made;
things not done.  

Was it you?
we deem it so.

The gentlest
of touches,
as she shed
her tears,
turned and saw
I slept
as she wept.

Grief comes
in waves,
high rushes
of it, sweeping
all before it
towards
the shores
of hurt and pain,
comes again
and again.

Who to count
the leaves
of grief's tree?

Who to count
the stars
of doubt
and death
and regret?

Was it you?
We think it so.

Gives her
a sense of relief
from the bites
of gnawing grief.

See her? She has it all.
He sleeps at night
and dreams of her.

Even the Moon
grows jealous
of his dreams.

He see her every day
on the train;
they do not speak;
she sits in one place,
he in another.

She looks
good enough to eat
he thinks.

He can't wait
until they speak,
until they meet,
make love,
sit and smoke;
have a joke.

See her? She has it,
he doesn't, he sits
looking at her
he has the hots;
inside he wastes,
inside he rots.

They've sent
the wrong size windows
my father said
now it will put us

behind on this block
of the building
we'll have to go
the other side

he said
I picked up
his tool bag
and we trudged

through the other
workmen on the various
landings
passed the grumpy

foreman
(whom my father
almost punched
the other day)

and along
the other side
I was thinking
of Marion

my blonde haired
love
who sang
with a band

and was a live-wire
and who had
sang to me
the previous night

Baby It's Cold Outside
in such tones
to send sparks
through my ears

and heart
and veins
and as I sat
and watched her

she swaying her hips
and throwing wide
her arms and hands
I wondered how

she'd be
making love
to me
but I daren't

say or ask
oh
she'd say
as she did

a few weeks before
I can't go to bed
with a man
unless I have

a ring on my finger
and the sound
of wedding bells
in my ears

be like having
a peek at one's
birthday present
before one's birthday

and she giggled
and sang
and I gawked at her
and mused

at the sway
of her hips
and the hot
singing words

from her two
red lips.

I saw you
keep staring
Yochana
says to me
while in class
this morning

we're watching
other kids
by the fence
at recess

why do you
stare at me?

I like you
I tell her

she looks out
at the field

why would you?
She asks me

I just do
no reason

you kissed me
on the cheek
suddenly

I remember
it was good

she looks round
stares at me

not for me
it wasn't
she then adds
at the time

and what now?
I ask her

I’m confused
what I feel
inside me

like when you
hear Chopin?

She blushes
looks away
watching kids
on the field
at their play

can I kiss?
I ask her

not right here
she mutters

where abouts?

I don't know
where abouts
but not here

you're pretty
I tell her

she pretends
she's not heard

after school
if you like
just before
your school bus
is filled up
she suggests

all right then
I reply

we stand there
by the fence
in silence.

As the numbness
of your death
wears off,
the harsh reality
sinks in, bites
at the heart and nerves,
tightens its grip
about the throat,
clutches about the heart,
sends punches
to the head.

I still can’t believe you,
my son, are dead;
seems unreal
despite the reality
kicking in,
despite the hollowness
where once you were,
despite the silence
of your laugh and humour,
despite the absence
of your hungry bear walk,
the look you gave,
the softly spoken talk.

We put fresh flowers
on your grave, took
away the dying ones;
we stood and stared
and watched the plot
where now you lay.

Wish you were not there,
my son, but here
with us today.

She wanted nothing touched,
Wanted the dark room left
Bereft of nothing not even dust,

All left as it was when baby died,
And the outer world caved
Inwards and crucified
Each muscle and bone

Each fibre of brain
That carried the pain
Of loss and tug

No more on **** or dug.
She wanted nothing moved
Or put aside for memory’s draw,
She wanted it all as it was before

The cot in place; the curtains drawn,
The chair to sit; a place to mourn.

There is always
the aftermath,
the after kissing
time. Time to sit

and remember
the lips touching.
She recalls that well.
His lips on hers.

Skin on skin. Time
to reflect on actions
made. Things done
and not done. Or

done at the wrong
time for the wrong
reasons.  She knows
she will go to him

and do similar things
again. The love making
holds no surprises.
The holds, the way

his fingers move over
her, the positions she
engages in, those cigarettes
after, those French ones

he insists on smoking.
The after feel, the stale
breath, the feeling
there is nothing left.

I am not beautiful,
said Yehudit,
I am just that
in the eyes of those
that look and see
or do not
and say as I.

I look in the mirror
and see just me
who ever me is
that I see
and undecided
I give way
to thoughts
of some fiction
of my brain
and then I am me
and just that again.

But beauty
some say they see,
and seeing think
it's me,
but I see not
what they may see,
I see no beauty
here or there
upon my features
or skin or hair
or eyes or smile,
but they that do,
may put it there
with over love
or love excelling
or just love struck.

I see the mirror image,
the reflected face
and deep set eyes
and smile sometimes
and know it well,
seen often,
taken in
and put aside,
and so,
seeing nothing
have nought to hide.

But he says
I have beauty,
that he sees it
and knows it
and can dream of it
and touch it
and kiss it,
and having
such words
he can almost
convince even me,
that she
whom I look at
and see, is she
whom he sees
and not
the real me.

Yehudit didn't
tell her mother
about the kiss.

She'd not understand;
she'd moan some  
about Yehudit being
just fourteen
and who  
kissed you
and whom
did you kiss?
kind of questions.

Best nothing said.

She entered home
after the Christmas
carols singing trip
and said yes,
it went well,
and we raised money
for the church and poor.

Her mother gazed
and said getting late best
be off to bed with you.

So she did.

Good night all, call.

Climbed the stairs to bed.

Humming a carol
or so,
treading the stairs,
but Benedict and the kiss
stuck inside her head.

Yehudit
sitting down
by the pond
watching ducks
on the dark
water's skin

sun above
coming through
tree branches

I am there
next to her
hot sensing
her nearness
her perfume
her warm hands
embracing
her two knees

I love it
us two here
the silence
no one else
no chatter
just nature

I head nod
agreeing

the last time
we had kissed
had embraced
only birds
witnessing
love making
in tall grass

my mother
is moody

Yehudit says
seems to know

about us?

seems likely

who had seen?

no idea
she replies

does she know
you are here?
I ask her

I sneaked out
while she bathed
Yehudit says

will she come
looking for you?

I doubt it

if she does?

We can hide
in the grass

I look back
behind us
only birds
and warm sun

Yehudit
kisses my cheek
forget her
let us love

we kiss lips
my young hands
embracing
her young hips.

I miss you
you I miss
time's hold
gone now
like water
through sands
once here
slipped through
hands touch
miss you much.

I love you
you I love
feelings bold
since birth's
unfold
and given free
from me to you
and you to me
and though there
you are not
but in other world
beyond my touch
love you much.

I need you
you I need
your quiet presence
solid form
wisdom embodied
and humour too
over years we knew
and always such
I need you much.

I want you
you I want
more than treasures
more than gold
more than life's
false promises
of riches far
out of finger's
greedy touch
I want you much.

Where've you been?
Enid knew her father
would ask her that
once she got in

-I can't lie to him
she told Benny
after they came out
of the cinema
then create
another truth
he said
another truth?
she asked
sure another place
you can go to
be your truth
what other place?
she asked
the church
on the New Kent Road
say you've been to church-

I've been to church
Enid said

her father choked
on his cup of tea
church?
you're lying
he said

no went in the church
she said

-and she had
Benny took her there
and she entered-

what church?
he asked

St Mark's
at the top
of Meadow Row

her father
eyed her darkly
what you do
in church?

I prayed and looked
at the coloured
glass windows

-she had prayed
and gazed
at  the windows
of colour-

what do you have
to pray for?
her father asked

her mother eyed
her husband
be rid of you
I would think
she said

her husband
eyed her
you want another
black eye to match
that one?  

who'd you go
in church with?

-Benny let her go in
alone just in case
Benny said-

on my own
she said
confident
in her truth

he looked away
from her

anyway
he said to his wife
I said to this guy
you want the **** car
or what?

and her father
lost interest in Enid
and she walked past him
and into her bedroom
and shut the door

Benny'd been right
about truth
create one
and stick to it
like glue
it was right
she mused
hearing her
father's voice
from the other room
it was true.

Watching a woman
eating a muffin
today at the café

I thought myself
viewing a show
of performance art,

the way
she broke it
apart

in her hands
and lifted
a small piece

to her mouth
and ate,
wiping

the crumbs away,
with the finger
just so

and she so
unaware
she was being viewed,

her art performance
receiving
a silent applause.

When I pass
the office
where once

you worked,
my son,
I look up to see

if you are there
as once I use to do
before your

sad demise,
but you are not
of course,

just the windows
as they were,
emptier now,

less meaningful,
as one who looks
into a dark abyss,

remembering
the last spoken word
and final given kiss.

The touch of her hand,
skin on skin, warm, soft,
and then she was off,
bell tolled, she walking

away, returning to school,
as was I, yet how to shake
off the feel and warmth
and softness? I walked

the corridor to the next
lesson, mind in confusion,
half back there on the field
with her, half with me, one  

foot one in front of the other
kind of thing, dreading lesson’s
bore, wanting to be back on
the field with her, wanting more.

Even though I was there in
the room sitting, listening or
seemingly so, it was she I
thought of, her lips that held

me in awe, not his, this teacher,
sprouting some yarn of a far
off war, some kingdom lost,
some one’s head chopped off,

while the half of brain and thought
on she of heart and mind’s hold,
taunted me from far away field,
in imagery, seemed all love and

kiss and such, but meanwhile,
I here with dulled brain half,
could only sit and stare at where
I had been kissing her there.

Don't like dark tunnels
Janice said

it's a tube tunnel
trains come in
and out of it
I said

we were sitting
in the underground
train station
watching trains
come and go
while we waited
for our train
to Waterloo

I keep thinking
of monsters
coming out
she said
breathing fire

no just trains
I said
no monster

she ******* up
her nose
smells
she said

does a bit
I said
does in the cinema
sometimes
especially
in the afternoons
when you get
grown-ups
and some one
hasn't washed
for a while

she waved her hand
in front
of her small nose

her red beret
was on a slant
on her fair hair

when will our
train come?
she asked

when it arrives
I said

she didn't laugh
or smile
but when
will that be?

I looked at a clock
on a wall
3 minutes or so
I said

Gran said
not to get
in people's way
she wasn't going
to let me go

until I said
you were going
with me
and she said
O that's all right then
if Benny's with you

there you go then
I said
your gran's
got her head
on right

she stopped waving
her hand in front
of her nose
and put her hands
in her cardigan pockets

bit cold too
she said

you'd be a right one
to take on a polar trip
wouldn't you?
I said

are you going on
a polar trip?

no not yet
but maybe one day
when I'm grown up
and left school
I said

could I go?
she asked

if you don't moan
all the time
it gets cold
or windy
or short of grub
I said

she looked
at the tunnel
as the sound
of a train
sounded loudly

we stood up
gawking towards
the tunnel end

a wind blew our way
whoosh
and the train came
rushing onto
the platform
like some
big monster in red

(just a train really)
but a big monster
inside her head.

How's your Mother?

Why do you asked?

Just wondered,
I say,
standing by Yiska  
by a school fence.

Usual moods;
moans at me;
always about my room
or the length
of my dress or skirt.

I thought she was ok
when I saw her last.

You've only met her once
on one of her rare
good days.

Sunlight brightens
Yiska's face;
her eyes reflect
two small suns
and me amongst them.

And your father?
How's he?

Why the interest
in my parents?
I'm the one
you should be
talking of,
Yiska says.

Where shall we kiss?

On the lips.

But where about
in space?

She smiles.

Behind the maths block?
Quiet there.

I look along the fence
to the blocks behind;
the window glass
reflecting the sun
and other aspects
of the school behind.

There's not much time.

Then here, then.

She looks at me;
her eyes drink me in.

I look about us;
kids in the playground,
out on the field,
passing by behind us.

She leans in;
her small breast
pressing against
my chest.

We kiss,
then move apart,
lips at rest.

The child looked
From parent
To parent,
Took in the
Raised voices,
The angered

Features, the
Long pointing
Fingers now
Jabbing the
Air, the way
She was so

Overlooked,
Not really
There, some small
Entity
Standing by
The back door,

Wondering
If the peace
Would ever
Come or if
Like the day
Before it

Went on for
Ever more.
She lifted
A hand, gave
A pleading
Gaze, murmured

A small phrase,
Wishing it
Would end and
Be peaceful
Like former
Happy days.

If I smile or break into laughter,
don't think I’ve forgotten you
or the hereafter;
it's just a way

to get through each day
of deep sorrow,
and getting up
to a dark tomorrow,

knowing you won't be there
with your cool stare,
and huggy bear walk,
and soft-toned talk;

and you know, my son,
the value of laughter
with your own
sense of humour

and quiet wit;
so if you see me smile
or hear my laughter,
it's just my medicine

to get through it,
this sadness of grief
and sense of loss
until the hereafter.

Put it all behind you,
Brody said, but she
Couldn’t, it remained

Like a stain seeping into
The cloth of her being.
Brody’d not been *****

Or left to die or left with
The big question: why?
She needed to be outside

Breathing fresh air, on her
Balcony, not out in the street
Or park awaiting another

Attacker, some one about
To creep up on her and place
A smelly hand over mouth

And nose. Move on, Brody
Said, things happen, that’s
How it goes. She moves only

From room to room, from inside
To outside the balcony, to take
In the sun, moon, or stars, feel

The air, the breeze, smell flowers,
See trees. **** was more than
*** without permission, more

Than hurt or contusions like
Bruised fruit, more than deep
Humiliation, it was loss of her

Freedom, of choice, of dignity,
The breaking in and up and out
And leaving the fragility behind,

To bring her nightmares haunting
To nerves and mind. Brody had
His doubts; wondered if she’d

Fought hard enough, screamed
Loud or whimpered. Or was she
Just up for it, he thought maybe,

But never said, just the look he
Gave, the sign in eyes, the tone
Of voice, the whole language of

Body, she thought on judging
Brody. For all his words and
Suggestions, Brody never slept

With her after that, he slept with
Some other and she with the cat.

What the dream
was about
I have small

recollection,
only that you
were there,

there in that
black overcoat,
your broadness,

your silent presence,
and I hugged you,
my son,

and yet did not
remember you
were dead

until I woke.
I wanted
to return

to the dream
but it
had dissolved

some place
inside
my head.

Yiska wants to slit wrists

to shove handfuls of pills
down her throat

leap from the ledge
of the ward window

bang her head
against the door frame
until her head bleeds

I am not shocked
I have an underlining
admiration
of her dedication
to death of some sort

don't suppose
you have a razor blade?
she asks

no they don't allow
those in here  
I say
we have to use
the well used
electric one

she walks across
from window to the door
of the locked ward
I walk beside her

I'd mouth pills
if I could get any
she says

locked up
I add

she pauses
I could try hang myself
from the pipe in the bog
like you did
she says

but all cords or belts
are now confiscated
once in here
and the nurses watch you
like hawks

some look like hawks
she says

I notice her anxiety
it sits in her
like a possession
like a demon
has taken over her

don't the pills
they give work?

no
she says walking again
twice you tried that
she says
hanging in bogs
what is the thing
about bog hanging?

I don't know
the solitude of the place
no one there with you

I was just lucky
that old boy noticed
and called the nurse

lucky?
Yiska says

well that time
else I wouldn't be here
talking to you

or the second time attempt
she says

we stop by the window
and stare out
at the snow on the fields
and trees

kind of pure isn't it
I say

unlike me
she mutters
it's cold out there
fancy getting out
and lying in a ditch
and wait to die of cold

she shivers
her pale blue nightgown
moves
her unslippered feet
look innocent
as children

there's always ECT
I say

she looks at me
didn't work
just a fecking headache
afterwards
she says

me too
I say

she peers at the snow
I read somewhere
of German soldiers
freezing to death
in Russia during WW2
some standing up solid
she says
almost admiringly
but I’m locked in here
not out there

she puts her forehead
on the window pane

I can smell her perfume
musky but out of place
and a haunted look
on her young pale face.

The pale petals rest
in Yiska's palm.

She blows on them,
brings them
a shadow of life.

I smell her perfume.

My heart dances
in my chest
at her approach.

Now the petals
fold and die
in her ageing palm.

She tips them away.

My heart beats slow
at her departure.

Her eyes are closed,
her hair is grey.

And how could it be otherwise,
She knew the thumping year,
The old despise,

With words to match;
The peel and pinch,
The sink and feel

And know her reach
Of deep despair
And know each touch

Each poke and pull
All beneath his cloak
Of double-dealings

And double-talk;
To feel as ghosts walk

You don't think
it's going to happen to you,
she says,
you think it only happens

to other people,
to people out there,
strangers, or friends
whose loved one

has died, and you
are just an on-looker
to their grief;
then it happens to you,

right out of the blue,
like someone
has dragged your heart
right out of your breast

and dangles it there
before your eyes.
She looks at her hands,
turns them over,

stares at her palms.
Other people's grief
is like an echo,
she says,

but your own
is a loud scream within
that vibrates
along your nerves

and in your head
with the words louder
and louder:
they are dead.

She looks out the window,
birds sing in the trees
out there, the sky
is an odd blue,

the sun dull
as if punctured by a pin.
You can sympathise
with another's grief,

but it doesn't really
get to you,
doesn't dig deep
into you and tear out

your inner works;
it may hurt a little,
may tingle along nerves,
may unsettle,

but when it is yours,
when it is your own
deep down
gut wrenching grief,

it's as if someone
has torn you open
and pulled you
to pieces, bit by bit,

day after day,
month after month;
and just when you think,
maybe, the wound

will heal a little,
a word or song
or sight of a photo
or such and it's

back open bleeding
and sore and deep
and you don't weep,
you utter a deep

primitive scream.
She sighs,
looks at me,
her eyes dark,

yet empty,
yet full like a dark
uninviting pool.
I miss him,

she says,
miss him
like a limb
amputated roughly;

like my heart
has been ripped from me
and is held before me
just out of reach.

He was my one,
my reason for being;
now he's gone,
and I am undone.

Of course
it will happen
one day
Lizbeth says
it will happen

I lay the borrowed bike
against the hedge
and so does she
hers is red and silvery

we walk up
the narrow lane
to the hollow tree
and we climb in
and it's like a small house
inside but small
and snug

I like it here
she says
last time we came
I thought we'd do it here
but we didn't
and I so much
wanted to
even though
it's not very
comfortable or big

what's the rush?
I ask

she sits on a small ledge
hands in her lap

never know
how long
you've got
might not make 16
might be pushing up
daisies by then
she says

I look out
of the hole
in the hollow tree
at the surrounding
woods and trees
and hedges
bird song and such

come sit down
next to me
she says
I won't bite
well not
straight away

in this book
I’ve got
this woman
is kissing
this man's
what’s-it

I look at her
she's drawing her
dress up
from her knees

why do you
read that book?

why not?

she taps
the small space
beside her
sit for a while
I promise not
to do anything to you

I sit beside her
the space is cramped
and there is a smell
of sap or rotten wood
plus the perfume
she's drowned
herself in

you smell
of farms and cows
she says

I was working there
for a while earlier

smells like it
she says smiling
but I don't mind
as long as you're here
next to me
elbow to elbow
thigh to thigh

and as I turn
my head away
a small bird
flies past
the hole
catching my eye.

I'd keep you here
within my arms
if death hadn't stole you;
I would tell you
all the things
that I left too late
to say.

Some nights
I go through it all
scene by scene,
episode by episode,
right down
to the flimsy
wire of death
and your final breath.

Some days it seems
so unreal,
as if you
were here still,
that it was all
some weird nightmare
of gigantic proportions,
but I know it's real
and you're not
here still.

Now and then,
I feel the rise
of panic
as the reality
of your death
sinks in,
reaching right down
to my core,
throwing up
the question:
what for?

I miss your
quiet humour,
your dry wit;
that depth of character
unfolding bit by bit,
layer after layer;
your stoic way
and stance,
taking things in hand,
leaving nothing
to chance.

Now you're not here
(some other
place maybe)
the place you
once filled
is vacant
like a desert waste
or vast sea off shore,
and rings out
the question:
what for?

Once a child's
childhood

has been tainted
it cannot

be repaired
or wiped clean

or swept away
it remains

like a scar
which always shows

and may fade
or fester

depending
if it is

picked at
or not.

I was sitting
in my favourite café
sipping an iced coke
when this dame

behind me
(in conversation
with some guy) said
and he already

owes me
a thousand pounds
in maintenance
for the kids

(the kids came
into view now
and then
as they played

around the tables
nearby)  
and he wanted them
as much as I

the guy she was with
pumped her questions
about the marriage
(maybe he was a friend

or perhaps
he was hoping
to get his leg over
somewhere

along the line
of time)
and he seldom visits
she said

and every child
needs a father
but they
rarely see him

and I say to him
you need to see
your children more
(the guy's voice

behind me is soft
and concerning)
children need a father
need that security

he said
I tried not to listen
just sipped my coke
looking at the people

nearby who I could see
but all the while
this dame's voice
opens up and continues

mind you
he never was
much of a lover
no?

the guy said
well not
100% committed
she said

there was always
something else
going on his head
you know what I mean?

she said
mm-mm
the guy said
and I imagined

he nodded his head
(maybe thinking
I'd be a much better
lover than he)

I allowed
a cube of ice
to enter my mouth
cold it rattled

against my teeth
how long is
he going to leave it?
she said

the back payments
are already a thousand
and I have the kids
to feed and clothe

and the mortgage to pay
and Daddy
will only pay so much
she said

the guy fed her
more questions
I didn't quite catch
the words

(quiet speaker
unlike her
who spoke loud)
she laughed

and I sipped
more coke
trying to listen in
on the words

of the joke
jazz was being played
from the in house radio
some Miles Davis

I think
early stuff
I drained the remains
of my coke

and got up
put on my cap
and grabbed my stick
and as I turned

I casually gave
the dame a look
(a kind of fill in
for my picture book)

a blonde
thin
young
and the guy

plump
older
balding
in a tee-shirt

and jeans
as I walked off
with my stick
and a head full

of information
I gave them
one last look
back at their table

I couldn't see them
as bed fellow
least not
in my book.

Yiska sat
on my lap
on the wall

by the lab
in lunch break
at high school

sunshine warmed
so did she
I held her

slender waist
smelt perfume
her mother's

whispered voice
in my ear
my brother

will tell if
he sees us
Yiska said

will tell whom​?
my mother
and she'll rant

at me then
for ages
she kissed me

soft wet lips
on my lips
sound of kids

on the field
and playground
out of sight

we kissed more
hopefully
your brother

won't see us
I told her
my hand touched

her soft thigh
above us
a swallow

in the blue
of the sky.

The hotel
was behind
Charing Cross

some back street
in some room
up some stairs

Nima says
it will do
the bed's old
I bet some
old queen slept
in this bed

and died here
I reply
lying down
on the bed

she lay down
beside me

that old dear
who gave me
this old key
gave me the
once over
as if she
understood
the reason
we are here
I tell her

course she does
I bet she's
outside now
listening
for the bed
to begin
making noise
Nima says

I get up
and turn on
the gas fire

then undress
watching her
by the one
small window
already
without clothes

her tight ****
her slim waist
visible
to my eyes
feasting them

my pecker
preparing
for the job
that's ahead
in the old
black metal
double bed.

Miss A looks across
the class at me.

Benedict, what's
the difference
between may and can?

I look at her
standing there
built like a brick
out house;
arms folded,
hair brushed back.

May and can?

Yes, if you said to me
can I go out to play?
I would say, yes,
you can, but no
you may not.

I look at the boy's head
in front; his hair is short,
the colour jet black.

Understand,
Benedict?
she says.

No, not really,
I say.

A titter
of small laughter.

She looks at the titterers
and stares them to silence.

Anyone know?
She asks.

Enid raises a hand.

Yes, Enid?
Miss A says.

When I say, can,
I’m asking of possibility;
when I ask, may,
I’m asking permission,
Enid says.

Miss A looks at her;
her eyes searching
the girl's features.

Where did
you read that?

Enid looks at me;
Benedict told me.

Miss A frowns,
then looks at me.

Did you?

I forgot about it.

The teacher raises
an eyebrow,
then says,
that is roughly
what it means,
the difference between
possibility and permissibility.

The room is silent;
Enid lowers her hand;
Miss A writes it
on the blackboard
in chalk.

I smile at Enid
unable to talk.

A butterfly fluttered by
as we lay
in the long grass
talking;
well she talked,
I listened
to her words,
took them
into my mind,
turned them around
as if they
were rare gems,
all air and breath,
peppermint tasting.

I looked
at the rise and fall
of her *******
beneath the blouse;
her hand shading
her eyes
from bright sunlight;
her hair tucked
behind her ears;
lips moving,
the pink gloss touching
lip to lip as she spoke.

The butterfly
disappeared from sight;
red and black
and white wings,
fluttering, riding
between her words,
carrying off,
maybe, a breath feel,
a wing touched,
colourful,
sight captured.

I could have ran
a finger along
her thigh,
barely touching,
skimming maybe,
but my fingers behaved,
held back;
the rise and fall
of her mounds,
the eyes shaded,
her words
became butterflies,
fluttered about me,
carrying softness,
tender as bubbles,
syllables upon syllables
reaching for the sky,
then like far away stars
they began to die.

The smell of
fresh coffee
and bacon

Milka's mum
opposite
drinking tea

her dark eyes
focusing
on young me

won't be long
she tells me
but she likes

her warm bed
and mornings
are not her

favourite
time of day
(I knew that

Milka liked
her warm bed
I’d been there

unbeknown
to her mum)
want some toast?

Or more coffee?
No I’m fine
I reply

listening
for movement
of Milka

from upstairs
I recall
her small bed

us in there
(her parents
had gone out

to the shops
her brothers
and my friends

gone fishing)
us warm there
making love

listening
to the bed
for a car

returning
birds singing
cows mooing

from a field
what’s it like
with Milka?

Her mother
inquires
O it's good

(she's broken
my thought chain)
she can be

a handful
don't you find?
Yes she can

I reply
seeing my
reflection

in her left
and right eye.

I woke up laying on some bed;
it felt as if someone
had placed a tight band
around my head.

All part of the ECT,
I guessed: the headache,
the heavy sensation
of limbs and head;
like some Lazarus
back from the dead.

Electro-convulsive Therapy,
they called it,
those guys in white coats;
make you feel
a whole lot better;
it helps some,
the nurse said,
before applying
the black rubber ****
in my mouth;
and that ***** of a needle
in the top of my hand,
and that buzzing feel
up from my toes
to my head and wham;
it's like I’m dead.

The window showed
the tops of trees,
snow covered,
grey sky;
the window frame
was white painted,
thick glass panes;
no cure, they say,
without pains.

There was a girl
in the next bed
to mine,
flat out,
barely breathing;
her ******* rising
and falling
in slow motion;
hands at her sides,
strapped in by belts
across the bed.

I had them, too;
to keep me
from falling to floor,
I guessed,
attempting to rise up
from where I lay.

I gave up trying
and stared
at the single light bulb,
(hanging like some suicide
from the ceiling),
with an odd
surreal feeling.

Touching the cloth of the Christ
in the darkened room
holding back from the black gloom.

Your eyes
and your smile,
that was what most
attracted me
to you, Yehudit.  

We were just teens
that first time,
you looking back at me
on the school coach,
your eyes lit up
like search lights
in the dark,
your thirteen year old
(coming up fourteen)
heart and smile
could melt ice
in the Atlantic
let alone
my fourteen year old
fresh kid heart
(slightly ripped apart).

The kid I sat next to
knew nothing
of my burning heart,
no smoke visible,
no burning embers
to twitch his nose.

After came the kiss;
while others sang carols,
we kissed by the moon's light,
stars witnessing,
angels applauding;
the others too engrossed
in singing to note
our absence
in the shadows;
our meeting of lips;
our thumping hearts,
fired up, bursting
almost out.

Someone called,
we parted;
lips moist,
like small boats
on a vast ocean,
as another
gave an echoing
shout.

She doesn't know
if he like her or not;
he doesn't give
the impression

that he does,
but she can't be sure,
not liked as such,
but liked as a woman,

liked for her beauty,
her ******, slim body.
When she goes to work
and he's there,

she becomes
all self conscious,
as if he were
looking at her,

taking in how
she has dressed,
how she walks,
carries herself,

how she speaks.
She puts on
her uniform
in the female

locker room;
stands there
gazing at herself
in the mirror

above the sink.
Pulls her lips tight,
purses them.
Her eyes look tired;

little sleep;
thinking of him;
thinking how much
he might like her.

She goes out
along the corridor
and he's there at the end
talking to another,

she freezes,
stands still,
looks back and forward,
then moves on

passing him
and the other,
sensing his eyes following,
his mind turning her over,

maybe sensing things
about her;
then she looks back
and he's gone.

She panics,
wonders if she ought
to have spoken,
ought to have made

eye contact,
maybe looked
into his eyes
and seen all

the fabric
of a dream.

This was her last death
All others were rehearsals.
Goodnight my lovely.

There was a certain
Delicacy in
The dead child’s hands. She

Remembers it now,
The way her digit
Moved along the thin

Fingers before the
Blue tinge came. Smooth and
Fragile like fine bone

China and almost
Transparent after
The child’s illness came.

She held her child in
Her lap for fifteen
Minutes after death

Came; no one disturbed;
Gave her any crap
Or words of advice.

Just her and her child;
The warmness going
Like short summer’s end.

The eyelids like white
Shells. She stroked the hands,
Pretending that life

Would return with each
Gentle rub; the eyes
Open with a small

Short flutter. Nothing
Happened, she recalls,
Thinking back, just those

Minutes alone, that
Final hug and gaze
And kiss of the cheeks,

Knowing the flowing
Of time’s smooth sands. There
Was, she recalls, a

Delicacy in
The dead child’s small hands.

I am here,
yet I’m not,
seemingly
unaware of being
as being
should be
(or so I’m told).

No longer young,
no more
spreading out
beside some
young thing,
waiting to see
what she'll bring.

I'm getting old,
(so I’m told),
feeling
the aches more,
the pains
like companions,
sneak up close,
snuggle
into the bone.

I am here,
yet,
at the end
of it all,
I am alone.

She won't be long
Milka's mother said
she's just having a bath

I sat in the kitchen
of the farmhouse
a mug of tea
in front of me

that's OK no rush
I said
the film doesn't start  
yet a while

what are you seeing?

an Elvis film
I said

O I see
in my day
it was Robert Taylor
or Robert Mitchum
she said smiling
not that I went often
but now and then

she turned around
at the sink
and started peeling potatoes

I looked at photographs
on the shelves
one of the my mates
Milka's brothers
another of Milka
in a school uniform
frowning

Milka's mother was talking
about something
but I was thinking
of Milka
how she and I
made love at my place
when my parents
were out
the other week

now she was upstairs
in the bath
and I was downstairs
listening to her mother talking

you know Benny
she said
I trust you with Milka
she's a bit high spirited

but you are a good boy
I know you will keep her
on the straight and narrow
despite Elvis
she turned
and gazed at me

I put on
my butter wouldn't melt face
and sipped my tea

yes
I said
you can put
your trust in me
I won't let you down

I gazed at the photo
of Milka
with the deep frown.

Some days,
my son,
I think I'm getting

to see some kind
of horizon
without you,

but then it all
comes crashing down
and the scene's

the same,
the big hole
where you were,

the horizon
still out of reach
to any real sense,  

and you,
you the one
who was always there,

no longer,
least not
in this sphere,

not here.
I still talk to you
of course,

knowing you're around,
invisible to me,
but shaking your head

if I put on
a rock CD,
thinking the old guy

still has it,
despite the aching limbs.
I know you're around,
my son, but some days,
the light and life dims.

That was the night
I dreamed of Yiska

and she met me
at the back
of the cottage
by the woods

and it seemed summer
it was warm
birds sang
and flowers
were showing off
their colour
and perfume

and she stood there
and smiled and said
I made it here
what do you think?

good to see you
I said

and it was
and I ran to her
before she could
disappear as they do
in dreams

and she kissed me
and it felt real
and warm
and arousing

and we walked
into the woods
and she talked
about her
mother's depression
and how her mother
moaned about
the untidiness
of her room

I thought yes
she is here
and I reached
for her hand
and held it
and felt
with my thumb
her skin

it felt pulsing
and alive
and she talked more
but I wasn't listening

I was trying
to feel her hand
deeper
more alive
than most dreams

and then we stopped
and we were by
the big pond

and she said
let's go swim
let's go swim
**** naked

and I thought
I can't swim
I’ll drown

and woke up
and pulled
the warm
blanket down.

Go and get
some bread rolls
over the corner shop
Mum said

so I took the offered coins
and went out
the front door
and down the stairs
of the flats

on the second level
I saw Ingrid
sitting on the top step

what are you doing here?

Dad threw me out
said I was too noisy
and said I had to go out
until he'd had
his breakfast

she looked cold
and hungry

when can you go back?

when he says so
I expect

I sat beside her
on the concrete step

had breakfast yet?

no not yet

come with me
I've got to get
some bread rolls
over the shop
then you can have
a bite to eat with me
Mum won't mind
I said

she looked at me
don't think I ought to
in case Dad says
to go back in
Ingrid said

****** him
I said
come with me
if you're not there
he''ll go to work
worrying won't he

shouldn't think so
he'll just paste me
when he gets home
this evening

I'll bring you a roll then
and you can eat it here
I said

she looked at
the steps below unhappily

guess I could come
Dad'll not be out
yet awhile
she said

good come on then
I said

and she got up
and we went down
the stairs
and through the Square
and along

how comes he thinks
you're too noisy?

she looked
at the grey morning sky

don't know why
I guess I talk too much
although I don't mean to
it's just that words
come out
and I can't stop them
as if they've a mind
of their own

Mum don't mind
she'll sit and listen
but Dad ain't got
the patience
or he's in a mood
or someone outside
has upset him
and since my brother
and sister have left
he's no one else
to moan at
apart from mum
and he gives her
what for too
if he's a mind to

we walked down
the *****
and catch a mild
orange sun coming
over the houses
up Meadow Row
and I smiled
and thought
she can talk on so.

Come over any time
Mrs Debit said
and don't mind
if David's not here

I’m sure
I can get you
something to eat
or such

ok
I said
walking back
down her drive

wondering what happened
to David
but she said
he was out

so I couldn't stay
that time
but she sure had
a nice manner with her

I thought
stopping at the bottom
of her drive
looking back

at the house
she waved at me
and I waved back
David said

go around the back
if there's no answer
from the front door
and so I did

and there
was Mrs Debit
in her lilac
or such colour bikini  

laying there
in the back yard
by the pool
O sorry

I said
thought David was here
he said to come
around back

she sat up
and gazed at me
for a moment or two
O

she said
you must be Benny?
yes that's right
I said

David said
to come around
he was going
to show me his

collection of Elvis records
she smiled
and got up
and walked over to me

O he's had to go out
on an errand for me
and won't be back
until late

she said
I could smell her perfume
from where I stood
or was it sun oil?

I couldn’t decide
you can stay for a bit
if you want
she said

I can get you
something cold
or cool
no I’m ok

I said
backing off a little
finding her figure
kind of warming

maybe I’ll comeback
another time
I said
ok

she said
I was reading
and sort of snoozed off
I nodded

and saw the book
and red hat
by the pool  
you stay can

if you wish
she said
if you have swimming gear
you can swim

in the pool
I’m sure I have
a pair of David’s trunks
around some place

no I’m ok
must get back
I said
another time maybe

she said smiling
sure
I said
I'd love that

she closed
the front door
and was gone
I walked back

on home
carrying the image
of her in my head
come over

any time
she had said.

The small slit.
The thin knife

does its job;
the wrist is crimson

like an opening rose.

Netanya smoked
and sat on the settee
her husband sat by the fire
his friends had come around
there was general chat
and laughter

I sat next to Netanya
watching the others
drinks were offered
I had a scotch and ice
Netanaya's husband
handed the drinks around

Netanya touched my thigh
unseen by him

and I said to him
I’m your man for that job
don't think of asking
anyone else
her husband said
to the others
it could be a big job
he added

her hand moved
along my thigh
squeezing me now
and then her daughter
saw her touch my thigh
I could see the amusement
in her eye

how long will you have to wait?
Netanya said

her husband looked at her
(her hand removed now)

I don't know
but it looks promising
he said

I knew you were the guy
for the job
the friend said

his wife
some dull looking dame
nodded

Netanya placed her hand
on my back
and rubbed it sexually

what do you think Benny?
Netanya's husband asked me

I guess you're the guy
by what Netanya tells me
I replied

he smiled
and sipped his drink

his wife's hand
was touching my ****
rubbing circular
in motion

we'll have to wait see
what happens
her husband said
never know
where things might lead

my pecker stirred
Netanya smiled
her daughter looked at me
frowned

I looked away
trying to keep
my pecker under control
watching the dull dame
over the way
having her dull worded say.

I have only just finished
making Mr D's bed
in the old folks home
when Sophia's there
by the door
arms folded
her eyes searching me

it was close thing
yesterday night
she says

I look at her
wondering how
I got out of her place
with her parents
looking at me
in such a way
and I felt it
was close as close
as being caught
as being caught can be

how'd it go?
I ask

she closes the door
of the room behind her

you cannot come anymore
while they are out
must be
when they are in
she says
standing by the bed  
making me wonder
what the hell happened

what did they say?

she looks at me
then at the bed
good ***?

not now
I say

no
she says
last night before
they come
and spoil it

yes it was
I say
thinking my *** days
were over
the way her father
looked at me

I stand up
and move away
from the bed
and move by her
to get to the window
and open up
to let in fresh air

you come again?
see parents?
she says
they give you
benefit of the doubt
I say you
my good Catholic boyfriend
she says
coming to me
by the window

I guess
I say
when?

not too soon
but you come
she says her Polish accent
driving through her words

but no ***
I guess
I say

she shrugs
and moves close to me
and says
we see
if not there
maybe here
in one
of the old boys' beds?

no not here
it's too risky

risky at my place too
she says
putting her arms
around my waist
her breath on my skin

what if old
Mr D comes in?

he not come up here
in the day
I talk with him
he say too far
to come
he stay downstairs
in day time

but what if
someone else comes?
I say
trying to move
out and off

who come?
she says

she kisses me
then a bell rings

look must go
morning break
coffee or tea
in the staff room
if we're not there
they'll think something
and then
God's knows what

ok
she says
moving away
and so she goes
and I am hot.