Kafka speaks to me
last time it was Bukowski
drinking all my *****.

From Dover
to Zeebrugge
across on the ferry
Moira said nothing

kept herself
to herself
except moaning
at her brother

until you reached
the base camp
outside the port
and in the bar

after seeing
the caravans
instead of tents
she said

did you see the state
of those caravans?
talk about dosshouses
you studied her

as she spoke
her lips moving
ten to the dozen
her eyes blazing

like a lit up
Swan Vesta
you saw her
short frame shake

with her anger
I’ve told Billy
to have a go
but will he?

no ****
he won’t say boo
to a ghost
if it was tired

to a chair
and on she went
her words spreading
through the bar

like spilt oil
but all the time
her eyes
were on you

her hands gesturing
the thumb
pointing back
towards

the caravans
the barman
a Belgium guy
gazed at her

bemused
wiping glasses
in the background
someone put a coin

in the jukebox
and out played
loud and clear
Heartbreak Hotel

and all you
could think was
I wonder how she kisses
this wild eyed girl?

Monica had a sulky expression
and pouted her lips
you watched her
as you waited

for her brothers
to come out
of the farmhouse
they won’t let me

come ride bikes with you
she said
but I can ride a bike
I have my own

she leaned against the fence
one foot resting
on a cross beam
it’s not up to me

who goes on bike rides
you said
but you could say
you want me along

she said
you do want me
to come along
don’t you?

why do girls do that?
you asked yourself
looking beyond her
to the farmhouse

hoping the boys
would show soon
eh?
she muttered

don’t you?
if your brothers
are ok with it
I don’t mind

you said
but they won’t
say that will they?
she said

folding her arms
and giving you
the big stare
maybe if you ask your mother

they might
you suggested
seeing her lips set
in a thin line

where a smile
should have been
she’ll side with them
Monica said

you’re too young to ride
with the boys she’ll say
Monica mimicked
in a motherly type voice

she put down her foot
from the fence
and walked toward you
you noticed she was wearing

a green dress
with flowers across
her small bust
she stood in front of you

her hands wrestling
with each other
I want to go with you
she said softly

please say yes
and they’ll listen to you
you studied her features
the way she tilted her head

and the eyes
how they searched you
the farmhouse door opened
and the boys came out

excitedly getting on their bikes
and riding up toward you
run along a play Monica
Pete said

yes go play
with your doll and pram
Jim said
I want to ride with you

she said
Benedict wants me to
she added
giving you a staring gaze

no he don’t
Pete said
he thinks you’re a pain
in the ***

no he doesn’t
she said
he said he wants me to go
Jim laughed and Pete said

sure he did
like he wants you
to kiss his ***
now go off and play

she looked at you
her eyes deepening
I don’t mind
you said

she isn’t coming
Jim said
now go away
or I’ll call Mum

and see what she says
Monica poked out her tongue
and walked away
the boys began peddling

their bikes as you did yours
but looking back
toward the farmhouse
you saw her give

a one finger up you sign
before she went indoors.

Sonya was reading
some Kierkegaard book

I was reading Dostoevsky
both laying on the bed
in a cheap hotel in Paris

the window was open
street sounds outside
traffic
people
snatches of conversations

want to go out
for a coffee?
I asked

if you're paying
she said

I paid last time

she turned a page
you're the male
you're supposed to pay
she said

I put down the book
and looked up
at the ceiling
I thought this was equal time
for women
woman's rights and all that?

what's that got to do with it?

equal paying of bills
I said

she sighed
and put down her book
you always
have to make arguments
always have to see things
so **** black and white
she said

do you want coffee or not?
I said

she turned over
and away from me
her backside
just about cover
by her tight skirt

why do women
have to sulk
when things
don't go their way?

who said
they're not going my way?

your **** says so

what's the matter
with my ****?

it isn't so pretty
as your face

she turned back to me
and gazed at me
it's always either or
with you isn't it?
she said

you've been reading
too much Kierkegaard
I said

you want *** again?

I looked at her lips
her *******
her eyes blue
as washed out blue can be
sure if it's on offer

well it won't be
if you keep on
with this equal thing
she said

you like ***?

she frowned
yes of course

well I do too
so that's equal
so what's the problem?

she lay back down
on the bed
I’ll have black coffee
and I’ll pay
she said
but you get the food

I smiled
OK if that's
what you want

can we go see
some art afterwards?

sure
I said

she kissed me
and I kissed her
and coffee was forgotten
as we decided
to rock
the cheap old bed.

You watched her run
the bread
and butter knife
along

her inner arm
blunt blade
gesture only
enough to give

the nurses
something
to think about something
to make them

take the knife away
and sigh or curse
beneath breath
she walked about

the locked ward
in her light blue
nightgown
no shoes

or socks
or stockings
sometimes she’d search
through the men’s drawers

for razor blades
or something sharp
no doing
you said

I’ve looked already
she said
heard you tried
to string yourself up

in the john?
had those **** nurses
wetting themselves
and banging

on the locked door
and god
how they nigh
wet their *******

with it all
she said
almost managing
a small smile

bags
under her eyes
her pale skin
thin lips

sans lipstick
how do you think
it’ll go?
waiting

your next chance?
maybe
you said
she touched your hand

ran a finger
along the wrist
and scar
her gentle skin

setting fire
to tired flesh
then after tea
after the sandwiches

which Big Ted
brought up
from the canteen
watching

the sky
turn blue
to black
you knew

the dark was approaching
and the Black Dog back.

Frock. Fiona’s frock. She found it in her mother’s wardrobe while clearing out her mother’s clothes after her death in a car crash. Why had she saved it? Fiona mused, taking out the frock, holding it at arm’s length. Her Uncle Will had bought it for her for her tenth birthday. She remembered the day, him giving her a parcel wrapped in coloured paper with a ribbon attached. He stood with his large brown eyes on her as she opened it excitedly. Black with white lace. She had held it against her, felt the softness of the material against her cheek; smelt the cleanness, newness of it. Try it on, he had said, rubbing his hands together. She ran upstairs to her bedroom, took off her party dress of pink, put on the black frock. She stood in front of the large mirror and turned around. She smiled; it made her look grown up. She turned again. When her eyes looked in the mirror she saw her Uncle Will standing by the door gazing at her. She turned and flushed. Do you like it? He had asked, his eyes studying her. She did like the frock, liked the way it felt against her skin, the way it looked on her, made her feel older. She smiled, said it was beautiful, turned around for him to see her. She brushed back hair from her face, felt her face flush with a mixture of excitement and embarrassment. He had come to her, kissed her cheek, told her she looked like a princess in the frock. She had laughed, turned again and when she stopped, he held against him for a few moments, brushed a few strands of hair from her cheek. That was only the beginning, she reflected now, putting the black frock on her mother’s bed, standing back, gazing at the frock that had brought misery into her life. She sighed. Took a deep breath. She thought it had been thrown out years before. Why had her mother kept it? She looked quickly through the wardrobe, threw bundles of her mother’s clothes into black bags, carried them down to her car for the charity shops. The frock lay on the bed where she had put it. When she went back to the room, she tried to avoid looking at it. She carried out a search of the room for other items of clothing, took them all out until the room was empty of her mother’s belongings. She sat on the bed, picked up the frock. She smelt it. It smelt of mothballs and her old scent. She felt the material with her fingers. Rubbed it between finger and thumb. Don’t you like it? A voice said in her head. Yes, yes, I love it, her ten-year-old voice said. Very much? Yes, very much. She threw the frock back on the bed. Wiped her hands on her jeans, sighed deeply. For a few moments she felt she could feel his hands on her waist again, sense his breath on her neck. It was not this room, but another up along the passageway, that was hers that he had entered and closed the door behind him. He stood there that day, the smile on his face, kindly looking, and gentle in voice. She had been just about to change back into her pink party dress when he entered. He stared at her in her underclothes. He asked why she wasn’t wearing the frock he had bought. She grabbed up the pink party dress, held it against her. She wanted to save it for another occasion. For him another time. He nodded. He said he’d take her out for a special meal to celebrate her birthday the following day. He’d asked her parents and they had thought it a great idea, as he was her godfather and had bought her the lovely frock. She felt a mixture of unease and happiness. He walked to her, took away the pink party dress, placed it on a chair by the window. She felt a chill, hugged herself with her arms. She got up quickly from the bed, went to the window with her back to the bed and the frock. It had happened that day. She felt sick. Wished her brain could be drained of the memory. The trees had got bigger since she was that child; the roses had spread along the garden reaching higher and wider than they had then. She told no one. Whom could she tell? Who would believe her? Uncle Will? No one would have thought it possible, not by him, not ever. She turned, stared at the frock on the bed. He had made her wear it, made her put it on again. He sat her on his lap, hugged her. His hands rubbed her thighs, pushing the frock upward. She ran to the bed, grabbed the frock and attempted to rip it apart, but nothing happened, it remained in one piece. She ******* it up, threw it across the room. It landed by the window. The sunlight shone on it. The black looked almost evil. As if it had a life of its own. She walked to the window, kicked the frock into a corner, and glared at it. If only it had been him she could have kicked; him she could try to rip apart. But it was too late. He had died with her mother in the car crash. That was why she wouldn’t visit her mother anymore; not while he lived there with her mother; doing things together; sleeping together. Him. And her. And her father gone off with some young girl some years back and was living in New York. Just this now. The house was hers she guessed. And all this. The frock lay there. Still. Unmoving. Black with white lace. No one knew what had happened that day, except her, him and the frock. Black with white lace. Just there. Huddled. Black and evil. The scent of dress lingered; the smell of him lingered in its folds, the innocence of her childhood soaked into the very fabric, drawn from her that day, filtered piece by piece from her on her bed in that room wearing that frock.

A woman called for you today said Max’s wife.
Oh said Max who was she?
She didn’t say Max’s wife replied.
Well dames that don’t leave names
Aren’t worth worrying over Max said
Lighting up a cigarette and sitting
In a chair by the window.
She seemed to know you Max’s wife stated stiffly
Seemed quite put out when I told her I was your wife.
Dames are always put out over something or other
Max said noticing his wife’s beauty spot
And how it moved as she spoke.
She was a brunette.
Ah a brunette huh?
Yes a brunette his wife said.
Well? She said after a minute’s pause.
New York’s full of brunettes.
This one came to the apartment and rang our bell
And stood at the door asking for Max.
There are plenty of men called Max in New York Honey he said
Comparing in his mind his wife and the brunette
He’d met at a bar the other night.
She seemed your type his wife said sulkily
The type that sways her hips and sticks out their ***.
Yes I know the type Max said and sighed
They can never leave me alone.
I tell them I am happily married to the best dame in New York
But they seem not to hear Max said
Watching smoke rise upwards.
Best dame in New York huh? His wife said.
Sure you are he said taking in his wife’s plump ***
Hanging over the side of the chair like melted cheese.
She smiled and said must have been a mistake
On her part coming here and asking for Max.
Sure it was Max said dames sometimes make mistakes
They have no sense of direction.
His wife smiled at him sexily hoping.
Max smiled back and hoped for *******.

Mrs Dryden
sat behind you
on the beach
combing your hair

you watching
the racing tide
the sounds
on the shingle

the other people
sitting or walking
or playing ball
or flicking Frisbees

each to each
her fingers
parting strands
patting down

waves of hair
she maybe reflecting
on the night before
in the cheap hotel

the creaking bed
the second rate
furniture
the Full English breakfast

she having
a young guy
between her thighs
she spoke

of her husband’s failings
his betrayals
his preference
for younger women

you taking in
the scarcely cladded girls
sitting or walking the beach
out of your safety zone

out of reach  
and Mrs Dryden’s fingers
moving down your jowls
her lips kissing

your neck
at the back
her breath
whispering words

you thinking
of Miss Fox
the year before
how you nearly went

all the way
(as they used to say)
until her parents
came back home

too soon
spoilt the fun
of one on one
look at that ship

passing over there
Mrs Dryden said
pointing out to sea
her other hand

holding yours
her words carried
on the air
and you imagining

Miss Fox
maybe sitting there.

Miryam was sitting in the bar
of the base camp
outside Madrid

you sat next to her
on your second Bacardi
drawing on a smoke

she was sipping a glass
of white wine
where'd you get to last night?

she asked
thought you were going
to come to my tent?

thought your tent mate
would be there
you said

no we had a row
and she went to share
with Moaning Margaret

Miryam said
didn't know
you said

else I'd have come along
she sipped her wine
looking around the bar

spent a lonely night
she said
you exhaled smoke

and looked at her
taking in her frizzy
red hair

her eyes
her small tight ****
her tongue licking

the lips
I had that army guy
with me

you said
ex-army I should say
he got thrown out

why was that?
she asked
he didn't say

you said
and you thought on the guy
and how he went on and on

about his mother's new boyfriend
and how he felt pushed out
and the army life

was getting him down
and he did something
whatever and got

thrown out
Miryam drained her glass
I'm going now

where to?
you asked
my tent

she said
been a long day
touring around Madrid

you stumped out
your cigarette ****
in the glass ashtray

are you coming?
she asked
you looked uncertain

you don't have to
she said
I can always

sleep alone again
what if your tent mate
comes back?

you asked
she won't
Miryam said

too much was said
you drained your glass
and put it down

on the bar top
now?
don't you want to go

to the disco
in the other bar
by base camp?

no I'm tired
she said
ok

you said
see you later
later?

she moaned
I want to go to the disco
you said

she shrugged her shoulders
and stormed off
out the bar

into the night air
you went outside
and she had gone

between tents
into the darkness
disco music thumped

from the other bar
across the way
sounds of laughter

and voices calling out
and Bill waving to you
from his tent

on his way
to the other bar
his long wavy hair

caught in the breeze
and jeans with holes
or tears in the knees

and you thinking
of Miryam
in her tent alone

no longer waiting
maybe fuming
getting undressed

wanting you
not wanting to rest
and back at your tent

the army guy
lying there
full of woe

waiting for your return
to tell his tale
of life that fate

had sent
walking to
the other bar

(with Bill)
you wished you'd gone
to Miryam's tent.

In Hamburg
an American girl
climbed aboard
sitting next

to the Southend teacher
with the spectacles
and loud mouth
and she looked back

at the rest of you
and said
Hi you guys
how’s it going?

murmured replies returned
Moira said
behind
her cupped mouth

a ******* Yank
is all we need
you looked
windowward

spying new buildings
post-war
the could-be-any-where
kind of set up

the driver drove off
the Polish mother
and daughter
muttered

in their tongue
Moira’s hips
pushed into yours
as the mini bus

turned sharp
down some side street
the American girl
chatted up

the driver
some long haired
hippy type
smoking and puffing

and you remembering
the night before
the tent up
the canvas tight

and you and Billy
down on your bags
he staring up
at the canvas  

green and unclean
you listening to Moira
in the next tent
sharing with some

unfortunate giving it
the rant and rave
about some misgivings
in her Glasgow tone

Billy raising his eyes
in disbelief
and you wondering
if ever she silenced

her tongue and tone
and charmed her
fearsome stare
whether you’d be happy there

lying beside her
kissing her neck
or lips or cheek
or nestling between

her small plump ****
but looking beside you
as the mini bus
moved off at a pace

you saw her sour face glare
at the American’s head
and thought you’d rather kiss
the old Polish mother instead.

Lydia is quiet
going down the *****
by Arrol House
and onto

Rockingham Street
Benedict says nothing
he thinks it best
to let her brood

until she’s ready
to speak
he's seen it
in the films before

where the female
opposite the cowboy
has her moods
or quiet times

and the cowboy
lets her get on with it
while he rides off
into the sunset

to fight the bad guys
or Injuns
or have a shot
of Red Eye

in the bar in the town
watching the dancers
on the makeshift stage
he gives Lydia

a side on gaze
her straight hair
seems unbrushed
her dress is creased

and the cardigan
has a hole
in the elbow
they walk up

towards Draper Road
by the blocks of flats
he says
(hating silence)

the parents
were rowing last night
something to do
with money

or the lack of it
from what
I could gather
through the bedroom door

lying in the dark
seeing the thin line
of light
from the other room

the old man hates
being short
needs dosh
to get

his best suits
and brown shoes
saw something odd
last night

Lydia says suddenly
looking at Benedict
odd? what was odd?
he asks

studying
her thin hands
the nails chewed
my big sister

and her man friend
your sister's always odd
says Benedict
no

more odd
she made me sleep
in the tiny cot bed
which I haven't done

for years as its
too small for me really
but anyway
she made me sleep there

so she and her man friend
could sleep there
he's been turned out
of his digs

as he calls them
and Mum didn't like
the idea but Dad
in his usual drunken state

said O let him stay
a few days
until he gets himself
a place

so there am I
stuck in the cot bed
feet dangling
over the ends

just about room for me
except my backside
gets cold
when I turn over

nothing worse
Benedict says
than a cold backside
well then

Lydia says
after the lights were out
and she thought
I was asleep

I heard this noise
like squashy sound
and I lay there
with my eyes open

looking
at the dark shapes
and hearing
these odd sounds

and the giggles
and snorts and such
Benedict gazes at her
side on

her thin lips
were opening
and closing
like the goldfish

he had which fell
into the sink
out of the fish bowl
and its tiny mouth

was closing
and opening
upon the wet
white surface

then the bed springs
were going gong gong
then silence
as if they were dead

odd
Lydia says
staring
straight ahead

and I never got
to sleep in the end
for ages
what with them

and the cold
on my backside
and the trains
going over

the railway bridge
and the shunting
of coal wagons
so you're tired

Benedict says
that’s why you
were quiet just now
thought I'd done

something wrong
when I first met you
outside your flat
and you came out

with a face
suppose so
she says
and they walk along

Draper Road
to the Penny shop
where he treats her
to a penny pop drink

and 4
fruit salad sweets
and they stand
by the penny

ball game machine
on the wall
and watch some kid
press the buttons

and the ball
goes around
and around
until it disappears

in a slot
and Lydia thinks
to herself
sipping her drink

grown ups
are an odd lot.

On the beach
in the sun
Anne sits

in her chair
her one leg
hanging down

her leg stump
out of sight
she's beside

Skinny kid
who reclines
in a small

blue deckchair
other kids
sit around

fussed over
by three nuns
from the home

the tides out
so some kids
paddle out

ankle deep
listen kid
I hear one

of the nuns
had you in
to question

in secret
what'd they ask?
Anne asks

it's secret
Benny says
I know that

but tell me
I'm your friend
Anne says

Benny looks
around him
about you

they asked me
about you
Benny says

Anne frowns
about me?
Benny nods

what'd they ask?
what you did
what you  said

and did you
make me do
anything

Benny says
what'd you say?
I said you

were my friend
my best friend
Benny says

what'd they say?
Sister Blaise
the fat nun

said it was
a big sin
to tell lies

what'd you say?
Anne asks
I told her

I guess so
was that all?
can I go?

Benny says
Anne smiles
good work Kid

keep the ****
penguins stumped
and things hid.

Despite the fact
that other local kids

were in the hay barn playing
Jane stood at the barn doors

looking in apprehensively
and you stood beside her

waiting for her to move in
or say something

but she just stood looking in
are we allowed in to play?

she asked
sure as long as we don’t

cause damage to the hay bales
you replied

and she sniffed the air
and moved in

and looked around
the huge barn

with its semi dark
and smells of hay

and captured sun
and warmth

the other kids played
but took no notice

of Jane or you
as you entered

closed the doors
and moved around

the hay strewn floor
haven’t you been

in a hay barn before?
you asked looking

at her bright summer dress
and white socks and sandals

yes years ago
she said

as she paused
at the edge

of the nearest hay bale
and sat down

and you sat beside her
in the semi dark

with sunlight making
small light through cracks

and holes in the walls
I don’t like mice and rats

she said
and I saw one once

in another barn
and it frightened me

you sat in silence
for a few moments

taking in the air and smells
and then the other kids

ran off out side
into the sunlight

talking of playing
down by the pond

and catching things
you sat still

until their voices died off
and then she said

why have you
brought me in here?

you looked at her eyes
in the dull light

and her lips moving
with their small speech

to be alone with you
without prying eyes

you said
oh I see

she replied
and stood up

and climbed upwards
on the hay bales

with you following
behind her

seeing her sway
as she moved

her hands pulling
her upwards

her legs taking each step
onto a hay bale carefully

then having reach
high up in the barn

she sat down
and you sat beside her

if my father saw me here
he’d think things

Jane said
and she looked at you

with her large eyes
what things? you asked

watching her lay back
with her hands

behind her head
I don’t know

he never said
she muttered

as she lay there
she lifted a leg

and her dress
slipped downwards

revealing a glimpse
of naked thigh

that’s parents for you
you uttered

never saying
what they think

or saying things
but don't explain

you lay down
beside her

on the hay
as outside the barn

the soft sound
of pitter patter

on the roof
of sudden rain.

He’s only just sat down
in the cafe when she enters
and stands at the counter

waiting to be served. He lets
his latte settle. Allows his
eyes to scrutinize. The waitress

serves the woman in the white
hat and black dress. He notes
her fine figure, the low cut at

the neck, the thin straps over
shoulders. He tries to breathe
in from where he sits her perfume,

but it doesn’t come. The woman
orders an espresso and says it
with an Italian accent. He follows

her with his eyes as she walks
to a table alone. She looks like a
girl Modigliani would have painted.

She looks at her watch and then
around the room of the cafe.
She crosses her legs, one over

the other, thigh revealed. He sips
his latte. Wipes his lips with the
back of his hand. Bad habit, mother

would have slapped his hand as a
child once. The waitress delivers
the woman’s coffee; he notes the

waitress’s fine behind, the hands
serving, the legs touching together.
Then she's gone. Just the woman

in the white hat to study. The way
she lifts the small white cup to her
mouth, her fingers holding delicately,

as if afraid to break. Get a life Brody
would say if he were there. But he’s not;
he’s away with that girl from the office,

having a lay. The woman in the hat
stares at him, her eyes devour, her lips
part like legs before ***. She looks boringly

away. He sips more latte. He doesn’t like
her white hat or black dress anyway.

He was in hospital
for a short op
a one day event
and then home

the nurse said
if you could undress
Mr Hawkins

and put on that gown
on the bed
and so he looked around
and got to the bed

and she drew
the green curtains
around him

and he stood there
and began to undress
and folded his clothes
and put them on a chair

and put on the blue gown
which did up
at the back

and stood there
wondering what
to do next
how long would

he have to wait?
he lay on the bed
and opened the book

he'd brought to read
his back ached
his hips too
how long would he be?

a nurse drew back
the curtains
and said

I need to take
your temperature?
can you tell me
your name please?

he looked at her
in her blue two piece
like a motor mechanic

rather than a nurse
what happened to those
neat uniforms?

he wondered
name?
she asked again
Mr Benedict Hawkins

he said
she ticked her list
date of birth?

he told her
how much
do you weigh?
she asked

he told her
she ticked her list again
she put a thermometer

in his mouth
and took his wrist
and looked
at her watch

he looked at her hand
her fingers
holding his wrist

the thin white fingers
the pink nails
he looked
at her ears

not too small
or large
no earrings

no small holes
where they might
have been
he studied her lips

wondered who
kissed them
if any

she took out
the thermometer  
and shook it
with a lovely

wrist action
and gazed at it
then she put it

in her top pocket
just above
her left ***
or impression of such

and she looked at him
you're 3rd on the list
she said

OK
he said
and off she walked
her swaying behind

like some gay mechanic guy
going back
to the pits

no lovely
neat uniform
or black stockings
encasing cool legs

or black
sensible shoes
or tidy white

headdress
to set it all off
just a trained
nursing mechanic

in the blue two piece
nothing to inspire
another look

so he opened
the pages
of his child
psychology book.

Janice you thought
prettier than Helen
more refined

whose voice
was softly spoken
as if her words

had been fresh baked
in an oven
in her mouth

and her hair fair
and well groomed
but Helen had

that down to earthiness
that brought her
closer to you

and something about
her thin framed
thick lens glasses

made her seem
more lovable
to your boyish world

and she stared at you
through them
and smiled

that shy smile
and said things
with a rough edge

as if she’d bounced
the words around
before she uttered them aloud

you can come to tea
and we’ll have bread and jam
and a big mug of tea

or if mum’s remembered
lemonade
she said at playtime

in the playground
out of hear shot
of the other boys

who kicked ball
or who swapped cards
or threw marbles

along the ground
or fought battles
with imaginary swords

or shot pretend bullets
from rat-a-tat guns
and she said

to entice you more
you can see my new doll
my dad brought back

from the store
ok
you said

sure
and she smiled
and her nose creased up

and her glasses moved
and some small place
in your chest thumped

like furniture being dropped
or a bed being bounced
in some small hotel

and you watched her
go off to play skip rope
that thin framed

thick lens glasses
working-class
school girl.

Christine hated Saturdays
on the locked ward
the day her fiancé

jilted her at the altar
the ***** music playing
in the background

the flowers
the aisle carpeted
with that pattern

she will always remember
and as you saw her
across the way

looking out the window
you saw Eric the day kid
who was brought in

while his mother worked
was aggravating her
was poking her

in the back
and you saw red
and went and pushed him away

and that brought the male nurses over
and they stood between you both
and Eric glared at you

and the big nurse said
what’s going on here?
and Eric said

it’s him he pushed me
and Christine said
Eric was poking me

and Benedict was just
keeping him away
well calm down now

the fat nurse said
keep it cool
and so you and Christine

walked to another window
and peered out
at the snow

and she said
the creep
as if we haven’t enough

to cope with without  
that creep aggravating us
but thanks anyway

for keeping him away
and you said
that’s ok

he gets to me too
I’ll bop him
one of these days

when the nurses
aren’t looking
and she smiled

and said
let me know when
I wouldn’t want

to miss that
and you looked out
at the falling snow

that was settling
on the fields
and tree tops

and far off
you saw a tractor
moving over the ground

and seagulls were following behind
and she said
quite picturesque isn’t it?

Yes
you said
kind of Christmas cardy

yes
she said
taking your hand

I wonder if we’ll be
out of here before then?
and you felt kind of numb

as if maybe the whole world
had gone black
and the snow fell

and you squeezed
her hand sensing
the warm flesh

and her thumb rubbed
against yours
and behind you

the unlocking
and locking
of doors.

At the fountain
by Nelson’s Column
you met Julie
in mini skirt

and bright
red top
her hair hugged
into a ponytail

a copy of Sgt Pepper’s
under her arm
you in jeans
and open necked shirt

came across to her
standing there
looking into the fountain’s water
sorry I’m late

you said
missed my train
no problem
she said

bought my own Beatles' LP
and she held it out to you
friends say it's neat
and way out

she added
as you scanned
the sleeve
where we going?

you asked
drink I must have a drink
she said
how’s things

at the hospital?
usual stuff: treatment
drugs to get me
off drugs

therapy
psychiatrists
nurses
and so on

you?
she asked
I’m ok
you said

ok is crap
ok is boring
is mediocre
life either *****

or it’s exciting
and over the top
she said
the Square was crowded

people
and pigeons
and water
and sun

and sky
and mixture
of perfumes
and bus fumes

let’s get that drink
she said
and so you went off
to a bar off

Trafalgar Square
and ordered two drinks
and sat outside
in the sunshine

I think the fat nurse
on my ward suspects us
she said
suspects what?

you asked
you and me
and that small room
o that

you said
she took out
a cigarette pack
and took out

two cigarettes
and gave one
to you and lit
them both

think she’s jealous
or envious
Julie said smiling
free love

makes some women angry
Schopenhauer said
somewhere
that wives and ******

despise women
who give ***
away free
it undermines
their contracts

how’s Jamie?
you asked
still locked up
she said

they claim
he was supplying
but he wasn’t
they ******* him up

she inhaled
and searched
your eyes
you still playing

your saxophone?
yes
you said
I practice everyday

annoys
the neighbours
sometimes
but got to

keep up with it
and hone the skills
she sat legs crossed
her thighs exposed

her footwear bright
her fingers holding
the cigarette
the lips red

her eyes
like small mirrors
small **** pressed
against the red top

the memory
of that small room
off the ward
she and you

and brooms
and boxes
and such
and kisses

and ***
and on edge
for the door to open
but not overmuch.

From her bedroom window
Lydia could see
the grass and pigeons

and some boy
with a bow and arrow
she could hear

her mother shouting
at her father
her sister

still asleep
in the big bed behind
the tattooed arm

hanging from the bed
her mouth open
Lydia saw the boy turn

it was Benedict
his quiff of hair
an arrow in his bow

pointing downwards
he was mouthing words
and making gestures

with his free hand
she opened the window
letting in

the morning air
are you coming out?
Benedict asked

Lydia's sister
stirred in the bed
where are you going?

Lydia asked
thought I’d go
to one of the big

train stations
see the steam engines
he said

she looked back
at her sister
the blonde hair

over her face
a breast hanging
out of her nightie

which one?
she asked
he fired an arrow

at a pigeon
but it flew away
Victoria?

he said
I’ve no money
she said

he went
to pick up the arrow
stuck in the grass

he wiped mud
off the end
when are you going?

she asked
after lunch
he said

walking up
to her ground floor
window and peering in

at Lydia's sister
can you call for me?
she asked

sure
he said
will your mother

be ok about it?
last time
she almost

bit my head off
Lydia looked out
at the grass

and dandelions
growing
she'll be all right

she said
uncertain but trying
to convince him

ok
he said
I’ll call for you

he walked off
across the grass
holding his bow

and arrow
shut the blooming window
her sister said

turning over in bed
Lydia pulled down
the window

and watched
as Benedict
climbed the green

metal fence
and disappeared
from view

Lydia picked up
her sister's
***** washing

for something
(in the meantime)
to do.

We had been
to the Impressionist gallery
in Paris
been to the Tower
seen the views
had coffees
and seen street artists
and Sonya was wanting
to see an American film
at a cinema with sub-titles

I’m not keen
I said

why not?

I can see it
once back in the UK
without having to read script
on the screen
at the same time
watch the action
anyway seeing Clint Eastwood
speaking French
is off putting

she pulled a face
and went sat down
on a seat of some café
and I sat next to her

you always have to spoil things
she said
reading the menu
it's in French
she said

we're in France

so how am I to know
what to order?

point at it
and ask what it is

she looked at me
with her icy-blue eyes
she tossed back hair
from her face

I went with you
to the art gallery
she said
to see all those boring Impressionists
but you can't go with me
to see Clint

a waiter came up to us
and she asked him
if we could
have two coffees with cream
he nodded and smiled at her
and went off

he's ****

I didn't notice

had lovely eyes
dark and deep

he's a waiter and French
I said

I can imagine him
beside me in bed
breathing on me
with his breath

oniony and garlicky

she tapped my hand
jealous is what you are
she said

I don't want him
you do
I said

I didn't say I wanted him
I said I could
imagine him in my bed
she muttered

she looked around her
at the other tables

I looked at her profile
the curve of neck
the run of her jawline
her ear visible
through her blonde hair
momentarily
I felt like a vampire
wanting to sink
my teeth
into the soft flesh
of her neck
and **** her sexily

she looked back at me
you owe me
she said
having to go
to that boring art place

ok
I said
what do you want?

I want to see the film
with Clint Eastwood

ok
I said
thinking of the bed
and her
and do what I could
if she would.

You stood outside
the ABC cinema
with Helen looking
at the framed photographs

of the stills
from the film
then showing
she clutching her doll

Battered Betty
you standing there
pointing out
the main characters

my old man said
he’d take me
to see this
on Saturday

you said
Helen rocked Betty
in her arms
I hope our child

doesn’t call you
old man
she said
maybe he won’t

you replied
it might be a she
Helen said
sure it might

you said
you gave Betty a look
as she hung there
in Helen’s arms

you looked back
at the photo stills
putting your hands
in the pockets

of your jeans
maybe
you can take me
to the cinema

when we are older
Helen said
and we can sit
at the back

like those grown ups do
and kiss
you sensed her hand
touch your arm

and rub it up
and down
Betty moving
as Helen’s arm moved

sure
you said
long as I can still see
the movie

Helen handed you Betty
and you took
your hands out
of your pockets

and held her gingerly
like she might go
crap on you
and Helen put

a hand in her pocket
and pulled out
a few coins
I might have enough

here for some fries
she said
ok
you replied

and you walked
beside Helen
along the New Kent Road
to the Neptune’s fish shop

holding Battered Betty
carefully against
your cowboy shirt
the one your mother

bought you
for your birthday
the year before
Helen talked

of children’s names
and you thought
of the Wild West
and cowboy games.

It was Shlomit
who fell from the seesaw
in the park

and grazed her knee
and elbow
Baruch who

was on the other end
jumped off
and helped her up

trying to console her
patting her
on the back

as she leaned over
dabbing at
her bloodied knee

and crying said
look at the hole
in my jumper

o my God
Mum’s going to **** me
o look at my knee

Baruch took her
to the old dame
who took shelter

in the first aid place
and sorted out
minor injuries

there there
the old dame said
we’ll soon put that right

and took Shlomit in
and sat her on one
of the chairs

and got out
her first aid box
and cleaned off

the dirt and wound
with some yellow stuff
which made Shlomit

cringe and cry  
o my my
said the old dame

its hurts
but it cleans out
the baddies

Baruch watched helpless
taking in
the lopsided

hair band
on Shlomit’s head
the blood red

jumper sleeve
the grazed knee
the old dame

wiping it clean
Shlomit in tears
looking up at him

her glasses crooked
o my God
what will Daddy say?

she uttered
o he’ll understand
the old dame said

don’t think he will
Baruch thought
he isn’t that type

of guy
leather her
most probably

he mused
watching the old dame’s fingers
putting on white lint

and placing pink plasters
over the top
to keep it on

now the elbow
the dame said
pulling up

Shlomit’s jumper sleeve
the elbow was badly grazed
the hole of the jumper

stuck to the wound
take hold
of her hand

Sonny
the old dame said
this might hurt

so Baruch took hold
of Shlomit’s hand
and watched

as the old dame
cleaned up
the elbow

with the yellow liquid
and cotton wool
Shlomit’s small hand

grabbed his own
the fingers
with bitten nails

clung tight to his own
he noticed she swung
her legs back and forth

under the chair
the plastered knee
came in and out

of sight
the window brought in
and allowed to fall

upon her knees
the bright morning light.

Fay sat beside you
on the concrete stairs
of Banks House
looking out
into the Square

where young girls
played skip rope
or boys having toy guns
reenacted WW2
taking no prisoners

firing noisy cap guns
and Fay said
where shall we go?
where do you want to go?
you said

away from the noisy guns
and skip rope games
she replied
and so you both got up
and went out

into the Square
and down the *****
the morning sun
blessing your heads
she in her summery dress

of yellow and orange flowers
white socks and sandals
and you in your grey tee shirt
and jeans and battered
black shoes

and you walked up
Meadow Row
between the houses
on either side until you turned right
by the public house

and onto the bombsite
behind the greengrocer store
and there you both sat
on the remains of a wall
looking around the ruins

and wild flowers
growing between bricks
and broken concrete blocks
and Fay said
I wonder who lived here

when the bombs fell?
what did they feel?
you studied her fair hair
tied in a bow
her blue eyes

scanning the scene
the white and yellow flowers
the weedy green
scared I guess
you said

I would be
she said
my mum said
she hid under
the dining room table

with her niece
where she lived
when the bombs fell
and there was the sound
of bombs falling

and explosions
and bangs
and people calling
and children crying
you said

Fay put her arm
under yours
and squeezed it tight
and lay her head
on your shoulder

and she whispered
I’m glad we
weren’t here then
glad we were born
after the War

me too
you said
and she squeezed
your arm tightly
some more.

Sonya spoke
of Kierkegaard.
I sat enthralled,
not by the Danish philosopher

or his philosophy,
but by her,
the way she sat
outside the Parisian café,

her long blonde hair,
her blues eyes
like deep fires,
awaking

my ****** desires,
the way she waved
her slim hand.
She was eating

her second croissant.
I liked the way
she licked
her fingers after,

each one
at least twice,
as if they
were small penises

waiting in turn
to be done,
one by one.  
She sipped her coffee,

licked her lips.
I studied
her small ****,
firm and tight,

waiting to be touched
or ******.
She spoke
of Kierkgeaard's books,

of the leap of faith.
I thought of her
secret garden
waiting to be dug

and ******.
I sipped coffee,
held it on my tongue,
around my mouth,

savouring it all,
the taste,
the warmth,
the slight bitterness,

sweetness,
each in turn.
She spoke of
Fear and Trembling,

Either/Or,
The Sickness Unto Death,
and other books
he'd written,

that Kierkegaard guy,
while I sat there,
drinking her all in,
hair,

eyes,
**** and hands
and fingers
licking and *******,

while sat dreaming
of bed and her
and digging
and *******.

What did you think
of the Chagall postcard print
I bought you?
Judy asked as you both sat

outside the Fox Inn
I pinned it on my wall
you replied
and stared at it every time

I entered the room
thinking of you
she sipped her drink
her eyes searching you

her hair tied behind
in a ponytail
so I gathered
by your letters

she said
putting her glass
on the small wooden table
I missed you

you said
I went to London
while you were away
and saw you

in every girl I saw
even at the ballet
at the opera house
she looked at her glass

I was only away for a week
she said
it seemed a year
you said

you inhaled the cigarette
you were holding
taking in her hair
and eyes and how

her lips moved
as she spoke
Florence was fantastic
she said

I picked out
that Chagall print for you
in one of the art galleries
who did you go with?

you asked
friends
she replied
male or female?

both
she said
you inhaled the cigarette again
and thought of the first time

you kissed her
how the moonlight
shone on her face
as you moved her around

you mustn’t be so jealous
she said
I have to see others
who was the guy?

Henrik
she said
you imagined her
and this Henrik

making out
in some Florence hotel
his hands touching her
I thought of you

every moment
you said
that’s sad
she said

why?
you said
because no one
should think of another

that often
she sipped her drink
and looked around
at the evening sky

how was Florence?
beautiful
she said
like you

you said
I am like Shakespeare’s’ lily
she said
as it withers

she added
I see
you said
and you studied

her hands as they lifted
the glass to her lips
the fingers
the skin

the way they held
the glass
did you read my letters
when you got home?

you asked
yes
she said
every single one

my mother said
I must have besotted
some poor soul
and you thought

of the Chagall print
and how you had sniffed it
for traces of her scent  
and remembered

your mother’s words
nothing is given forever
things in this world
are only lent.

As you went by
the girl’s playground
after getting off

the school bus
Christina called to you
through the wire fence

and said
my mother said
you can come home

for lunch today
if you like
ok

you said
where shall I meet you?
Cedric will bring you along

she said
and so when
the lunch time

recess bell rang
you followed Cedric
out of the school

and saw Christina
by the outer fence waiting
are you sure

your mother doesn’t mind?
you asked
of course not

she said
Cedric walked on in front
leaving you and Christiana

to walk on behind
she talked about some girl
in her class who had a boyfriend

and claimed
to have had ***
and then she went on

about the teacher
who had been expelled
for taking pupils home

in his lunch hour
it was boys though
she added

and then you came
to her house
and she took you in

and there was her mother
in the kitchen
nice to meet you

she said
Christina has talked
about you so much

Cedric behind
his mother’s back
was making gagging gestures

with his fingers
down his throat
Christina looked at you

and smiled
nice to be here
you said

are you sure it’s all right
me coming?
of course it is

Christina’s mother said
now sit down
and I’ll serve up for us all

and so you all sat down
around the table
and Cedric looked at you

then looked down
at his knife and fork
and Christina said

glad you’re here
and she put a hand
over yours

and gave your hand
a squeeze
then removed it

when her mother
set down the plates
and then sat down herself

and you all began to eat
in an unusual silence
Christina giving you

a bright eyed stare
and Cedric looking
over your shoulder

as if you weren’t there
after lunch their mother
cleared the table

of plates and went off
and Cedric went
into the lounge

leaving you and Christina alone
what do you think?
she asked

about what?
you asked
my mother

what do you think of her?
she seems nice
you said

she gets depressed a lot
Christina said
but today

she was at her best
oh right
you said

sorry she gets depressed
come on
Christina said

I’ll show you my room
you raised your eyebrows
won’t your mother mind?

you asked
not if she doesn’t know
Christina replied

isn’t it a bit risky?
you said
yes

she said
that’s what makes life
so interesting

so you followed her
and tiptoed up the stairs
and she showed you

her bedroom
and her favourite doll
and other favourites of hers

lined along her bed
then she kissed you quickly
and then stood back

and smiled and said
best go down now
or she’ll wonder

where we are
and so that was it
and as you followed her

down the stairs
you could hear the radio
playing some classical music

and her mother
humming along
and sounding quite happy

and Christina giving you
another kiss
behind her mother’s back

and after saying thank you
to her mother
you all left

to return to school
the clouds promising rain
and so back to school

and the boring lessons
once again.

That year
in Paris

you took
Dostoyevsky’s novel

Crime and Punishment
to read when

you weren’t touring
the sites

and you became
so immersed in the book

that you became
Raskolnikov

and killed
the old woman

and her half sister
and looked about the streets

you looked for the detective
Porfiry whom you suspected

was following you about
and as you sat

in the Champs-Elysées
or stood by

the Arc de Triomphe
you thought of all

the famous
who had stayed here

in this fine city
Henry Miller

Ezra Pound
Hemmingway

Debussy
Van Gogh

and that fanatical
conqueror ******

with his sick smile
under that

silly moustache
and that evening

your brother
in the hotel room

puked in the bidet
after sour wine

or too rich food
as you looked out

the window on
the Parisian street

to see if Porfiry
was out there

waiting for you
to charge you

with the murderous crime
you didn’t do.

Skinny Kid sat
by the white metal table
on the lawn
Anne sat opposite him

her crutches
by her chair
I heard
you puked last night?

Anne said
I did
Skinny kid said
all over the blankets

and pillowcase
nice
said Anne
it was the liver

they made me eat
he said
I told them
it made me ill

but they said
it was good for me
and said
I had to eat it

serves them right
she said
Sister Bridget moaned at me
he said

O her
she's got  a face
on her
like a sufferer

of haemorrhoids
what's haemorrhoids?
he asked
painful

bulging blood vessels
hanging from the ****
she said
he tried not

to picture it
or see it
in the nun's face
feel better now though

he said
good
she replied
my mum's visiting today

he said
good for you
she said
has your mum

visited you yet?
he asked
no I think she's
making the most

of me
not being around
Anne said
it's a kind of holiday

for her
me stuck here
after my fecking leg
was chopped off

he stared
at the area
of her skirt
where no leg appeared

she saw me in the hospital
and brought me grapes
and flowers and stuff
and a bag

of odd socks
he stared
at her one leg
hanging from out

of the skirt
does it hurt?
he asked
it does at times

and I go to rub it
and it isn't there
someone's stolen
me fecking leg

Anne bellowed
to the kids
playing on the swings
and slide

on the lawn
of the nursing home
they looked over
at her

then quickly
looked away
a nun nearby
shook her head

and wagged
a finger
Skinny Kid looked
at the vacant area

of skirt again
what's the matter Kid
want to see my stump?
and she hitched up

her skirt
to reveal the stump
of her leg
and a glimpse

of blue underwear
he blushed
and looked
at his hands in his lap

never mind Kid
she said
good manners
is a load of crap.

Anne crutched her way
from the large house

onto the lawn
where you sat with your sister

and a girl called Monica
recovering from burns

can anyone sit here
or only two legged freaks?

she asked
you don’t have to be rude?

said Monica
shut your mouth Scarface

and pull me up
a ******* chair

Anne said bluntly
you mustn’t swear

Monica said
I shall tell Matron you swore

go **** a lemon
between you legs

Anne replied standing
pulling a face

Monica and your sister
got up from the small white table

and ran off towards the swings
and left you gawking at Anne

and at her flowery dress
which came to her knees

revealing space
where a leg should have been

had your look?
Anne said looking at you

sitting in the chair
sorry

you replied
just realized

you’ve only got one leg
well stop gawking

and pull me up a chair
she said

you got up
and pulled out a chair

behind her
and she sat down with a sigh

and you sat down again
still ******* hurts

even though its not there
she said giving you a stare

what happened to your leg?
you asked

it went for a walk
and never came back

she replied
pour me a glass of juice

she ordered
and you poured her

some orange juice
into a tall glass

and gave it to her
thanks for being a saint

she said and drank a gulp
of juice then put

the glass down
on the table

and you still stared
at her missing leg

when she said
want to see the stump?

And with that
she pulled up her dress

and showed her stump
and the outline

of her white underwear
you looked at her face

and flushed a little
she pushed her right hand

through her black hair
and smiled

you should be honoured
it’s not everyone

I show my stump off to
or my ******* either

she said in a Mae West
imitational voice

thank you
you muttered softly

still carrying the image
of her leg stump

and white ******* with you
as you looked away

at the sun coming over
the tall trees and gulls

flying in the blue
morning sky

and apart from the sound
of the sea there was only

her deep painful sighs
and you (imagined)

her staring
deep blue eyes.

She sat down with you
by the pond
the summer heat

and dragonflies
skimming across
the water’s skin

and the odd duck or so
setting down there
and she said

I want to have kids one day
and be a good mother
and make my kids happy

and meet their needs
and not be a moaning mum
like my own

and you looked at her
taking your eyes off
the ducks and dragonflies

and letting them rest
upon her face
and wondered how Rubens

would catch her
or maybe Renoir
and you said

I’m sure you will some day
and they’ll be lucky kids
and maybe you won’t moan

or chide too much
and then silence
as you swam over

her features
her eyes
her nose

her rose kissed cheeks
the way she sat
her elbows on her knees

the summer skirt
showing a little thigh
and she said

pointing to the water
we used to swim in there
when we were young

before mother caught us
with that Barber boy
but it was fun

and innocent
but she never saw things
that way

and then she smiled at you
and you said
wish we could go swim there

like that today
while the sun’s out
and the dragonflies

are skimming
and the ducks are here
but she just shook her head

and laughed
and ducks flew off
but dragonflies stayed

where you sat with her
by the pond
in cool of shade.

Mr Finn
was talking
history

Saxon stuff
battlements
and castles

listening
I recalled
the toy fort

that I got
for my 6th
birthday gift

with coloured
lead soldiers
some with swords

some with bows
and arrows
and after

the school day
on the way
home I asked

Janice if
she'd like to
see my fort

you've a fort?
a real fort?
she asked me

as we walked
together
along St

George's Road
it's a toy
fort I got

for my 6th
birthday gift
has it got

a drawbridge?
sure it has
and towers?

5 if you
count the one
over the

drawbridge I
informed her
I'd love to

see your fort
she said so
I took her

to the flat
where I lived
and showed her

the toy fort
and soldiers
and we sat

on the floor
and my mum
brought us drinks

of Tizer
and biscuits
and Janice

said to me
maybe you'd
like to see

my dollies
at my place
Gran likes you

then we can
have a tea
party with

my dollies
I liked her
but going

to a doll's
tea party
how could a

young boy live
that one down
if the boys

on the block
found that out
so I said

maybe one
day I might
when there's not

a moon out
in the night.

Watching the ballerina
tying her ballet shoes
preparing for Swan Lake
you remembered

that time in London
when Judy was away
for the week in Italy
and you were held

by the black dog
its teeth holding
onto your soul
going to the coffee bar

in Leicester Square
sitting there
gazing out the window
watching the people

feeling the dark mood
deepen
waiting for time
for the ballet to begin

at Covent Garden
then you are there
sitting in your seat
surrounded by others

well dressed
high talk
posh tones
and you thought

you saw Judy
in the faces
that were there
even one

of the ballerinas
seemed to be her
the same hair
the figure similar

and when the lights lowered
and darkness held you
you thought of her
beside you

her perfume
her soft voice
but some other dame
sat there some brunette

some thin *****
dressed in blue
and yellow
then the music began

the Tchaikovsky
the black dog biting
and Judy in Italy
and you stuck there

at the ballet
some other time
some other year
and you watched

as the ballerina
having tied on
her shoes
stood and prepared

and stared
as you sat
thinking back
mixing it

with that depression dog
of black.

Hannah lies
her collection of knives
on her bed
most given

by her father
-the largest
an SS knife
he took off a dead

SS man-
her mother
passing by
her open door

says
whit hae ye
those kni'es
oan yer scratcher fur?

I'm showing Benedict
my collection
Hannah replies
O heem

th' sassenach loon
Mrs Scott says
he's nice
Hannah says

and he likes knives
and guns
and he's interested
in seeing them

sae ye say
her mother says
and walks away
to the kitchen

Hannah sits
on her bed
and waits for Benedict
to arrive

she likes
the SS knife best
it has a kind
of haunting feel

about it
the door knocker bangs
gie th' duir
Hannah

it's th' loon
so Hannah goes
to the door
and Benedict

stands there
come in and see
Hannah says
so Benedict follows her

into her bedroom
here's my collection
she says
showing him

the knives spread
on her bed
he picks up a knife
or two and weighs

them in the palm
of his hand
and feels along
the blade

he picks out    
the SS knife
and says
deadly thing this

have you one?
she asks
no I have a flick knife  
my uncle gave me

he puts the SS knife
down on the bed
fine collection
he says

and they both sit
on the bed
near the knives
at the one end

Mrs Scott walks by
and stops and says
waur ye sittin'
oan th' scratcher?

just sitting and looking
at the knives
Hannah says
nae oan th' scratcher

her mother replies
Benedict looks puzzled
and Hannah says
she doesn't want us

sitting on the bed
Benedict nods his head
and says
o right

and looks at Mrs Scott
who stares at him
sternly and walks off
something I said?

he asks
no
Hannah says
she doesn't trust us

sitting on the bed
why is that?
he says
God knows

Hannah replies
hearing her mother
cursing in the kitchen
like a buzz of flies.

The sun shone bright
on the Saturday afternoon
as Helen put her doll
Battered Betty

on the bombsite rubble
off Arch Street
near the coal wharf
and sat down beside you

(crossed legged)
peering
at the bombed out ruin
of a nearby house

wonder what it felt like
being bombed?
she said
I mean

one minute
you’re trying to get
the kids to sleep
next minute

a ruddy great bomb
blasts you all
to Kingdom Come
you offered her

a sweet candy cigarette
from a blue and yellow packet
don’t know
you said

but my mum said
that when she was home
with my gran
during one bombing raid

they hid under
the kitchen table
with her baby niece Carol
Helen sat opened mouthed

her hand holding
the hand
of her battered doll
anyway

you went on
my mum’s stepfather
( her dad having died
from TB in 1936)

was under there too
but my mum said
he had his backside
sticking out

from under the table
as if
that was unbombable
Helen laughed

and so did you
bet it was horrible
to be bombed
she said

but I would have hated
being evacuated
from my mum
even for a day

she ******
on the sweet cigarette
held between *******
and stared

at the ruin
with half a roof
and two walls standing
revealing wallpaper

on the inside
of one wall
my gran said
you continued

an old couple
next to them
on hearing
the air raid siren

began to run
toward the bomb shelter
in the garden
when the old lady stopped

and the old man said
what you looking for?
my teeth she said
and he said

they’re dropping
ruddy bombs
not mince pies
Helen spluttered

into laughter
almost on choking
on the sweet cigarette
don’t

she said
I near wet myself then
and she clutched her doll
to her chest

patting its back
there there Betty
she said
it’s only a story

and you looked
at her small hand
tapping the doll’s back
the fingers tight together

love in each tap
a good mother
she’d make
you thought

with schoolboy love
looking at her profile
the thick lens
spectacles

the plaited hair
and her small hand
going tap tap
on the back

of the battered doll
in her flower skirted lap.

Carole was one
of the shortest girls
in class;
she had blonde

short cropped hair
and sat next to Miss Pretty,
and was always yakking,
always giving her opinion

on  something or other,
her voice was high
( as if someone had
grabbed her ****

Reynard said),
her eyes blue,
her compact body
(seen from behind)

was clothed in the cardigan
and skirt and blouse
of the uniform of the school.
You watched her

as she put a hand
to the side of her mouth
and whispered to Miss Pretty.
Her thin small hand

hid her mouth;
just the whispering sound
hung on the air.
Can you be quiet, Carole,

Miss Graham, the teacher said.
Reynard whispered,
fancy being married to her;
she'd wear your ears away,

with her non-stop tongue.
And looked at her backside,
imagine that lying next
to you in bed each morning,

he added.
You tried not to,
imagine that is,
not that at least,

Miss Pretty maybe,
you thought,
taking in her thin frame
beside short ***  Carole

sitting next to her.
Miss Graham put on
the Mozart LP
on the record player

and the class sat
bemused or bored,
except Miss Pretty
whose head nodded slowly,

whose foot tapped
a silent beat
and shorty Carole
whose mouth was sealed,

arms crossed,
elbows on the desk,
sat with eyes fixed
on the record player.

While Reynard muttered comments
about both the girls,
debating in whispered voice,
who had the biggest backside,

or smallest *******,
who he would least like
to kiss, while you,
wondering how long

it took for the Mozart guy
to compose the stuff,
noticing Miss Pretty's
pointing finger

conducting,
some imagined orchestra,
her long wrist moving
like a moving swan,

her head to one side,
stirring momentarily,
an odd feeling within you,
which you had to hide.

In lunch recess
you made your way
to the sports field
Reynard going on

about some girl
in class
who he said
had navy-blue underwear

saw them
when she was going up
the stairs this morning
on the way to maths

he said
the sun was out
in full blaze
and he said

you’re not off
to see that
13 year old *****
are you?

she’s a year younger
than I am
so what’s
the big deal?

you said
but what about
the kick around
with the other boys?

you saw Christina
on the grass waiting
she was sitting on
her school jumper

being too hot
to wear
girls are a downfall
Reynard said

leave them
to softer fellows
but you parted from him
and walked to where

she was sitting
you hearing
Reynard’s voice
over your shoulder

what’s a matter
with your friend?
she said
he wants me

to kick a ball about
but I’d rather
be with you
you said

let’s go for a walk then
she said
and got up
from the grass

and brushed
her grey skirt down
then took your hand
and you walked over

the grass
and she talked
of her morning
of dreary lessons

and how
that morning
her mother had ranted
about her untidy room

and the leaving
of clothes everywhere
you listened to her speak
taking in her nose

and eyes
and how
her lips moved
and her hand

was becoming damp
in yours
and you sensed
her pulse

in her wrist
and how it beat
and she talked
about her big brother

how he was always
where she was
and then
she became quiet

and as you reached
the fence that enclosed
the school grounds
you watched

the traffic pass by
like prisoners gazing
through wire
at a far bluer sky.

Lydia's father said
she could go with you
to Waterloo railway station
mind the roads though

he said(in his
sober moments
he could be quite
considerate)

and not too near
the edge
of the platform
can't have you

falling in front
of a train
so you took a bus
to Waterloo station

both sitting at the rear
of the bus
on the side seats
having paid

the conductor the fare
and sitting there
watching
the passing views

she in her pale
blue dress
her dark straight hair
pale features

thin arms and legs
you thinking
of the steam engines
the power

and the puff of smoke
grey white
and she thinking
of her big sister

coming home
in the early hours
puking in the bog
her mother giving one

hell of a loud scream
of abuse
and her father saying
O give the girl a chance

and Lydia turning over
in the double bed
dreading her sister's
arrival stinking of sick

hanging off
the side of the bed
with a bucket beside
throwing up

what was once inside
the bus arrived
and you got off
and you said

hang on to my hand
we'll cross together
and so she held
your hand

her thin bony fingers
wrapped about yours
her hand cold
thin nails chewed

got to keep an eye
on you
your old man said
you said

and you crossed
running to avoid
the rushing traffic
and once across

she said
that man next to me
on the bus
put his hand

on my thigh quickly
but then we got off
and I didn't know
what to say

she added
you should have told me
you said
she looked anxious

and bit her lip
no matter now
too late
but if you see him again

tell me
and we'll get
the ******
you said

she nodded
and so you walked
into the station
past crowds of people

and porters
pushing trolleys
of luggage or mail
by the tall copper  

with hands behind
his back
and on to the platform
and took a seat together

to watch trains
and hear the sounds
and smell the acrid
smoke and engines

come and leave
sense the overpowering
sounds of released steam
and whistles blown

and flags waved
and passengers
boardings
and disembarking

and you taking
a side view of her
sitting there
anxiety

in the features
of her face
her hair straight
and well brushed

she unaware
you gazed
and took it all in  
and she thinking

of her sister's moans
and occasional vomiting
and she hardly sleeping
and now here

watching trains
you beside her
in your short
sleeved jumper

and cowboy shirt
and jeans
and sniffing in
the smell of smoke

and steam
and listening
to the engines
start up

and sense
the thrill of power
in the huff and puff
and she for once

happy just being there
far from her sister's snores
and her brother's tease
here to be

with you and be
as she please.

By the maths block
at recess lunch time
Yiska waits for Benny
sunshine's

above her head
Benny said
to meet her here
other kids

are on the sports field
some at ball games
others sitting in groups
talking

some alone
wandering
then he comes
running up

sorry bit late
had to see Mr H
about the cross-country run
later to day

that's all right
she says
feeling relieved
that he has come

running her eyes
over him
sensing her
heartbeat quicken

where do you
want to go?
he asks
what about there

behind the maths block
no one
can see us there
ok

he says
so they walk back
by the fence
by the maths block wall

and there sit
on a low wall
and she kisses him
and he kisses her too

and he embraces her
feels her waist
her slimness
she holds him close

feeling along his spine
feeling warm
sensing her
body glow

they kiss and tongue
and with eyes closed
all seems alive
and hot

then someone bangs
on a window
of the maths block
a teacher stands there

shaking his head
and gesturing
them away
with his hand

so disappointedly
they walk along
by the fence

and out of his sight
and onto the sports field
hand in hand
she keeping

the memory
to hold
and re-dream
that night.

You're not eating properly
Eliane's mother said
you've hardly eaten a thing
Elaine who'd been thinking

of the boy John
looked up
through her glasses

at her mother
at the dining table
got to eat
her father interjected

got to eat
my young Plump Hen
her sister said nothing

but grinned
I do eat
Elaine said
but she didn't feel

like eating
it seemed the least
important thing

at that moment
her stomach felt
as if it had fallen
into a slumber

not enough
her mother said
maybe she's fallen in love

her father bantered
Elaine went red
and lowered her head
and began to nibble

at the food on her plate
nonsense
her mother said

it's some silly
slimming diet
I bet
not very successful

if it is
her younger sister said smiling
John had touched her arm

in passing at school
not by accident
but by design
he meant to touch

to bring her briefly
into his world
his circumference

she still touched
now and then
the area on her arm
he touched (at school)

with her fingers
I won't have you dieting
over some silly fad

her mother went on
but Elaine ceased listening
the words were buzzing flies
she wanted to

flick them away
with a hand
John had talked to her

not at her
or about her
(as others did)
or down to her

but with her
in a duel thing
he and she

kind of exchange
she ate slowly
the food almost
making her gag

getting stuck
in the throat
she held onto

the image of him
in her mind tried
to focus
on his outline

on his features
his words
taking each one

she could remember
and turning it over
in her mind
as if it were

a rare gem
girls your age
what are you now?

14 yes 14years old
ought not to diet
her mother said
breaking into Elaine's head

if I see you not eating again
I'm taking to the doctors
Elaine looked up

and put on
her good daughter face
that I'll do
whatever you want features

and John had placed
a hand by her head
at the school fence

his arm brushing softly
against her hair
and he never said anything
unkind about

her dark hair
or the metal grips
her mother made her wear

and her mother rattled on
but Elaine just returned
her innocent girl
stare.

Someone special Della’s
mother told her. A Downs
with a lovely smile and
bright, slightly narrow eyes.

She had waited outside
the school grounds when
her mother drove up.

Sorry I’m late, her mother
said, got caught in the traffic.

Della frowned, her tongue
sitting on her lower lip.

Man said you sent him,
Della said. What man?
Man in a car. What man
in a car? Della looked at
her mother, puzzled.

Man in the car. What did
he say? Said you sent him
to pick me up. Called me
Dearie. But I’m Della.

Her mother got out of the
car and went and knelt
down beside her daughter.

You didn’t get in the car did you?
No he drove off fast when
Mrs Penbridge came over.

He said I was Dearie, but
I’m Della. Yes, you are. Not
Dearie. No not Dearie.

He smiled at me. You mustn’t
get in to a stranger’s car
unless I tell you it’s all right.

I didn’t get in. Good. He
drove off, Della said, lowering
her eyes to her new shoes.

He smiled. Yes, but that
doesn’t mean he was nice.

He seemed nice. Yes, but
men like that aren’t. Why?
Della looked at her mother.

Because he may have hurt you.
Why would he hurt me, I’m
special. Yes, you are special.

You are angry with me. No,
not with you. You’ve got
your angry voice. Not with
you. Seems angry with me.

Not you, the man. Why are
you angry with the man?
Because he may have taken
you away from me. Della
looked at her mother’s hair,
newly done. Where? Where
would he have taken me?

Away from me. Why?
Because he’s bad. Her
mother held Della to her
tightly. He didn’t look bad,
he had a nice smile. Nice
car, too. Blue. Nice blue.
Like a summer sky blue.

Never get in a stranger’s car.
Never. You are angry. Not
with you. Sounds angry.

But not with you. Not
with me? No, you are
special. Special. Yes.

Very special? Yes, very
special. Not to get in a
stranger’s car? No. Not in
a stranger’s car. I got in
your friend’s car the other day.

What friend? The man who
brings your groceries and
you and he talk and he makes
you laugh. Her mother stared.

When did you get in his car?
The other day. Why did you
get in his car? He said, you said.
Did he drive off with you? Yes.
The mother held Della out in
front of her. Where to? We
went to look at the ducks in
the pond. Why did you get
in the car? He said, you said.

But I didn’t tell him that.
He said, you said. Did he
touch you? Touch me? Did
he touch you anywhere?

He held my hand to go to
the ducks. Anywhere else?
He said I was special. You
are. Did he touch you anywhere?  
My hand. Anywhere else?

No. Just my hand to feed
the ducks. What happened
after you saw the ducks?

He said I was special. Where
did he drive you? I thought
Mrs Rice was going to pick
you up that day? I went
with your friend. Did he
touch you? He held my hand.

Anywhere else? Della shook
her head. He said I was pretty
and had nice legs. Her mother’s
heart thumped. Am I pretty?
Yes you are, but he shouldn’t
have said so. Why not? He
didn’t mean it nicely. Why?

Because he shouldn’t tell
you that. Why? Because he’s
no right to say you’re pretty.

You say I’m pretty. I love you.
He said I was pretty and had
nice legs. Did he touch your legs?
No he just looked at them.
Nice legs he said and nice eyes.

Have I got nice legs and eyes?
Yes you have but he shouldn’t
say so. You’re angry again.
Not with you. Seems like me.

It’s not. Seems like. I’m not.
Seems like. Never get in his
car again. Della looked at
the sky. I won’t. It looked like rain.

London Zoo?
Janice's gran said
when I told her
that Janice could come
to London Zoo with us

Yes
I said
Mum said to ask you  

her gran looked at me
then at Janice

best come in Benedict
and we can talk it over
London Zoo
she said to herself
as much to Janice and me

Janice was by
the front door
her eyes bright
as the sun
on a dew leaf
her mouth
slightly ajar

take a seat
for a moment Benedict
Gran said

gosh
Janice said
that'd be good
I've not been
to London Zoo before
well I did go
to that zoo on holiday
but it was ever so small
and never had
big animals in it
did it Gran?

Her gran sat down
on an armchair
and said
no it didn't
you are right Janice
it was too small
but London Zoo
now there is
a zoo
she said

Janice sat down
next to me
her hands together
as if she was praying
that her gran
would agree
and not find
a reason for her
not to go

how much
would it cost?
her gran asked

no idea
Mum didn't say
she just said
asked Janice's gran
if she could go

I see
said her gran
looking at me
with her eyes
but they were her
kind eyes
not the eyes
she wore sometimes
if she was angry
with Janice
over something

when are you going?
she asked

Sunday week
I said

she looked at Janice
with her eyes
and Janice looked back
with her eyes
almost pleading

after church?
Gran asked

o yes after church
I said
not saying
that I didn't go
to church often
on a Sunday
certainly not
with my old man  
and now and again
if my mother
wasn't too tired

who's going
with you?
her gran asked

I told her
my mother
and sister
and brother
and maybe
my old man

she nodded her head
a strand of hair
came loose
from her bun of hair
and her eyes
looked at Janice

well if Janice
has been good
up until then
I don't see why not
her gran said

o good
Janice said

I smiled and said
I'll tell Mum
your answer

but on the provider
that Janice has been good
Gran said
with a shake
of her grey haired head.

Kissing
just

that small area
of your naked

shoulder,
my lips

just touching,
brushing,

your skin warm,
smooth,

my moustache
tickling

you to laughter,
settled you

to ease
for *** after.

You made your way down
to the gas station
for your third day of work
in the heaviest fall of snow

since the year you were born
15 years before
and Mr. Fredericks was there
limping about the forecourt

around the pumps
with a big broom
brushing away snow
hey

he said
right you can try sweep
off the snow about the pumps
make it easy

for the customers
to get in and out
their cars and trucks
and handed you the broom

I’ll be upstairs
if you need me
just press the bell
under the desk

in the kiosk
at the front
and off he went
limping inside

snow still fell
there was a cold chill
about your limbs
your fingers ached

you pushed broom
shoved snow off
about the pumps
until all

were temporarily clear
then went inside
just as Miss Billings
rode along side

of the gas station
on her motorbike
then walked up
to the kiosk

where you’d taken refuge
you the new kid?
she asked
you nodded

I’m Miss Billings
she said
I work here too
in the back office

doing accounts
help out in the forecourt
if needed or the shop
in back if you’re overrun

she stood there
in her glasses
blonde hair covered
by a scarf

a black leather jacket
zipped to the neck
and helmet in one hand
white overalls coming down

to her knees
followed down
to her ankles
were red wool stockings

and white boots
on her feet
she stared at you
her eyes scrutinizing

the customer
is always right
did Mr Fredericks
tell you that?

yes
you said
well he’s right
so don’t matter

if the customer’s thick as ****
or **** stupid
they’re always right ok
so be tight Kid

tight as *****
in the *******
in a freezing shower
get it right

you nodded
and she walked in
and disappeared
into the back office

with a slow sway
of her of hips
her words
like chisel blows

to your ears
she about 21
to your 15
innocent

boyish years
she seeping
into your imagination
not knowing then

that her beauty
was probably
some marine’s image
for secret *******.

His uncle **** asked Benedict
if he would mow the lawn
of the old lady at the cottage,
which he did, then clean out
the cowsheds at the farm,
which he did, then take some eggs
to the local shop, which he did.

It was a hot day, he felt a thirst
so went to pub called the Battleaxe
and ordered a pint and sat and drank
it slow outside in the sun. He thought
of the clarinet he'd brought with him,
the jazz he played in the front lounge,
which his aunt Eileen said was very good.

Do you still have and play your accordion?
he asked her. No, she said not now;
I've not played for years. He remembered
her playing and singing Goodnight Irene
on it when he had stayed as a kid.

Long ago now, he thought, finishing his pint.
He also mused on his recent visited
to see the MJQ in the City and afterwards
he met the band on the coach at the back.
Asked questions, got autographs.

Then another visit to the City with his
two cousins to watch them do their martial arts
and afterwards showed them judo moves
he and his friends had done a few years before.

He took his empty glass to the counter
of the pub and walked out in the sunshine
wondering what his uncle **** would have
lined up for him next. There was talk of
digging trenches in the churchyard some
evening to lay pipes to the church and there
was that mowing of the grass he'd been
shown the other day. Yes, he'd do that now,
he thought, while the sun was out, the grass dry.

The mower was in a shed at the back, one
of those modern jobs, less work, less elbow grease,
less sweat. But also, those peas to pick
and shuck for his aunt. He wasn't done with his
chores for his keep, for six weeks, least not yet.

I am the rubber of the rosary,
said Sister Paul, my finger and
thumb move over the beads like
a humble worm, I utter prayers

like a hissing snake, my breath
rising in the air like a frightened
bird. The silence enfolds me like
my lover’s arms, its peacefulness

kisses my ears like my lover’s lips,
the touch of the thick silence my
lover’s fingertips. His breath breathes
upon my neck, His requests utter

In my ears, His love echoes through
my being. The darkness embraces
me like a black cloth, my eyes see
shadows in nightly prayers, my sight

fails me with its tired eyes, the late
nights, the on knees prayers, the
going up and down the stairs to
and from the chilling chapel. I am

a denier of self, my self denial is
my weapon against the selfish I,
my way of keeping the ego in its
place, the surging wanter of wants

kept check, each fight for self denial
takes its toll, the selfish I wants its
revenge, seeks its way through my
daily walks, my day to day talks,

the moment of eating, drinking,
sleeping, the dreaming nights.
My lover comes at my least request,
His eyes see me in the darkness’s

hold, His fingers find me and release
my bonds, His words echo through
the blackest night, His love warmer
than the sun’s kiss, His nearness

closer than air to lungs, than stars
to sky. My Lover comes, my prayers
are heard, my soul is lifted up, my
finger and thumb push round the black

beads, He is there, noting each whispered
prayer, he lays me upon my bed, rests
me down, His holy lips healing my soul,
granting peace to my all too human head.

You walked back
from the shops
through the Square
having shopped

for your mother
Helen beside you
helping to carry
the heavy bags

her doll Battered Betty
in her free hand
Helen dressed
in her dark blue raincoat

and hood
her thick lens spectacles
smeared by the light rain
her brown shoes

letting in water
you in your black raincoat
buttoned up to the neck
your black shoes

treading through puddles
you climbed the stairs
to your flat
on the fourth floor

and along the balcony
and went in
through the front door
and put the shopping bags

on the kitchen floor
you look like drowned rats
your mother said
best get out

of those wet coats
or you'll catch your deaths
and so you took off
the raincoats

and she gave you
a towel each
to dry off
in front

of the living room fire
Helen took off
her spectacles
and wiped them

on the hem
of her green flowered dress
I must look a mess
she said

the boys at school
call me Dracula's sister
they can say what they like
you said

to me you're my Maid Marian
to my Robin Hood
besides they couldn't
understand beauty

if it crept up
and pinch their bums
she laughed
and wiped

her frizzy
dark brown hair
on the white towel
you dried your hair

and face
and took in
her lost girl look
her spectacles

on the dinning room table
her hair
all over the place
her squinting eyes

I can take you
to the cinema
if you like
this afternoon

you said
there's a Cavalier
and Roundheads film on
with plenty of sword fights

I'll have to ask my mum
Helen said
I expect she'll say yes
especially if I'm going

with you
I think she'd trying
to me marry me off with you
even if we're only 8

she rubbed her hair quickly
then put the towel
on the chair with yours
Battered Betty her doll

was sitting on the floor
by the fire place
looking sorry for herself
Helen picked the doll up

in her arms
and you both looked
out the window
at the coal wharf

across the road
and the lorries
and horse drawn coal carts
coming and going

when we're married
Helen said
we can live in a castle
and look out

from the battlements
over the countryside
and I can have pretty girls
and you can train our sons

to be knights
yes
you said
and ride horses

and have sword fights
with the bad knights
and you showed her
the blue bladed sword

your old man made for you
at his workplace
and you showed her
your sword fighting skills  

afterwards she said
I best get home
or mum will wonder
where I've got to

ok
you said
let me know
if you can go

to the cinema
and tell your mum
I've got the money
for tickets

and an ice cream
ok
she said
and put on her

still damp raincoat
and kissed
your cheek wetly
and went out and off

along the balcony
and down the stairs
(the rain had stopped)
and you watched her go

through the Square
and down the *****
and out of sight
she your Maid Marian

you
her shining knight.

She saw the kids on the slide,
each with their own
burden to bear:
burn scars,

post operative
patients,
cancer victims
counting the last days

on their thin fingers,
a kid with an eye gone,
lid sewn.  
And she, Anne,

amputee, bad
tempered *****,
12 year old,
big bosomed,

fine of remaining limb,
scanning the rest,
seated
in the wheel chair,

Skinny Kid behind,
hands on the handles,
warm breath
on her neck.

She was bored,
sun too bright,
kids too noisy,
nurse ****-arsing

near by,
taking temperatures,
changing wound
bandages, crouched

to see eye to eye,
thighs showing
stocking tops.
Hey, Kid,

she said,
get a peek at that,
indicating the thighs
and stocking tops

on view.
The Kid, thin arms
and legs, short hair,
11 year old, stared,

took in stocking legs,
black, warming,
looked away.
Don't get to see

that every day,
Kid, unless
you're their old man
or fond lover,

Anne said,
grinning ear to ear.
Skinny Kid,
stood, loyal,

whispered into
her neck,
want me to push you
to the beach?

sure, Kid,
get me
from these wounded ones,
these dying doomed,

let me smell
the salt and sea,
let me hear
the sea's song.

So the Kid, pushed
the chair, arms
out stretched,
over lawn,

down path,
she singing,
rude lyrics,  
her one remaining leg

rocking
to the chairs' move,
the stump, showing
where her skirt ended,

shook and rocked.  
Out the back gate,
onto the path
by the beach,

out of the nurse's sight,
or sound of voice's reach.
She thinking
of the Kid's

loyal touch,
his heaving her
from chair to bed,
the night before,

his thin arms
clutching tight
in case she fell,
the warm bed

embracing,
holding her down,
he standing there,
gazing at her

bare stump
with that innocent
stare.
He thinking,

as he pushed along,
how red
her stump was
the night before,

how the thigh
of her other leg
was white as snow
compared,

going red
as he stared.

And Jane held the butterfly
in the palms of her hands
gently opening up
a mere gap
so that you could glimpse it

it tickles
she said
and she laughed
and that aspect of her

thrilled you
the way she held
her head to one side
her eyes in wonderment

of the captured butterfly
her soft hands
as if she were caressing
the head of a first born

see?
she said
see its beautiful colouring
and you glimpsed

the bright colours
it's a Peacock butterfly
she said
and she stood there

on the narrow road
to Diddling Church
in the grey dress
with yellow flowers

and the muddy shoes
and white socks
her hands opening
and you both watched

as the butterfly
fluttered off
across the hedgerow
out of sight

one of God's treasures
my father calls them
she said
still gazing where

the butterfly had been
a butterfly was a butterfly
to you
fresh from London

unused to the country fare
the clean air
the wide expanse of space
did you see many

butterflies in London?
she asked
guess so
you said

can't say I paid them
much mind
you are funny
she said

all this beauty
and it doesn't strike you?  
you stared at her
standing there

her eyes wide open
her hands gesturing
as if to include
all about her

her dark hair
neatly brushed
her dark eyes
focusing on you

getting to me
each time I'm with you
and you explain things
you said

she smiled
and o that
really held you
in a sway that smile

that spread of lips
come on
she said
let's go look

at the gravestones
in the church yard
and so you followed her
up the narrow road

feeling the warm sun
of the Saturday afternoon
wanting to hold her hand
feel her fingers

in yours
sense the smoothness
feel her pulse of life
and you entered

through the wooden gate
along the stones
which made a path
the tombstones

high and low
chiselled names and dates
she stood by the church wall
and stared at the

beyond the hedge
you stood next to her
and touched her hand
with yours

your fingers touching
warm
soft
and she looked at you

and said
you can kiss me
if you like
and stood there waiting

and you unsure
wanting to but shy
not wanting
to mess things

or get it wrong
but you kissed her cheek
and then her lips
holding her

feeling her arms
about you
and you sensed
her waist slim

your fingers touching
and lips to lips
o God
you mused

confused
moved apart
she smiling
you uncertain

and she said
my mother likes you
says you're different
from the local boys

something that sets
you apart
you frowned
and said

am I?
kiss good
she said
not greedy

or too passionate
or too sensuous
but like holding
that butterfly just now

something tickled
inside me
she said
you gazed

into her dark eyes
as a Peacock
butterfly
fluttered overhead.

Ariadne
liked her *** best

on an armchair
or the sofa

with her lover
Bernice, in charge

of the *** games,
especially

those involving
sweat cream being

slowly licked off
of her body,

or a warm tongue
moving between

her naked thighs,
which, through pleasure

over again,
brought the warm tears

to her dark eyes.
And in moments

reflecting back
to her childhood

and her father's
cruel sadistic

abusive ways,
she wondered how

over the years,
she kept intact

inside her mind
and injured heart

and tortured skin,
the deep seated

capacity
to allow love

not to be spoilt,
or the places

he had tainted,
to be tabooed

to her lover,
especially

when she slowly
slides her finger

along her spine
or between legs

satisfying
her paradise,

her pudendum,
as her lover,

laughing, calls it.
But most of all,

despite the past
of abusive

hurts and foul touch,
she still has that

ability
to overcome

the dark years,
to love her hot

lover, Bernice,
that **** *****,

all too human,
and all too much.

The psychiatrist looks young
he seems Italian
she sits opposite
looking at his eyebrows

thick
but not too much so
and his lips opening
and closing as he speaks

but she isn’t listening
she’s wondering
if he’s married
where about he lives

what size his house is
how he looks undressed
he leans forward
his words slower now

as if he thinks her
imbecilic or maybe deaf
he emphasizes his words
his Italian accent

coming through
o what wonderful eyes
what flesh
his 9.0’clock shadow

gives a blue tinged
to his skin
he gestures with hands
opening them outward

like some trader
selling her something dodgy
she can smell his aftershave
it invades her nose

makes her nerves tingle
her knees touch
she lets them spread
beneath the desk

to the limits
her nightdress allows
he sits back in his chair
his words back

to fast speed
over her head
his gestures
are by fingers now

pointing and twirling
his eyes dark
intense like Nietzsche’s
she thinks

she leans forward
air pushing
between her thighs
as she spreads

her legs
as much as possible
under his desk
life’s one big adventure

she thinks
one big dare
she puts her elbows
on his desktop

wearing no underwear
but he doesn’t know
it doesn’t show
but if it did

what then?
what would he say or do?
the window is open
the sky a bright blue.