Sophia was out of luck
if she thought Benedict
was going to fall for that
that mid morning ****

and on
old Mr Atkinson's bed
(how he liked
his Wagner)

creeping up
on him like that
grabbing him
around the waist

and pushing him
to the bed
and saying
O come on

just a quickie for me
(Polish accent
not shown here)
no no

he said
not here and now
I’ve jobs to do
baths to attend to

old men
to get ready
and she lay over him
spread out on him

her bulging *******
kind of pinning him down
but it is my birthday
she said

it is good to do
the unexpected
now and then
her breath smelt

of peppermint
her body
eased on him deeper
he kept his hands

away from her
at his sides
best he could
all temptations

held in check
you can do
what you like
she said

good then
let me go
and I’ll go run
some baths

he said
anyway
it's near morning
coffee break

I need my fill
of coffee
you could take me here
she said

from the front or rear
no no
he said
trying to get off

the bed
his hands attempting
to push her off
touching her body

soft and supple
her breast touched
accidentally
what if I scream out

and say you tried
to have me?
she said
go ahead

he said
they know me
they know
you're always after me

I’ll say you tried
to have me here
on Mr Atkinson's bed
they believe me

she said
I'm the female
go ahead then
scream off your head

he said
but she moved off of him
and arranged
her clothes tidily

pushed her hair
into shape
and said
I’ll have you next time

Benny boy
next time
we have it quick
and on some other bed

and he rearranged
his shirt and tie
and watched
as she walked off

down the passageway
her fine behind
giving it
that **** sway.

The old monk
with Parkinson’s disease,
bug eyed

through thick lenses
spectacles,
his fingers

shaking the host,
is unable to find
the tongue

in sick monk’s
static mouth.
I weeded

the cloister Garth
flower bed,
back aching,

God
at my young
bent shoulder.

The youngest monk,
squat and black robed,
holds the ewer,

while the abbot
holds between
knobbly fingers,

the aspergillum,
to bless the monks
in the choir stalls,

after Compline,
before
the Angelus calls.

Miss Pinkie
(she dropped the Mrs
when the divorce
came through)

liked to put on
Mahler’s 1st symphony
when he came around
and he brought

the bottle of scotch
and when she let him in
she said
ah Professor

you have brought
the *****
I shall slip into something
more comfortable later

and she closed the door
behind him
and followed him
up the passage

her flip-flops
flapping behind him
like some penguin
and already he could hear

the opening bars
of the Mahler
as he entered the lounge
and smelt her perfume

and she took the bottle
and he said
I’ve selected the poems
for my first book

and she said
from the kitchen
o good
you’ll have to let me

read them before you
send them off
sure
he replied

sitting on her sofa
remembering where
he’d made love last time
and how he almost

fell off the sofa
but clung onto
her ample flesh in time
and how she laughed

and said
man overboard
throw him a lifebuoy
and as she came

with two glasses of the *****
and set them down
on the table
she sat down next to him

and kissed his cheek
and said
thanks for the *****
and for coming

and hey loosen that collar
this is no funeral
and her fingers undid
his shirt collar

down half way
and she rubbed his chest
and hairs
isn’t that better?

sure
he said
and leaned forward
and sipped the *****

already Pete in the pants
was stirring
and she said
I like this Mahler piece

it does things to me
and he listened
to the trumpets
and violins and those cellos

and sipped again
and her eyes widened
and her lips
came down on him

and he lay back
on the sofa overwhelmed
and like a drowning man
opened wide his arms

and waved
but none came
to rescue
no lifeboats set out

no one in sight
just him and Miss Pinkie
and Mahler
and the long hot night.

The road up from the farm
the smell of cattle
the sound of them
calling across the fields

and you and Jane
having helped
weigh milk
and feed the cows

took a steady walk
up towards the Downs
the sky blue
the clouds white

the trees
above your heads
crows and rooks
calling downwards

you are doing well
Jane said
for a London boy
anyone would have thought

you've been a country boy
all your life
you smiled
well I just get stuck in

you said
when you haven't got
any cinemas or shops
near by you have to find

some way
to occupy your brain
I've even taken up
bird watching

with a cheap book
I picked up in town
when the bus
took us there last week

she looked happy
her dark eyes
lit up by
the sunlight

her dark hair
well brushed
reflected
the light of sun

she wore that blue dress
with the solitary flower
(the one her gran
had bought)

you liked the way
she walked beside you
the calm manner
as if she'd known you

all her life
I heard you got in a fight
at school on your first day
she said out of the blue

yes
you said
in the greenhouse
with Nigel

he said he didn't like Londoners
and I said too bad
he pushed me
and I socked him

and there it was
but you're friends now?
she asked
o yes after that

we got along ok
you said
what didn't he like
about Londoners?

she asked
he said his parents
said Londoners smelt
and had fleas

and so forth
she frowned  
where did they get
that idea?

they had evacuees
during the War apparently
you said
you reached the hollow tree

by the side
of the track
up the Downs
and entered in

and sat on the ledge
this she called
her secret hideout
few people know it's here

she said
I used to come here
and sit and think
she added

you thought
of the last time
you'd come here
it had rained

and you had run in
out of the downpour
and she had kissed you
and then sat back

surprised by what
she had done
and you both sat there
in silence

until she spoke casually
about the church nearby
and how small it was
and how you both must

go there sometime
there was no rain this time
she sat there
next to you

looking at you uncertain
can I kiss you?
you asked
she looked away

and downwards
then nodded
and lifted her face to you
your lips touched

and you kissed
it was a long kiss
eyes closed
hands touching

bodies near
then you both
broke away
we mustn't tell anyone

she said
we're only 13
and they wouldn't understand
of course not

you said
my lips are sealed
she smelt of apples
her eyes

were searching you
her hand
still touched yours
I'll show you

where the sheep wool
gets stuck
on the barbed wire
at the top

she said
and so you climbed
out the hollow tree
back on the dry

mud track
the rooks above you
the sunlight
on your back.

You entered the bar
at the base camp
outside Tangiers

the morning sun was out
like a fresh orange
on a blue plate of sky

some old Moroccan
was in a corner
playing a guitar

your mouth felt like
the inside
of an Arab’s sandal

Mamie was sitting
at the bar
on a wonky stool

you woke up then?
she said
after last night
thought you’d be out
for the count all day

no I can take
a good night out
you replied
taking the stool
next to her
and breathing in
the hashish air
and smell of salt
from the beach

the guy behind the bar
asked what you wanted
and you said
*** and coke
and a salad roll
and he went off

and you looked at Mamie
her tight curls
and snub nose
and interesting
fall into me
eyes

what time
did you leave my tent
last night?
you asked

when your tent companion
turned up and almost
got on top of me

ah yes
sorry about that
Will does tend to come
at awkward times
I think he went off
to a trip to Marrakesh
in the yellow
ex army truck

almost crushed me
she said

good while it lasted
then eh?

no it wasn’t
she said
besides you
were out for the count
after we did things

was I?

you know you were

don’t recall a thing
you said

thank you Mr. Romantic
she moaned

o come on Sweet thing
you know it
meant a lot to me
having you near

she looked at
the old Moroccan
playing the guitar
I am glad
he doesn’t sing too
she said

she sipped her Bacardi
and sat silent

the guy brought
your *** and coke
and salad roll
and you began
to eat and sip

can I have some
of your roll?
she asked

sure
you said
and broke off
half of the roll
and gave it to her

thanks
she said and smiled

you felt her knee
touch yours at the bar
naked flesh
on jean cloth
her jean shorts
ended
at her high thigh

you remembered kissing
that thigh
the night before
amongst other things

the smell of her perfume
and the mustiness
of the tent
the faraway voices
and guitar sounds

some party
at the beach
the night before

hoping no scorpion
had crept in
during the day

feeling her
beneath you
and the sound of sea
far off
and sight
of moon’s glow
through tent’s skin

some one sang
another laughed
some one puked up
away off
too much to drink

but you and Mamie
had a good night
you mused
I think.

We'd got half way up
the Downs she talking
of certain flowers and
butterflies that had

passed us fluttering by
and we rested by the
large hollow tree and
she said shall we go

inside it's large enough
for us and more? I said
ok and we did we climbed
inside the big hollow

tree and it was like a
largish room a hole in
the side of the tree acted
as  a door and a small hole

acted as a window nature's
little lodgings she said and  
we sat back on the inner
parts of the tree and there

was a little ledge like a seat
for  two and we sat there
and she said I think it's
lovely this yes it is I said

-and was glad Lizbeth never
knew of this or she'd have
drawn me in and wanted
somehow to have said

about having ***- Jane
was content to just be there
sharing a bit of nature and
being with me and she said

Daddy showed me this
when I was little and I was
amazed and thought fairies
came here and hollowed it

out I smiled and thought
Lizbeth would never have
thought that and I doubted
her father would have bothered

to show her anything makes
it so homely Jane said fancy
living here and coming back
here after a day's work and

having no place to wash or
bath and she laughed and I
loved that aspect of her that
innocence that being part of

what was natural and I wanted
to kiss her and hug her but I
didn't we just sat there sharing
the hollow tree just Jane and me.

He used to deliver
Groceries to Mrs
Ushmore as a kid and

She’d say, bring it into
The kitchen, Henry, and
Put it down on the side,

Why, you must be thirsty
After carrying that
Heavy load to my door,

And he’d go in with the
Groceries and lay them
Down where she had shown him

And looked around the place
Trying hard to avoid
Looking at young Mrs

Ushmore who was dressed in
The skimpiest of things
And pretended to be

Looking around at the
Shelves and gas cooker and
Out the large window.

What are you having, she
Asked, Coke? Yeah, that’ll be
Fine, he replied, looking

Over her shoulder at
The wallpaper of bright
Yellow flowers. Have you

Seen my *****? She asked.
Miss Glissy, I call her.
Henry shook his head and

Looked briefly at her. No,
He replied, getting a
Quick glimpse of her *******,

Fighting to escape from
The black bra. Here, she said,
Have a Coke and don’t go

Rushing it now, don’t want
You to get the hiccups
And have your mother come

Over here telling me
Off. No, I won’t, he said,
Sipping the Coke, tasting

Each mouthful, letting it
Rest on his tongue. I love
My *****, she said, but

My husband, Clive, he has
Little to do with her,
Says she’s nothing to be

Too fussed about. Henry
Swallowed the small mouthful.
His eyes settled like small

Butterflies on her thighs,
Focussing where her black
Suspenders met the brown

Stockings and the skin stretched
Out there like nothing he’d
Seen before, not even

Amy Shortdove, showed him
That much for her two dimes.
Would you like to stroke Miss

Glissy? She asked, giving
Henry a wide-eyed stare.
No, I better be off,

Henry said gulping down
The last remaining Coke.
Mr Ashton don’t like

Me hanging around and
I’ve loads more to do and
Maybe another time,

Mrs Ushmore, I can
Stroke your *****. Sure, she
Said smiling, I’m sure she’d

Like that. Henry rode his
Bike away not looking
Back, not letting her see

He was interested,
Not letting her think he’d
Ever stroke Miss Glissy

In a thousand years let
Alone days or weeks,
And he never did see

Or stroke Mrs Ushmore’s
*****, but he often
Dreamed he did and enjoyed

The dream, with him and Miss
Glissy purring and both
Of them licking the cream.

Her seventh suicide,
attempts failed, saved,
the last by that medic
with the beard like Christ.

Thin sharp blade
against forearm,
the fingers shaking,
the eyes focused,
the voice of some French singer
in the background,
the red line,
the spurt of blood,
the walls, the bath,
splattered.

Seventh time lucky,
the water warm,
the water reddening,
the body becoming cold,
tired
she closes
her eyes,
is this how one dies?

Mother’s demise
with the cancerous crab
******* into her brain
and ******* up to pain.

She thinks on,
the French song
on the hifi
low, darkening.

That medic
brought her back
last time,
like some Lazarus,
back from the dark,
the unknown light,
the long night.

Seventh suicide,
attempts made,
unsuccessful,
buggered up,
teetering on the edge,
that time balanced
on the high office ledge
and that cop
with the Al Pacino look,
talked her in,
failed again.

Outside another day,
sound of pitter patter,
sound of rain.

Sister Pius can still sense the taste of coffee on her tongue from breakfast with the slice of brown bread with a thin spread of butter as she turns over the page of the book on contemplation written by some unknown Carthusian nun the words momentarily failing to reach her the message left on the page the thought of the next meal already making her mouth moisten and the smell of fresh made coffee tempting her nose bringing to mind the first time she had come to the convent as a guest and young girl full of enthusiasm for the idea of being a nun much to her parent’s disquiet especially her mother who had wanted and been looking forward to grandchildren even though Eve as she was then had never been interested in boys or that side of things but her mother had said that would come she would find Mr Right and that side of things would come naturally implying Sister Pius muses now that being a nun was unnatural against nature and only the oddities in the world would want to be shut away from the world and men and their families and the prospect of marrying and having children and there had been the rows and the tempers frayed and the words said in haste and even on the day she entered her mother had not come around to the idea even if her father had accepted the fait accompli rather grudgingly and in all the years she had been in the convent her parents had not written once not a word just the one visit her father made looking at her as they spoke as if she had grown another head or caught a dreadful disease and had said her mother couldn’t bring herself to visit the place her daughter had died in and those words hurt the way her father had just come out with them the place her daughter had died in and yet she had her secrets too the things she had never told her parents especially her mother never mentioned once that her Uncle Randolph her mother’s brother had molested her one summer while she was staying with him and Aunt Grace while her parents were off on some tour of Europe and as she places her hand on the page of the book in front of her she can still feel his hands on her still sense his breath on her that smell of beer and tobacco and the roughness of his unshaven face as she leaned over her and as the memory returns again she closes the book with a small slam and the echo of it fills the room disturbs a paper on the table in front of her and the memory still fresh the deeds done so imbedded deeply that she doesn’t think it will ever go that it will ever leave and she had not said a word about that summer to anyone not even her mother not even to make a point about what men could do even those who were supposed to be close to you and yet she never did never said one word about him and the things he had done and taking a deep sigh she gets up from the chair and walks to the window looking down on the cloister garth and the mulberry tree that is now full of fruit and can see birds in the branches and a nun walking along the cloister ready to pull the bell for the office of Prime and even now she dislikes the smell of apples the smell of them cooking or the smell of apples being stored because apples she associates with him and the place he took her and the things he did and it was apples she could smell as he touched her and interfered with her and the scent of apples in the air as he leaned over her and looking down again into the cloister the nun has gone and the early morning sun is coming over the cloister wall and the bell is being tolled for Prime and making the sign of the cross she pushes the memory of him and his deeds and that summer back into the depths of her mind closes the door on it in the room in her brain’s memory cells and looking up at the Crucified on the wall above her bed with the features of the Christ battered by time and its hands she nods her head and looks away taking in her mind the image of Him and perhaps a sense of peace and the fact that she is a bride after all a bride of Christ married to one who would not ****** or hurt or say cruel words or betray and where no smell of apples will spoil her day.

Chana, having made love
with young Baruch, went
to get more wine. Did she
need to get another? She

thought, she was old enough
to be his mother. The LP of
Bruckner he had brought
still played on the hifi; she

preferred Mahler’s fifth.
The kitchen light had a
mellow glow. She poured
more wine into the two

glasses and returned to
the bed. He was laid there
like some young prince,
proud and youthful, head

full of ideas, morals gone
to the wind, seemed happy
to have had her and sinned.
She put down the glasses

and climbed into bed. Him
and his Marxism, she thought
as he talked of Das Kapital.
She placed her hand on his

pecker, life enough yet,
stirred, moved. She could
smell the *** in him; the stir
of a young stallion. Her long

ago husband was never like
this even in his youth; she
was well rid of him, him and
those airhostesses, those

whom he said he had quite oft
and where. She smiled at young
Buruch lying there wine in hand
talking of a revolution that would

never come, his pecker stirring,
his words becoming slurred with
the taking of wine. That first time
he had her on the sofa; oh, that

took her back some. He drained
his glass, put on the side. He was
young enough to be her son, she
mused, watching him stir and

prepare, her young stallion with
hazel eyes and dark brown hair.

Moldriss studies the woman opposite,
He wants to lay his head in her lap and
Sniff her femininity, sense any sweetness
Of virginity. He can picture his head there

Lying without motion, closing the eyes,
Warming into her thighs. She sits up
And stares out of the window; her blonde
Haired head turning away, her hands

Folding in her lap. Maybe those hands
Could finger his ears as he lay in her lap,
Could lean her lips to his cheek and kiss.
He wants always to remember her there,

Her lap so inviting, just waiting there, her
Hands resting like small guards to her palace
Of joy and birth. She turns forward and
Looks at him, her eyes a pale blue, her lips

Parted slightly, her hand lifts to brush hair
From her eyes, and he wanting to lay his
Head in her lap, on thighs, imagining *******
Her nightly. She looks away shyly, watching

Trees and fields passing by the train window;
Maybe she senses his head in her lap, his
Nose sniffing out her femininity like some pig
Sniffing for truffles, his eyes closing, his ear

Waiting to be fingered by her small hand,
And he just laying there in his dream like
Some sad prophet in a once promised land.

The old priest sat
in the dark of the
confessional. A girl
had entered on the
other side and knelt.

A rustle of clothing,
breathing, a cough.
He was prepared for
the list of sins, the
the soft voice verbal

sprouting, the usual
schoolgirl misdemeanours.
Yes my child? He said.
Mary on the other
side stared at the grille,

tried to make out which
was the priest. Bless me
Father she began, then
the list ran. The priest
placed his hands over

his ears. The list was long,
indelicate, touching on
the obscene. He fumbled
with his beads, tried to
make out the voice,

the owner, which girl?
He thought, peering into
the grille, his eyes searching
through the semi dark.
Mary pushed her knees

together; she sensed the
need to ***. She knelt holding
herself in, pushed her hands
between thighs. How long
was the old codger going to be?

She mused. The priest coughed.
Sniffed, tried to discover the
scent. He said the usual words,
about trying to avoid the occasion
of sin, have faith, and so forth

uttered in a strained voice.
He peered hard. The outlined
figure fidgeted, moved from side
to side. Never in his born days
had he.  He uttered the absolution,

made a sign of the cross. Then
she was gone. The light there
then not there. A smell of sin?
What was it? No, not *****?

Across the road
from the underground station
next to the Christian tabernacle
you sat with Helen

on the standing wall
of a bombed out house
she clutched her doll
Battered Betty

looking around her
I've never been
on this bomb site before
she said

the people who lived here
must have been really scared
if they heard the siren in time
they may have got out

but some didn't of course
you said
trying to imagine
what the houses looked like

before the bombing
how the gardens
may have been well kept
may have had vegetables

and flowers growing
in the small beds
at the back of the house
a lady my mum knew

got blown up
and all they found
was her hand
with her wedding ring

still there
Helen said
******* up her nose
making her thick lens glasses

move on her nose
my mum said
she and her stepfather
used to hide

under the large oak table
in the kitchen
if they got caught out
by the bombing

you said
and Mum said her stepfather's bottom
was sticking out
at one end of the table

Helen laughed
you liked it when she laughed
it made dimples in her cheeks
and her eyes lit up

behind her glasses
best not tell Mum
I've been on the bomb site
Helen said

she said they're dangerous places
they are
you said
but hell what would life be

without a bit of danger?
what does your dad say
when you tell him
you've been on the bomb sites?

she asked
rocking Battered Betty
in her arms
nothing much

except not to wear
my best clothes on there
is that all?
she said

yes pretty much
you said
what about your mum?
you looked at her

her hair tied in two pigtails
her eyes large
beyond the lens
she says be careful

not to climb
you said
but you do
Helen said

you did it just now
to get up here
yes I know that
and you know that

but my mum needn't
you said
banging the back
of your shoes

on the wall gently
don't you tell
your mum everything
you do?

she asked
I do
you frowned
I try not to worry her

you said
doesn't she asked
what you've done or been?
yes but I needn't

tell her everything
you said
she has enough worries
without me adding to them

I think it best
I imagine other places
or things done
to keep her

from worrying
Helen shook her head
you have a strange
sense of truth

she said
holding Betty tight
to her chest
her chin resting

on the doll's head
how about an ice cream
at Baldy's​​​?
you said

Baldy's?
she said
where is Baldy's​?
the grocer shop

before you get
to the railway bridge
down Rockingham Street
you said

the owner is as bald as a coot
she laughed
ok
she said

and so you both
climbed down
from the wall
and walked down

and along
to the subway
and on to the shop
to get ice creams

she smiling
with her battered doll
you with your cowboy
shooting dreams.

Willie’s walked to the village,
Dottie sits darning stockings
by the window, her nimble

fingers pulling and pushing
the yarn through the cloth.
Sunlight brightens up the

length of her lap, warms
her fingers, brings touch
of Heaven. She pauses,

holds needle in mid sew,
watches a butterfly, Red
Admiral, flitter by the

window’s square. If only
Willie was there. He was
up early, up and out in

the garden’s span, digging
and planting, she watching,
taking in his moving arms,

his steady hands. She still
feels the damp place his
kiss gave, on forehead above

her brow, feels it still, anyhow.
She resumes the darning of
her brother’s cloth, the sharp

needle pulled and pushed,
the fingers holding firm, the
in and out, of the narrowing

hole, the closing up. She looks
at the trees, the slight sway
of arms, the green covered

fingers, how she and Willie
sat beneath by the near shore,
sheltered by tall willows, the

sea view soaking their eyes, his
hand in hers, birdsong, distant
ship on horizon’s brow. If only
Willie was here, was here now.

Mona stands outside
the back door of the
cottage and stares up
at the morning sky.

Monday, school soon.
It seems a lifetime ago
since Friday. She and Lisa
had, the previous day,

burned into each other
a different relationship.
She can still sense each
touch, each hold and kiss.

The rainfall had soaked
them like a holy baptism,
a fresh start, a new beginning.
She breathes in the morning air.

Fresh in the lungs.  Cows
moo in a far field. A crow
calls. She closes her eyes
and smells the farm across

the fields. Each part of her
seems touched. Each inch
of flesh seems hotly kissed.
The bedroom had been their

sanctuary, a place of rebirth.  
The parents had not heard
or known or suspected a thing.
Teatime had been so innocent

after. Acting as normal, as if
the moments before they had
not made love, had not been
naked in each others arms

flesh to flesh, body against body.
Just tea and sandwiches and
cakes and the usual talk of
farm and land and weather.  

She opens her eyes and
watches the clouds drift.
More cows moo.  Birds
fly overhead. There is

a new life within, a new love
inside her heart and head.

Anne crutches herself onto the green lawn of the nursing home and sits at one of the metal white painted tables and in one of the white metal chairs and drops her crutches beside her Benedict whom she called Skinny Kid follows her and sits at the same table looking at her his hazel eyes focusing on her on her black straight hair and dark eyes other children are playing on the swings and slide or sitting at other tables a distance away don't want none of those other sick kids here Kid Anne says they're sneaks and tell tales and moaning Minnies and such but you Kid you're all right you’re possibly the only one here I can tolerate and O those pesky nuns ****** penguins walking about poking their noses into things saying have you had a motion today? have you passed water? yes I said to Sister Agnes I did a dance on one leg as a motion and I passed the running water tap on my way to breakfast what did she say​?Benedict asks she said manners Anne we must have manners and asked me again and I said both and plenty of them and she went off in a huff her black habit gown flapping behind her like some ****** bat one of the kids comes to the table and says can I sit here? of course you can sit you've an **** on you but no you may not Anne says shooing the girl away like she was a dog the girl went off looking back pulling a face how's your leg? Benedict asks missing and aching and driving me to distraction Anne says the ****** stump throbs and gets hot and it makes me a miserable sod can I see it Benedict asks what its like? you're a one aren't you always after seeing my stump later maybe not here with the nosey penguins gawking at everything we do a nun walks down to the table her eyes like black dots behind her wire spectacles ah Anne have you been upsetting the other children again? are you asking me or telling me? Anne says rubbing her leg eyeing Benedict Lina says you swore at her and told her to sit elsewhere the nun stares at Anne then at Benedict well? what happened the nun asks I never swear Sister I never swear I just said she could sit elsewhere be better for her I may have an illness she may catch and may bring her out in yellow spots the nun doesn't smile or move a muscle in her face her dark eyes move over Anne then Benedict well Benedict were you here? what happened and I want the truth or you'll not go to Heaven if you lie the nun says eyeing the boy scarily she didn't swear the boy says just said to go elsewhere the nun stares at Anne do not be horrible to other children they've as much right to sit here as you do now behave or I’ll report you to Sister Paul and then you'll know it the nun says and walks off like a rook unable to fly Anne farts and smiles sums her up that she says Benedict nods and looks at the table want to go to the beach? I can push you in the wheelchair? how old are you Kid? she asks ten nearly eleven he says she muses looks at him do you know how old I am? she asks eyeing him his quiff of hair the hazel eyes the skinny frame no idea Benedict says I’m twelve Kid although my mother says I’m big for my age got ******* and such Benedict looks past her head at the avenue of tree behind and the path to the beach got ***** hair too she adds to see if he'll blush what's that? he asks what’s what? Anne says ***** hair? he says that'd be telling wouldn't it spoil the surprise although you could always ask the good sisters and say dear Sister Paul what's this ***** hair stuff? she laughs to herself well Kid go get the wheel chair and off we go to the beach the boy smiles and gets up and walks quickly towards the nursing home Anne watches him go she winces and rubs her stump with her hands backwards and forwards she watches the other kids at play at the nuns walking here and there then Benedict comes across the grass pushing the wheelchair at a fair speed she smiles as he comes up to the table here we are one wheelchair he says slightly out of breath right bring it round here Kid and so he pushes the wheelchair next to her and manages to get herself in comfortably and rocks about until she's settled right then Kid did anyone stop you? yes he says Sister Agnes asked me where I was going with the wheelchair and I said you had need of it and she pulled a face then walked off with a face like a pinched behind Benedict says good on you Kid now let's' to the beach and away from the peasants and sickly she says so Benedict gets behind the wheelchair and pushes away from the table his arms outstretched his hands gripping the handles and off they go over the grass and onto the pebbly path between the trees and the sound of birdsong and the smell of the sea filling their noses and out the back gate and onto the path along by the sea the sounds of sea rush and waves and gull cries and people calling out and laughter and kids calling and crying and she says O this it Kid this is ******* living breathe in that air breathe in deep and Benedict breathes in deeply as he pushes her along the path smooth and easier and his thin legs pushing along the pathway and as he pushes he gazes down at her black haired head then at the red dress with the one leg sticking out the stump not visible but only the outline of it being there and the smell of the sea and salt in the air.

Yiska rests on her bed,
smoking a cigarette.

The sky is dull,
the room darkened.

She inhales,
watches the smoke,
she's just exhaled,
rise ceiling wards.

Her husband is out,
fishing, *******,
who knows, or cares.

She exhales again,
at times like this
she reflects
on her young days,
her schoolgirl years.

Naaman was a love
back then.

School crush thing
some thought.

But no,
more than that.

She inhales so deeply
that it seems
her whole body
is filled
with nicotine and smoke.

Naaman kissed good.

That time on the field.
Lips and tongue.

She exhales and smiles.

He'd be in his 30s now,
a year older than she.

She can still,
if she shuts her eyes at night,
see him as he was.

Even when her husband
is giving her a quickie,
she thinks on Naaman,
imagines it's him on top,
not her husband's sad efforts.

She inhales
and closes her eyes.

He is there
in her mind still.

Even on the day
she married,
she hoped Naaman
would show
and whisk her away
on the back
of a motorcycle,
her white dress
flapping in the wind,
she giving her groom
to be, an up you sign
of *******.

But he didn't show.

She knew he wouldn't;
she'd not seen
since he left school,
the year before she.

Moved away some place.

She exhales
and smiles out smoke.

When she goes shopping
in other towns,
she wonders
if she'll meet Naaman there,
bump into him
on an aisle,
next to cereals or cheeses.

She recalls that time
in the school between lessons,
seeing him,
and wanting him
to drag her into some room
and kiss her
and do things.

But he just smiled
and walked on
and into a classroom,
leaving her hot
and gagging for it
(a term some girls
used back then).

What if he had?
Some empty room
in the school?
That day would have been
burned into her memory
if he had.

As it was,
she walked on,
to her boring art class,
bubbling
with upset hormones.

She sighs,
opens her eyes,
and moans.

You could tell
by Mamie’s face
she was sick

of shish kebabs
in fact it seemed
that the whole Moroccan holiday

was kind of getting
to her sensibilities
from the standing

on the two brick toilets
to the shish kebab
food misadventure

let’s go walk
on the beach
she said

before I throw up
with this crap
and so you walked

with her down through
the path to the beach
the moon and stars

above in a black
patchwork sky
the sound of the sea

rushing in and out
and the voices
of the others

getting less
and less
and she said

looking up at the sky
isn’t scary that sky
why is it scary?

you asked
it’s so vast
like it goes on forever

she said
I think Pascal found
the immensity

of the night sky
disturbing
you said

Pascal?
Is he on the coach?
Is he on the tour?

she asked
no he was a mathematician
and physicist and inventor

and Christian philosopher
in the 17th century
oh right

she said
boring ****
come on let’s get

on the beach
and lay down
and stare

at the sky
and stars
and that bright moon

and then we can snuggle
up close
and we’ll see

what comes
and she pulled you
onto the beach

and the damp sand
eased itself
between your toes

and the smell of the sea
hit you
and the sounds

and the wind
from off the sea’s shoulder
and she pulled you

down on the beach
beside her
and you lay back

and looked up
and the vast sky
seemed to press down

on you both
and she laughed
and said

it kind of makes
you seem small
and insignificant

doesn’t it
she said
you felt her hand

in yours
a soft pulse
of her being

right there
like a small beeping drum
and she turned

and looked at you
and smiled
and her smile was captured

by the moon’s glow
and you said
we need to remember

this moment
this being here
this newness of being

and she laughed
and said
don’t get too deep on me

and she leaned in
close to you
and kissed you

and her tongue
entered you
and the whole sky

seemed to witness
the moment
seemed to want

to embrace the kiss
the bright humanness
in her moonlit face.

You followed Anne
and some others
along the path

from the large house
out the back gate
across a sidewalk

onto the beach
and stood looking out
at the horizon

and the sea
and Anne said
watch out those ******* gulls

don’t **** on you
and some of the other kids laughed
and you stood watching how

she stood there on the beach
on her crutches
the leg missing

and she pointing up
at the seagulls flying overhead
and the smell of salt in the air

and the sound of the sea
crashing on the beach and shingles
I used to swim until I lost my leg

Anne said
but I will again someday
get my ***** all wet

and she looked around at you
to see your response
her deep blue eyes

searching you out
her tee shirt tight
to her figure

and her skirt
just above her knees
but the stump not showing

what do you reckon?
she asked you
coming closer

as the other kids
ran down onto the sands
sure you will

you said feeling her breath on you
as she stood in front of you
her small but developing *******

pressing against you
I could kiss the lips off you
she said but didn’t

she nodded for you to follow her
as she crutched onto the sands
the crutch ends sinking slightly

but still she went onwards
singing if I were a ******* seagull
I’d **** on you all

especially Sister Paul
or Sister Gail
and her loud voice

carried along the beach
and blue and white sky
like an echoing wail.

Benedict knew
Miss Croft
was out of his league;
she was everything

he wasn’t: upper
middle class,
well spoken,
well dressed;

had a nice face,
nice ***. The mere
thought she’d have
anything to do with him

was a joke. But he
wouldn’t have minded
a poke; his pecker
would have obliged,

he thought. Nonetheless,
he knew reality when
it came, knew he was out
of the game, so became

content just to talk
and joke and laugh
and forgot all about
the poke, least for real,

in dreams a guy can
do whatever wants
or desires: create or
destroy worlds with fires,

make the perfect art,
sleep with whosoever,
become a saint;
dreams allow such things.

But reality holds in check;
but one does what one can,
he thought, and keeps what
reality brings. She was the

out of your league type;
he could have sworn she
had it tattooed on her ***,
highlighted on her passport.

He would have been just
a nice guy to her; have given
her what he could have afforded;
read better books, listened

to highbrow music, spoken
with a plum in his mouth
if it did the job, but he couldn’t
make the grade, didn’t have

the right tone in speaking.
He knew one couldn’t always
get what one wanted
or was ever seeking.

You sit in a chair in the locked room staring at your reflection in the mirror taking in your eyes that stare back at you look at the nose the mouth the hair at the lost ness you see there and all the time downstairs the hum of voices which carry up the stairs as if they had legs of their own and amongst them your husband’s voice that deep baritone that dark sound voice that resides in your memory even when you do not see him for days and outside the window which is sealed your children play at their games their loud voices and laughter reach up to you and take your hand in theirs in your imagination as you look away momentarily and gaze at the window at the curtains that are drawn at the morning sunlight trying to permeate through the cloth at the way pictures on the walls hang lopsided as if they too are slightly mad as if they are merely reflection of your mind and at your inner turmoil and imbalance the Van Gogh with its greens and yellows and birds dark as death and fields that sway insanely wrestling with the angry sky and whole scene reaching out to you wanting to draw you into the inferno of colours and shapes and hardened oils and looking back at the mirror the eyes are still on you the stare hard as marble the pupils like deep pools the chin solid the mouth stretched tight as if drawn in dull red by a child and as you stare at the eyes you remember your mother’s eyes that hint of madness even then in her before the big plunge came prior to the demons settling up home within her mind before they took her way screaming like some banshee out of the house leaving you at the top of the stairs peering down at her through your nine year old eyes crying for her return even though her eyes were wild with fires and demons and voices left her lips voices not hers words foul and high and deep and curses that echoed down the passages years afterward and your father fearing that the madness would be in you  too would beat you at any sign of such a malady raising its head in words or in your eyes or gestures and your sister Clare strapped in her wheelchair was pushed out in the garden in all weathers so as to be away from you away from your potential insanity where in one harsh winter she died of influenza saved at least from you and the latent madness your father feared and buried in the family site beneath a yew that sheltered her from the hot sun and as you gaze at your lips you watch them move formulating words uttering sounds which suddenly become songs French chansons the ones your mother taught you the very ones she sang to you as she held you close even though the dark demons were gradually creeping upon her and all this your husband now knows and the whole cycle begins again and the children outside play as you did once as your mother stared down at you as you too played with all innocence as they are doing now with black crows gathering in a nearby fields beneath a darkening sky.

You stood
in the playground
of St Jude’s school
which was really

the basement
of a bombed out house
which had been gutted
and the basement tarmaced

and the walls
were still there
where kids climbed up
and around

the thin ledge
when Janice
put her hands
over your eyes

and said
guess who?
and you put
your hands

into the pockets
of your short trousers
and said
Miss Murphy

or Miss Ashdown?
no
Janice said
it’s me

and she removed
her hands
from over your eyes
and you turned around

and looked at her
and she had
her red beret on
and a pink scarf

around her neck
to keep out
the cold
you must

have known
it was me
she said
who else

would put their hands
over your eyes?  
her eyes were bright
and you thought

you could see yourself
in them
as if they were small mirrors
Jupp might do

or maybe Carmody
you said smiling
she didn’t smile back
but pulled her lips

tight in a line
then she took your hand
and pulled you
along the path

that led
to the school toilets
and pushed you
inside a cubicle

and shut the door
behind you both
and said
don’t you love me?

there was a large spider
hanging from
the cistern chain
close to

her red beret
and it hung there
suspended
swaying back

and forth
and you said
of course I do
right down

to your white socks
but there’s a spider
above your head
and she looked up

and screamed
and a voice
outside the door
asked

are you all right
in there?
Janice’s eyes widened
and she watched

as the spider
moved up the chain
and she said
yes it’s all right

Miss Murphy
just a small spider
and you stood there
next to Janice

wondering what
Miss Murphy
would say
if she saw you

and Janice
in the lavatory
together
and the voice said

ok as long
as you
are all right
and the footsteps

moved away
and Janice took
your hand in hers
and you sensed

how cold it was
slightly blue
and it was just
9 year old Janice

and the big spider
and 9 year old you.

Miss Billings leaned
against the doorframe
looking at Mr Fredericks
pushing a broom

on the forecourt
of the petrol station
look at the old ****
pushing broom

she said
it’s his way of getting you
to do the job kid
you looked out

the glass front
as Mr Fredericks limped
pushing broom
I didn’t see him

go out there
you said
he probably sneaked out
she said

does it all the time
it makes him feel good
to see you go
creeping out there

she pushed her glasses
up the bridge of her nose
and put her hands
on her hips and did

that Monroe thing
she did quite often
you went out
to the forecourt

and said to Mr Fredericks
I can do that
I can push the broom
he handed you the broom

and limped inside
without a word
you swept along
the edge of the forecourt

Miss Billings moved
outside a bit
and said
told you kid

that’s the way he is
bet he don’t do that
when he beds his wife
or maybe he does

who knows
and she walked off
her backside like
a poor man’s Monroe

swaying side to side
and you watched her go
standing holding
the broom

the red cardigan
the white overalls
the black stockings
and then she had gone

into the back office
through the swing door
time to get on
with sweeping

you thought
but her swaying backside
lingered in your mind
her poor man’s Monroe

right down
to her blonde hair
and the way she stood
you’d be her

Clark Gable
(in miniature)
if you could.

Yes, there were flowers and wreaths,
Black dresses, suits, and ties,
And you were shown the place
Where she would lie beside those
She never knew, beneath a stone
Like so many others, the words
Would be chiselled, the flowers placed,

The prayers said, the visitations frequent,
At least at first, but there was that element
Of unrealness of it all, like a surreal painting
Or play, as if all were small bit actors
In some awkward part, genuine in their grief,
In the hurt and loss felt, in the agony
Of the one lost, but feeling it odd,

That she, whom all had loved,
And seemingly blessed by her God,
Should be one moment here and full of life
And laughter, but then be silenced,
Struck dumb, have eyes closed, ears sealed
And stuffed, her limbs stiffened, her hands
Cold and still no longer to hold or bless

Or caress or heal, her heart no more to beat
Or feel, her brain no more to think
Or be the home of thought, and those
Features that all remembered well
In her face, should be gone, and only
Memories left to fill some small part
Of that emptiness within, that huge dark space.

You sat on the edge
of the low wall
in Rockingham Street
opposite Meadow Row

Janice sat beside you
in her red beret
and black coat
buttoned up

to her throat
against the evening chill
and you
in your cowboy hat

and old coat
with your 6 shooter
(capped gun)
in the inside pocket

the sky is thick with stars
Janice said
looking upward
like God threw small diamonds

into the black expanse
reminds me of the time
You said
when I was with my old man

outside Guy’s Hospital
and he left me outside
with my sister
while he went in

to see my mother
who was about to have babies
and I looked up
at the sky that evening

and it was like that
and it seemed
so big and wide
and I remember thinking

how I could get lost there
if I were a spaceman
looking out
of the spaceship window

at the stars
and moon and such
I could have been with you
Janice said

and have got you
food and drink for the voyage
I don’t know
You said

girls don’t get to go
on space voyages do they?
I guess not
she said sighing

but maybe
I could be the first to go
she added smiling
sure you could

but not with your red beret
You said
she laughed
and looked up

Meadow Row
at the street lamps
and the glow they made
on the pavements

and narrow road
and she pointed
at some kids
outside the public house

half way up the road
and said
Gran wouldn’t leave me
outside a pub like that

while she went drinking
you gazed up the road
and saw the kids outside
one in a pram

one sitting
on the low wall
eating out
of a packet of chips

my mother said
it happened a lot
in her days
when she was a kid

but she never was
You said
Janice tucked her hands
under her armpits

to keep them warm
against the evening cold
I better go
she said

Gran will wonder
where I am
ok
You said

I’ll walk you back
and so you both
got off the wall
and walked up

Rockingham Street
to where she lived
with her gran
in an upstairs flat

and she blew you
a kiss from the balcony
and that
was pretty much that.

Abir and I
were told
by a prefect
to go and stand

in the assembly hall
after lunch
for running down
the wrong stairway

but we'll be late
for lessons the other way?
Abir said
I don't care

the prefect said
rules are rules
no running down stairs
and not down

the wrong stairway
so we stood
in the assembly hall
by the window

waiting
for the punishment teacher
to come for midday assembly
and hand out

corporal punishment
had to happen one day
I guess
I said

hang on
I have a plan
Abir said
come on

so I followed him
out of the hall
and along
to the prefect room

we spotted the prefect
coming out
of the room
do you smoke?

Abir asked
sure I do
the prefect said
well

if you let us off
you can have these
Abir said
the prefect looked

at the packet
of 20 Senior Service cigarettes
where'd you get these?
the prefect asked

my old lady
gave them to me
Abir said
the prefect

sniffed the packet
ok off you go
but don't
let me catch you again

he said
we went off
there you go
Abir said

bribery works
did your mother
give you the cigarettes?
I asked

no
I liberated them
from the shop
across the road

while other kids
were distracting him
Abir said
I said nothing

as we walked along
to the assembly hall
and took our place
in the lines of boys

Abir smiling
I with a cool face.

The sun was strong
and Miriam and I
lay in the sun
at the base camp

side by side
she in her red bikini
and I in tee-shirt
and jeans

(not wanting
to get too sunburnt)
who is that hag
who complains

all the time?
she asked
no idea
I said

not much on names
only faces
even the ex army guy
who sleeps

in my tent
(one has to share
a tent
with the same ***

unfortunately)
I keep forgetting
his name
she looked skyward

in her sunglasses
(large things
like insect eyes)
I like Madrid

she said
I could live here
if I didn't have
a job back home

yes
we could set up here  
I said
get jobs

get a place together
bed together
visit the museums
and art galleries

together
sit in bars together
she added
do you speak

any Spanish?
I said
no
she said

apart from my
schoolgirl attempts
which get me
no where

have to make
our way here
without it
I said

as long
as we can
get a beer
and bread

and bed
she laughed
and put out
a hand to touch

mine
thin fingers
small hand
I gazed at the trees

above my head
touching the sky
birds in flight
thinking of her

and the love
made last night.

The big kid stood
by the garden shed
with others kids and you
the horticultural teacher

was down by the beds
with some other kids
whom he was showing
how to dig

and the big kid said
I had her
back there
up in those woods

at the end
of the playing field
the other kids
moved in closer

to get a better grip
on the tale told
you stood on
the perimeter

of the crowd
one eye
on the big kid
the other on the teacher

bent over a kid
showing him how
to hold a *****
and you know what?

the big kid said
she was some goer
the other kids
looked at him

then at each other
some plump kid
with spots laughed
you looked over

towards the woods
by the playing field
a quaint woodland
over by the fence

and near the road
and you know
what it’s like? Huh?
the big kid said  

the kids nodded
you noticed
their eyes large
and their tongues

at the corner
of mouths
it was like slipping  
into a warm bed

the big kid said
on a cold night
the teacher made
his way towards

you and the kids
by the shed
the big kid
made gestures

with his hand
and the boys sniggered
half catching on
to the gesture’s tale

the big kid’s hands
went into pockets
out of sight
the other kids

moved towards
the teacher’s
calling voice
you followed

unwillingly
having little choice.

I saw you and that girl
behind the maths block
Reynard said
we were playing ball

and there you were
caught out
the corner of my eye
and as he spoke

you watched Parrot
writing something
on the blackboard
his curly haired head

moving side to side
as he wrote
and you could see
in your mind’s eye

Christina leaning
against the fence
behind the maths block
her eyes lit up

with a young girl’s passion
and you leaning in
towards her
wanting to kiss her

wanting to feel
her lips on yours
but she kept on talking
her lips opening

and closing
like a fish out of water
and her hands placed
over her groin like guards

and she said she wanted
a photo of you  
to pin
to her bedroom wall

and you said you’d
seek one out for her
and she said
she had one

of herself for you
and then she spoke
of her parents
and her mother’s

depression
and about her older brother
which was lost
in the whisper

of her words
and on and on
she went
and all you wanted

was to feel her lips
on yours
in the few moments
you had alone with her

and even though
you leaned in closer
she talked on
and on

her breath warm
and almost liquidy
against your face
her eyes

like small mirrors
dark and sinkable
and just as
she became silent

and you felt it time
for the kiss to come
the bell rang
and she up

and moved
and touched your hand
and left and you caught
a quick glimpse

of her thigh
as she moved away
and Reynard said
did you get your hand up

or get a snog?
just then Parrot
the teacher
turned around

and threw
a piece of chalk
at you
stop the noise

he bellowed
stop the talk.

Benedict watched
as Mrs Fairweather
hushed her mutt
and told him to get back

in its box
under the table
and ushered Benedict
into the lounge

and to take a seat
on the blue sofa
recently bought
she said her husband

was away
on a long haul
(truck driver
of some sort)

and that she’d like
to know more
about Benedict
than she knew already

he sat there listening
to her voice
coming through
from the kitchen

tea or coffee?
she asked
or something stronger?
coffee’d be fine

he said
looking at
the landscape prints
upon the walls

after a short while
she came in
carrying two cups
and set them down

and sat beside him
her red skirt rising
as she put one leg
over the other

tell me more
about yourself
she said
looking at him

sideways on
one hand resting
on her cheek
the other

on her thigh
what’s to tell?
he said
and she told him

what she wanted to know
how long since
his last kiss?
who with

and how
was his pecker?
(laughingly put)
and she said she’d seen

a photo of him
some where
and all the time
her hand went up

and down her thigh
(which caught his eye)
what is that aftershave
you’re wearing?

nice and kind of ****
she said smiling
he told her what it was
some stuff his mother’d

bought for him
from the superstore
he could smell her scent
as she neared him

musky overpowering
and laid on thick
his mother
would have said

he sipped his coffee
and she sipped hers
then she put on a record
of the Kinks

and danced
on her way back
to the sofa
wiggling her backside

and **** as she moved
and Benedict wondered
if he’d made a mistake
coming over

at that time of day
or any time at all
then she kissed him
and touched him

and it was suddenly
in the deep end of the pool
wondering if he’d not got
out of his depth

her lips pressing
in on him
her hands searching
for his pecker

her words uttered
in a low voice
as if drowning
but what if?

o don’t mind him
he won’t be back
for days yet
but what if?

but the but ifs
were drowned
in her kisses
and her hand

had plunge into cloth
and sought out
the pecker
and Benedict imagined

Mr Fairweather
hot tempered
from a long haul
unhappy with

this kissing
and hugging
and all
entering the room

just as his shy pecker
had been exposed
and in the hands
of his wife

but it was all
in his mind
no Fairweather came
or saw or spoke

just she and Benedict
and the mutt moaning
from the other room
and the new blue sofa

beneath them
and the Kinks singing
and sunlight filtering
through the half closed shutters

blueness of sky
and Benedict
sensing her
and wondering why.

Are you in there?
Miryam said
through the canvas
of the tent

no
you replied
I'm out
you are there

she said
and unzipped the zip
and poked her head
in the gap

you were lying there
in your sleeping bag
gazing at her red
fuzzing hair

and large eyes
where's your friend?
she asked
gone for a shower

you said
she unzipped all down
and came in the tent
walking on her knees

like Toulouse Lautrec
in a wig
and lay down beside you  
how long before he's back?

no idea
you said
have we time for ***?
risky

you said
sometimes risky
is enjoyable
she said softly

running her hand
down the outline
of your leg
not when an ex-army guy

comes in
and see his sleeping partner
******* some red head
in his tent

you said
she pouted her lips
spoilsport
she said

in your ear
yes I guess so
you said
what we doing today?

she asked
we're moving
onto Malaga apparently
the coach leaves at 9.30

she looked
at her wrist watch
gives us an hour
she said

in a whispering voice
gives me an hour
to get showered
and dressed

and breakfasted
and such
you said
she lay back beside you

on the sleeping bag
isn't Malaga
where Picasso was born?
yes that's right

you said
do you like his work?
she asked
sure

it makes me
want to see it again
and again
it does?

she said
as if I had said
I like to wear
ladies's underwear

don't you find his work
kind of odd?
she said
that's what I like about it

it breaks out
of that prison
which people have put
around art

as if only
such and such
can be art
she put her lips

on your cheek
wet and warm
don't I tempt you at all?
not one little bit?

she walked her fingers
down your leg
and moved them
towards your groin

not about 6ins worth?
she said sexually
how did we get
from Picasso

to you finger walking
on my *****?
all is art you said
she whispered

you've left the zip unzipped
the ex-army guy said
poking his head
in the gap

what's she doing in here?
he said
just popped in
to see how he is

Miryam said
looking at the guy
with his short
back and sides haircut

and smelling
of shampoo and soap
well now you've seen
you can go

he said
can't he and I
have *** first​​?
she said

in her imitation
Monroe voice
no you can't
he said

go elsewhere
if you must do
such things
and he sat back

on his haunches
and stared at her
his arms folded
Ok

she said
and kissed your cheek
and walked on her knees
out of the tent

and stood up
and looked in
before the ex-army guy
could zip back up

shame
she said
we could have had
a *******

go away
he said
before I slap your backside
promises promises

Miryam said
and walked off
towards her tent
across the camp base field

girls huh?
you said
but he didn't reply
he just began packing

his stuff into his suitcase
ready for the next move
and so you closed your eyes
and imagined her

there beside you again
listening
to the patter patter
of the Spanish rain.

Atara loved Dubrovnik
loved the old city walls
the shops and cafés
the churches and narrow streets

she liked sitting
drinking coffee
outside the restaurant

reading her
Schopenhauer book
a cigarette held
between fingers
watching now and then
people passing

Naaman had gone
to see a few sites
he said
rid himself
of his hangover
more like
she mused
by the sea edge
thinking
of the previous night
and too much wine
or Slivovitz

she sipped her coffee
even ***
had to be aborted
room swaying
he pronounced
although it was doing
no such thing
least not
in her head
lying in bed
wanting to sleep
not ***

she heard him snoring
some time after
from the bathroom
sprawled on the floor

the Schopenhauer book
was good even if
somewhat pessimistic
with that Eastern perspective
regarding the Will
and negation

she sipped the coffee
once more
but held the mouthful
sampling the flavour
the sense on tongue
the sensation
on the inner skin
of cheeks
warm and wet
and strong
but not bitter

she swallowed
and smiled
good
better than
the attempted ***
or that achieved
in recent months
and days

she loved Dubrovnik
and Naaman too
but he must
she mused
inhaling smoke
change his ways.

After boring nature study lessons
with Miss Ashdown
and on the walk home
from school

Janice said
the man along
the balcony
of the flats

where I live with my Gran
blackened
his wife's eyes
and locked her out

of their flat
and she was crying
and shouting
to be let in

and this was 4 o'clock
in the morning
and Gran went out there
and tried

to get the man
to let his wife in
but he wouldn't
and someone phoned the police

but they said it was a domestic  
and that she'd have
to sort it out herself
and so Gran let her stay

at our place
for the rest
of the night
and so she slept

on our settee
not that she slept much
she was crying
for a long while after

here Janice paused
by the newspaper shop
and went in with you
to buy some sweets

with money
she had over
from her birthday
and you had enough

from your pocket money
to get some bubblegum
then walked on
so what happened next?

you asked
she went back
to her flat this morning
and knocked

on the door of her flat
and he let her in
by which time
he had calmed down

and was all over her
like chickenpox
as Gran said
what an ****

you said
not what Gran would say
but yes he is awful
and it's not

the first time either
and her eyes
were really bruised
this morning

if I thought
it'd do any good
you said
I'd go round there

and blow him away
with my toy 6 shooter
Janice looked at you
that wouldn't help

she said
no I guess not
you said
but at least it'd show him

we don't like his sort
in town
we don't
Janice said

once he dragged her
along the balcony
by her hair
and Gran chased him

with her broomstick
and he rushed indoors
leaving his wife
on the balcony

in a heap
I could always fire
an arrow at him
as he entered the flats

from the balcony
you said
no
don't it wouldn't do

any good
Janice said patiently
you went down
the subway together

and along
and your words
echoed
along the walls

especially the words
he's a *******
having that gross sound
as it bounced

off the walls
like bullets
from a gun
and Janice said

hush not so loud
but you liked it
you liked playing
to the crowd.

Lizbeth finds
dinnertimes
a right chore

sitting there
at the oak
table with

her moody
mother there
facing her

her father
glum as hell
beside her

and Lizbeth
trying hard
to ignore

both of them
its beef stew
thick gravy

and drowned out
vegetables
you're quiet

Mother says
anything
wrong with you?

nothing's wrong
Lizbeth says
gazing at

the beef stew
you've a mood
I can tell

Mother says
if the girl
wants silence

why complain
Father says
I know her

and you don't
Mother says
to Hubby

Lizbeth stares
at Mother
I'm just on

nothing else
Lizbeth moans
on the rag

Auntie's come
sandwich week
THAT'S ENOUGH

Mother shouts
rattling
the windows

I won't have
you talking
like that here

at mealtimes
it's not nice
Lizbeth stares

at Father
as he mouths
the beef stew

in silence
did you know
Lizbeth says

that Tudor
King Henry
the 7ths

mother was
married at
12 years old

and had him
at 13
Mother sighs

your point is?
that's my age
she sprouted

her king sprog
at my age
Mother glares

at her child
with her dark
angry eyes

Lizbeth thinks
of Benny
pretending

he's upstairs
in her room
stark naked

all waiting
eat your stew
Mother says

no more talk
of those things
outside it's

countryside
fluttering
butterflies

a bird sings.

Back in the 1950s
when you were a kid
your old man sat beside you
in the cinema

smoking
the smoke rising
his eyes glued
to the big screen

taking in
the leading lady
of the film
her assets

the way she moved
you sat there
scrutinizing
the leading man

to see how quick he was
on the draw
how fast he was
with the 6 shooters

and which side
of his body
his carried the gun
or guns

how he wore his hat
hoping he’d not waste
too much time
kissing the dame

when there was shooting to be done
and bad guys to get
and his horse to ride
into the big screen sunset

and he sat there smiling
at the dame
the leading actress
smoke lingering

you digging
into the small tub
of ice-cream
he’d brought you

from the salesgirl
with the lit up tray
( who no doubt
hoped to be

a big screen actress
herself some day)
and staying there
beside him

right through
the cartoons
and the other feature  
until he turned to you

and said
let’s go
this is where
we came in

and he got up
from his seat
and you followed
taking a last glimpse

of the screen
the gunfire
the flashes of light
you and your old man

out of the cinema
into the dark night.

She called through
the cloth of the tent
are you in there?
no

you replied
I'm not
and she laughed
and said

thought we were going
down to the beach?
thought you wanted
to see the sunset?

sure I do
you said
just getting dressed
dressed?

she said
you are naked?
not now
but I was

a few moments ago
****
she said
should have just

unzipped your tent
and poke my head in
too late now Mamie
you said

and you unzipped the tent
and climbed out
and stared around
the camp base

at the bar
and other tents
and the odd
palm tree here and there

thought you were going
to come over to my tent
this afternoon?
she said

didn't know if Fussy Annie
was still there
you said
didn't want to crowd

you both out
she laughed
she's off someplace
looking at mosques

o
you said
wish I'd known
I could have come over

and we could have done
some exploring
of our own
yes

she said
but there you go
that's life
opportunities

come and go
if you miss out
you miss out
anyway let's go

down to the beach
and see this sunset
and so you followed her
down to the beach

her hand holding yours
her fingers gripping
you tightly in case
you ran off

what's she like
Fussy Annie?
you asked
fussy

Mamie said
all the time
she's on about
something or other

not being right
or someone having
did such and such
and o God

the toilets
you should have heard her
ranting about
the two bricks

you have to stand on
to do your business
yes comes as a bit
of a shock to see

those two **** bricks
you said
the beach was reached
the horizon

was like a world
on fire
she kept close
to you

her hip
touching yours
full of unexplored
desire.

She sits on the chair
her wavy hair
still neatly in place
putting on her stockings

as he stands
with his back
to the window
gazing at her

she pauses
her fingers holding
the stocking tops
and looks at him

and says
in her sluttish French
do you want me
back tomorrow?

there is a draught
from the window
touching his naked back
sending a shiver

along his spine
sure
he says
but make it a little later

the wife’s got
a show to see
and she doesn’t leave
till just after 8

ok
she says
pulling up
the stocking

and fixing it
to the clip
shall I bring anything
with me?

no just yourself
he says
and maybe wear
that tight skirt

and creamy blouse
and those black stockings
she stands
and pulls down

her slip
to cover
her underwear
and looks around

for her dress
look
he says beware
of the concierge

she’s a nosey old biddy?
she asks
biddy what is that?
just be careful of her

he says
don’t let her
see you leave
or she’ll tell

the wife
oh I see
sure I will be careful
of the biddy

she says
picking up her dress
from the chair
by the bed

and as she turns away
he studies
her neat ***
the way she climbs

into the dress
her hands so quick
in movement
the finger so precise

like those of a pickpocket
and he sees her leg rise
the stockinged leg
the fineness of the thigh

then she turns toward him
and she smiles
and she starts
on the other leg

and he wonders
what his wife would say
if she came in now
how’d she’d look

then it’s over
the dame’s dressed
puts on her coat
and picks up her bag

and takes the money
he’d put on the desk
and shoves it
into the bag

and sighs
and leaves
and as she goes out
the door

waggling her ***
he knows
he wants her back
some more.

You could hear her
calling your name
along the passage
her Polish kind

of broken English
was unmistakable
you hid by the sink
of Mr Atkinson's room

the other side
of the panel
which hid you
from view

from the door
Benedict are you up here?
Sophia called
you leaned back

as far as you could
in case she should
open the door
and peer in

you could hear
her flip-flops
on the linoleum floor
I want you

she said
want you
speak to me
you noticed Mr Atkinson's

Rupert annual
on the dresser
across the room
(he had a child's mind

and loved those books)
you also noticed
a glimpse of your refection
in the dresser's mirror

black trousers
white coat
red tie
and white shirt

she'd stopped outside
the door of Mr Cutler's room
she knocked
and opened

Benedict are you here?
no
you whispered
in undertone voice

where the **** are you?
you heard her say
she closed Mr Cutler's door
and waited outside

the room you were in
you sensed her breathing
her tap tap on the door
you squeezed yourself

hard against the sink
last time she'd caught you
up here on the old men's wing
she had you

on Mr Haymaker's bed
her slim 19 year old body
wrapped about you
her blonde hair tied

in a black bow
her body saying
go go go
Benedict are you here?

you shook your head
hands behind your back
your backside pushed hard
against the enamel sink

I want talk to you
she said
she opened the door
and looked in

out of the window opposite
you you could see trees
swaying in the breeze
the sky grey blue

she came into the room
and picked up
the Rupert annual
from the dresser

you saw her blue uniform
the back of her slim body
the narrowed waist
the shapely backside

the well shaped legs
her blonde hair
tied at the back
with the familiar ribbon

you bit your lip
and held your breath
she scanned through
the annual

flicking pages
gazing at pictures
if she gazed
in the dresser mirror

she'd see your reflection
Benedict
she said to herself
I've red underwear on

you stopped breathing
stared at her back
the way she stood
she put down

the annual
on the dresser
retreated back out
of the room

not turning to look
around the room
the door closed
you heard her flip-flops

move away
along the passageway
no one would believe you
if you told them

and whatever they may say
you had escaped
from Sophia
for another day.

In the evening after tea
of bread and jam
and a glass of milk
you went out

and met Helen
under the railway bridge
in Rockingham Street
next to the Duke

of Wellington pub
and she was waiting
there looking up
and down the street

and when she saw you
she waved and walked
towards you
where’s your doll

Battered Betty?
you asked
mum’s washing her clothes
and I didn’t want

to bring her out
with nothing on
she said
no that wouldn’t be decent

you said
where are we going?
she asked
I want to show you

the passages behind
the ABC cinema
you said
it’s like a cavern

of dark passages
and once I saw a rat
running along by a wall
oh god

she said
putting a hand
to her mouth
not a rat

yes it run along
one of the walls
not sure
I want to go there

she said softly
one little rat
isn’t going to hurt you
you said

besides I’ll chase it away
if it comes
will you?
she said

yes of course I will
nothing is going to harm you
while I am here
you said

you showed her
the toy gun
tucked in
the inside pocket

of your jacket
she nodded
and  she took
your hand

and you walked her
along and up behind
the Trocodero cinema
and onto

the New Kent Road
and you crossed quickly
before the traffic lights changed
and once you got

to the other side
you took her
to the ABC cinema
and went down beside

the cinema walls
along the dark passages
that went on beside
and behind the cinema

all the time
she gripped your hand
and now and then
her grip tightened

when she thought
she saw something
out of the corner
of her eye

what was that?
she said
stopping still
clutching your hand tight

just a piece of paper
blown by the wind
are you sure?
yes just paper

she untightened
her grip
and you both
walked on

with the sound
of traffic and voices
in the distance
and at the back

of the cinema
you came to an entrance
where two doors where
and you said

sometimes the doors are open
and you can sneak in free
she looked at you
her eyes behind

her thick lens glasses
large and innocent
is that allowed?
she asked

no
you replied
if they catch you
you get into trouble

but if you’re lucky
you can get in
no trouble
you said

oh
she said
my mum wouldn’t like it
if I got into trouble

we won’t get in tonight
anyway
you said
the doors are locked

another time maybe
and she gripped
your hand
and her face looked shocked.

She wiped her glasses
and put them on
and lay in bed
looking towards the window
she'd hardly slept

all night
the light brought
a new day
Sunday with church bells

from across the way
and the trees outside
the window swaying
Elaine still felt tired

she had tried not
to think of the boy John
who had talked to her
at school on the Friday

but every time
she turned over
he was there
talking about birds

about the skills
of the sparrow-hawk
or some such talk
had he really

talked to her?
doubts came
maybe it was just
a game he was playing

some big tease
put up to by others
to make laugh
and others please

she repeated word on word
sentence after sentence
trying to recall
his tone of voice

and those hazel eyes
of his peering
into her head and thoughts
God forbid

somethings are best hid
she thought
she'd got through
the previous day

without mentioning
about the boy to anyone
even during meals
when conversations

were strong
and always going on
she'd kept quiet
sat there staring

at the clock on the wall
or with vacant stare
the first boy
who had actually

spoken to her
and not verbally
abused or called
her names

or sniffed her school coat
and holding a nose
pretended to collapse
and die

OK
so she was frumpy looking
and shy
and the glasses

weren't her best feature
and her hair was hard
to manage and keep neat
but did he really talk to her

by the fence at school?
did he really touch her
as he went off  
to get on the bus?

closing her eyes
she tried to
picture him again
the brushed back hair

the wrinkled forehead
the hazel eyes peering
the undone school tie
the unbuttoned shirt

that inch or so
of naked skin
and turning over in bed
she tried to hold on

to the image
inside her head
and snuggle down
between blankets

and sheets
with head on her pillow
Mum said it's time
to get up for breakfast

her younger sister said
no wasting the time
daydreaming
and then she had gone

out the door
leaving it ajar
time to get up
to get through the day

wondering if he'd be there
tomorrow and would
he talk again
or was that just

a one off
conversation
a bit of a lark
but she recalled him

once more
as she rose from bed
and walked
to the bathroom to wash

and wake
and even when
she returned
and began to dress

watching her frumpy frame
in the cupboard mirror
her small *******
her hair in a mess

she kept his image
in mind
trying to find
the place where

he touched her
sensing along
with her fingers
biting her lip

this new sensation
this opening up
like being on the edge
of a new world

wondering what it was
she felt inside and along her skin
was it natural
or was it a sin?

O'Brien said
the whole girl thing
was a falsity
why waste your time

on them?
he'd told Baruch
yes why?
Sutcliffe said

in an echo
as they walked home
from school
along

the New Kent Road
holding a cigarette
to one side
a thin line

of smoke
coming
from his mouth
as she spoke

Baruch said nothing
about Fay
he just listened
thinking of her

as they walked along
his hands
in his pockets
his scuffed shoes

treading the pavement
his eyes looking
at Sutcliffe
at his blonde hair

and bright blue eyes
and O'Brien
with his shock
of brown hair

and his crafty eyes
I've yet to meet a girl
worth losing sleep over
he said

not a wink of sleep
Sutcliffe added
Baruch had seen Fay
the day before

on the way home
by the church
on the corner
of Meadow Row

she in her catholic
school uniform
clutching her satchel
her bright eyes on him

her fair hair
brightened
by the afternoon sun
how they had walked together

up the Row
she talking of the nuns
at the school
about the whole Latin thing

about the long list
of saints she had
to remember
he took in

her anxiety
her paleness of skin
he told her
of the pottery teacher

who ridiculed his pots
and how he did it
in front of the class
holding up the ***

and running it down
not that I care a toss
Benedict said
least not

about the ***
and they crossed
Rockingham Street
and up the *****

and there they waited
gazing at each other
the silence
like thin silk

he wanted to kiss her
but not doing so
she wondered
if she could get

nearer to him
maybe much closer
but feared her father
might hear of it

and he didn't like Baruch
didn't like the Jew boy
keep yourself free
of them

O'Brien said
girls cling to you
like leeches
and ****

the being
out of you
with their petty wants
yes wants and wants

Sutcliffe echoed
Baruch paused
by the hairdresser shop
by the crossing

opposite Meadow Row
best get home
Baruch said
yes me too

said Sutcliffe
hope my cousin's gone home
she's been with us
for weeks now

and always
in the bathroom
and wandering the house
in her almost

see through night dress
sure sure
O'Brien said
bet you hate that

and he laughed
and Sutcliffe walked off
home the cigarette
behind his back

held
in his inky fingers
see you around
O'Brien said

and wandered on
up the road
and Baruch
saw him off

and crossed the road
and walked down
Meadow Row
thinking of Fay

and that moment
he almost kiss her
how they stood
gazing at each other

he gazing
at her fine beauty
her figure  
and she fearing

her father
would know
and the nuns
at the school

always writing to him
about her
and what she does
and does not

and she seeing
Baruch there
feeling her heart beat
and sensed feeling hot.

The African
American
Guy sitting on

A bench in the
Laundromat gives
You the eye, the

Kind of I’ve been
Around awhile
Stare, not a bit

Unfriendly, but
Maybe bemused,
Wondering why

A white dame would
Want to look at
Him for and him

Alone in this
His kingdom of
Machines twirling,

Cleaning while they
Toss water and
Foam. Better than

Watching TV,
He drawls, all got
The same channel,

But different
Cycles, diverse
Clothes, all kinds of

Dirt and dullness
And sins to wash
Away. You were

Never good at
Small talk, but you
Try to say a

Few words and smile,
Putting yourself
At ease. Can’t wash

Your soul here though,
He says, showing
A bright gleam of

White teeth, just sit
Still and stare
And contemplate.

You unpack your
Bag of wash and
Sense his eyes fixed

On you, his mind
Ticking over,
As you place in

The clothes large and
Small. An old white
Guy comes in here

Everyday,
He says all of
A sudden, brings

His wash, sits and
Stares, mumbles to
The machine, while

Watching the same
Few items of
Clothing go round

And round. You nod
Your head and take
In his tee shirt,

Shorts and woollen
Hat, his socks and
Shoes and wonder

What your mother
Would have made of
Him had she been

Here. This place’s
A kind of dull
Purgatory,

Where souls wait for
Their time to come
To go to Hell

Or Paradise.
He laughs, moves his
Legs back and forth,

Pushes his hat
Further back on
His head. Maybe

We’re already
In Paradise,
Maybe this is

It. You and I,
Both sitting and
Staring at these

Washing machines,
But really in
Essence, we’re dead.

You turn your back
To watch your wash,
See the whites twirl

Like fond lovers
In the water
And sickly foam.

When you look back
Again he’s gone.
Maybe to Hell

Or Paradise
Or just back home.

Alice walks down
the steps to the dark
passage to the kitchen,
and stands at the door

looking in. Smells of
cooking, heat, bright
lights and sharp sounds.
Mrs Broadbeam in

white, and hair pinned
back, red flushed of face,
gazes at her. What are
you after, Miss Alice?

Mary, take the young
miss to the scullery
and fetch her a small
bowl of dried fruit,

she bellows over her
shoulder. The thin maid
comes over, red hands,
wet, eyes beaming.

She nods and takes
Alice's small hand,
and takes her across
the passage to the large

scullery, and lifts her
onto the bench. Sit there,
and please don't budge,
or I’m for it if you fall,

and goes off to the kitchen
to get a bowl of dried fruit.
Alice sits there, feeling
the hardness of the bench

under her bottom, no
longer painful where her
father smacked. She eyes
the large room with pots

and pans and plates and
dishes, knives and forks
and spoons of all sizes,
having been washed or

about to be washed. She
looks at the three large
sinks which come up to
her chin. The windows look

out onto the courtyard and
the small chapel with its
solitary bell. She can hear
voices from the kitchen,

banging of pots and pans,
sizzling and steam sounds.
She looks at the woods
beyond the chapel. She has

escaped the new nanny
with her beady eyes and
dark hair and moaning voice.
Her mother cried that morning

when she saw her after waking;
her eyes red and blotchy.
Her father shouting, storming
from the room, his eyes fire

and flamy. The thin maid enters
carrying a bowl of dried fruit.
Here you are, she says, be
careful not to choke, and hands

the little girl the small bowl.
Thank you, Mary, she says,
taking in the eyes and smile
and hair in a frizz. She eats

the dried fruit. The maid
watches, then carries on
washing the dishes, humming
a hymn, her hands becoming

redder as the water soaks.
A voice sounds in the passage
way, a voice calling Alice's
name, heavy tread, clapping

of hands. Alice freezes,
enlarges her eyes, holds
the bowl shaking. The maid
puts a finger to her lips and

walks out to the passageway.
Seen Miss Alice about here?
the nanny asks firmly. No,
can't say I have, the thin maid

says, hands dripping water,
eyes vacant, hair looking dull.
Well if you see her tell her to
go back to the schoolroom,

the nanny says, her voice brittle.
Will do, if I see her, the maid says,
indifferently, scratching her thigh.
The nanny goes off mumbling,

her footsteps echoing until gone.
What an ****, the maid says.
****? Alice says. Never you
mind about that, deary, best get

eating up and I'll take you another
way after. She smiles and touches
Alice’s cheek, leaving a damp
patch behind, a tiny tingle.

Alice eats the dried fruit,
ears cocked, eyes bright,
eyeing the thin maid as she
washes and stacks the dishes

high. She likes the hands that
rise and fall in slow motion as
if blessing, just like her mother's,
sans redness, when caressing.

Walt Whitman was picking
Apples out in the supermarket
Store, or so you thought you

Saw and stood and stared all
Awkward and scared. Such
Eyes and beard and hat and

The fingers turning over the
Apple rubbing the thumb over
The green flesh, bringing to

His nose and sniffing through
The huge moustache the apple’s
Scent. You stood a little back

Just beside the cans of beer
And bottled wine, watching
His every movement, his hat

And clothes, the way he slowly
Peered about with steady stare,
The hugeness, the larger than

Life just standing there with
One solitary apple held in view,
Offering it outward, saying to

You, take a bite lady, sure
Looks good, tell me what you
Think of the apple’s taste and

Smell and taking the apple to
Your mouth to bite with awkward
Care and looked up to say, it’s

Fine, but he wasn’t there, just
A sense of emptiness with scent
Of apples on the morning air.

Shalom
you said
but Fay's father

ignored you
on the stairs
of the block of flats

you were only trying
to make peace with him
because of Fay

but he wasn't
buying into any Jewism
as he termed it

forgetting that
his Jesus said head
of his Catholic Church

was a Jew himself
but that was
another matter

so you let him go
on his way
up the stairs

humming some
Latin hymn to himself
later seeing Fay

on the way
to the grocer's shop
through the Square

she said her father
had forbidden her
to even talk with you

(the Jew Boy
he had said)
but she knew it was  

impossible even
if she wanted to
which she didn't

despite the risk
she ran in seeing you
or talking with you

I only said shalom to him
you said
she frowned

it means peace
you said
I could have said

something else to him
less friendly
she smiled weakly

best say nothing
she said
o.k

you said
so you walked with her
to the grocer's shop

across the road
and along to the grocer's shop
by the newspaper shop

where they had
The Three Musketeers book
in the window

which you wanted
to buy at sometime
and you showed her

the book and the cover
with a picture
of three musketeers

sword fighting
and you walked on
to the grocers

and she bought
what was on her list
and you got

what your mother
had written
on a small scrap of paper

and afterwards you said
how about a penny drink
at the Penny shop?

and she looked anxious
and said
not sure Dad  said

not to linger around
well don't linger
you said

but have a drink
and we can sit
by the wall outside

and see the world go by
and sip our drinks
she hesitated

but then said
o.k
so you took her

to the Penny shop
and bought two bottles
of penny pop

and sat outside
by the wall
your shopping bags

beside you
the morning sun
blessing your heads

and she talked
of the nuns
at her school

how strict they were
but one she said
was kind

and taught her
the Credo in Latin
word by word

and you sat
listening to her
and she sitting there

momentarily free
like an uncaged
song bird.

The sight of snow
from the window
of the locked ward

made the room
feel cold even though
the radiators were on

that’s how I feel inside
Christine said
as she stood beside you

looking out
her hand touching the glass
of the windowpane

it was a warm summer’s day
when I was jilted
at the altar

she added
breathing on the glass
so that it smeared up

now look at it
she put her hand
down by her side

and wiped the dampness
on her dressing gown
why didn’t he show up?

you asked
he sent a message
saying he changed his mind

she said
just like that?
she looked at you

her eyes watery
yes just like that
she said

and here I am
locked in this ward
because my mind

is ******
and my nerves
are shattered

she looked away
and stared out
at the trees

and fields
covered in snow
and shot up by ECT

you said
she went silent
and wiped her eyes

on a tissue
I can still feel
the headache

from the last shot
you said
supposed to help

you forget
the quack said
she whispered

but it doesn’t work
she laid her head
on your shoulder

I wouldn’t take off
my wedding dress
for days afterwards

she said
her voice vibrating
along your arm

and wouldn’t eat
a magpie flew
from one tree

to another
disturbing snow
her hand found yours

and she held it
and gave a squeeze
we were going

to get married
live in a big house
and have our

2 point five children
she said
he was a creep

you said
not worth all this
she looked at you

and gave your cheek
a small wet kiss
in a distant field

a tractor ploughed
with white and black birds
following behind

welcome
she said
to the house of the blind.

After the dance,
what then?

The satisfaction of self
or that of men?

The music has stopped,
the dancers prepare
to go home,
remove clothing,
wash, do hair,
prepare.

If only
the dance was all.

Paid sufficient,
paid enough,
not to have to labour
elsewhere or when.

She has danced
until worn
at feet and legs
and head,
but still to please
the men in bed.  

The ballet an art form,
the dance
as old as gods,
but so too,
the bedding
and loving,
and all such things,
that being
all too human brings.

While the music sounds
she's in
some strange heaven,
the dance lifts
and caresses
and loves
and thrills,
but after,
the dullness
of the stillness,
the unapplauding,
the waiting men,
wanting you
in their bed
for *** again,
and then?

Satisfied
and satiated,
they'll turn to their sleep,
wrapped in their dreams,
in their mistress
called slumber,
but the dancer,
the *****,
what for her ?
after the dance,
what more?

Catalina waits for Arturo to come,
she has been prepared, told how
to lay and what to expect (to a
degree) and to wait and be ready.

Her attendants have left after
much fussing and tidying and
words of advice.  She lies on
the four poster bed, the hard

mattress beneath her, white
overstuffed pillows, staring at
her feet, wiggling her toes,
scratching her nose. She hears

voices, the door opens and he
comes in followed by others,
he looks at her shyly, looks
away, his friends whisper,

make suggestions, he laughs,
they guffaw, then seeing it's
time to go they make their
farewells, and leave the room,

closing the door behind them
with a click. She looks at him,
thin, tall, pale as moonlight,
clean shaven with his mop

of dark hair, standing there.
He looks at her lying on the
bed, hair dressed just so,
nightgown open at her soft

neck, small ******* just visible,
her hands together as if
about to pray. What to say?
He coughs, taps his hairless

chest. She smiles and taps the
place beside her on the bed,
her slim fingers childlike in
their smallness, ringed, his

wedding ring on the finger
next to another gold one of
smaller size. He climbs into
bed, senses the hard base,

his buttocks supported, his
heels feeling the silk sheet.
She mouths words, he doesn’t
hear, she smiles, hopes, waits.

He studies her eyes, her lips,
the thin brows, the parted hair.
She gently pulls him to her,
he allows her to move him

near, feels her hand upon
his wrist, her other upon his
narrow back.  He settles uneasy
between her thighs, she opens

to him like a flower, he hesitates,
hands either side of her head,
staring at her eyes, the sparkle,
candle light bright there. She

waits, her buttocks warm against
the silk, sees his eyes sponge
like soak her in, but he stiffens,
becomes arched, looks away,

closes his eyes. She waits,
nothing stirs, his breathing
deepens, his eyebrows rise,
his lips mouth sounds, he

makes motion, coughs, moves
off, lies still stares at the curtains
about the bed, the colour in
the candle’s light. She folds her

legs together, her knees touching,
waiting, gazes at him sideways on,
his profile, pale, his eyes shut tight.
No *** with him, she thinks, no

consummation, the marriage bed
unfed, no ****** bleed, no red rose
plucked, untouched, unfucked.
Then he ups and runs out

the door which closes with a click.
She lays there, her knees bent,
her hands at her sides, her small
******* soften, relax, her eyes stare,

her ears sharp for sounds, none
but whispers from behind the door,
coughs, splutters, soft conversation.
Was that it? they whisper, was that

the consummation?  She lies silent,
unused, unloved or was it just too
much, too soon? She sighs, gazing
at the sky and coin like moon.

And the ice cream van drew off
and you held on
to the side

by your finger tips
until the van picked up
a mild speed

when you jumped off
and tried to remain
on your feet

without falling
and only by sheer luck
or balance

did you manage it
and the other kids
clapped hands

and cheered
but Ingrid said
thought you'd hurt yourself

don't your mother
care about you doing that?
she doesn't know

you said
you don't tell her
what you do?

she said
of course not
you replied

she has enough
to worry about
without me

giving her more worry
Ingrid frowned
but why do it?

holding on to the van
I mean?
because it's there

a challenge
like climbing Mount Everest
I guess

you said
she played
with her fingers nervously

as if knitting
an invisible sock
I worry about you

she said
I guess that's what girls do
you replied

walking through the Square
she by your side
her food stained dress

having yellow flowers
her grey socks
her hair pinned

by steel grips
not all girls
she said

least not about you
you smiled
I hope not

you said
girls **** you dry
always on

about soft things
or about dolls
or babies

or such matters
I don't
she said

I think of you
and you being safe
I'm safe

you said
you patted
your six shooter toy gun

wedged in your holster
and you're safe too
you added

wish I was
she said softly
well apart

from your old man
you said
but apart

from filling him
full of cap smoke
or hitting him

on the bonce
with my six shooter ****
isn't much

I can do about him
you said
she looked at you

smiling weakly
maybe one day
we could run off together

she said
and live in one
of those houses

in the Wild West
you nodded
yes good idea

and I can ride
a real horse
and keep cattle

she nodded
and I can keep house
and have babies

sure
you said
and if your old man

comes worrying you
I can plugged him
full of lead.

You met Fay
by the Bricklayer’s
Arms

she in her catholic
school uniform
satchel by her side
hand held

you hot
from the school day
sticky in your
grey flannels
and black blazer
tie undone
open necked shirt

thought I’d meet you
here today
she said
I got the bus down
from school

good to see you
you said
putting away
the football cards
in an inside
pocket

how was school today?
she asked

usual brainwashing
you said

she walked beside you
as you went along
the New Kent Road

how was your day?
you asked

don’t want
to talk about it
she said
I just want to talk
about other things

the traffic roared by
the fumes
in the air

how about coming
to the cinema Saturday?
you asked

I haven’t any money
she replied

I can pay
my old man
will give me
the money

best not
in case my father
finds out
she said

he needn’t know
you said

but if he did
she said
there’d be
hell to pay

you turned right
down Harper Road
she seeking out
your hand
you feeling her hand
in yours

what if I asked him?
you said

God no
that would make it worse
he would think
I put you up
to it

silence settled
between you

what about going
to South Bank
we could watched
the boats and ships
along the Thames
and have ice creams
and soda pop?

Saturday?
she asked

yes
you said
after breakfast?

she nodded
her eyes alight
a smile opening
on her lips
her warm hand
gripping yours

the childhood
love adventure
out of doors.