Grant me a corner
in which to cry;
through joyous eyes
I saw my son born,
through bleeding eyes
I watched him die.
Grant me a corner
in which to cry.

Permit me a quiet place;
let tender fingers
sew together
a wounded heart,
which through
my son's death,
has been torn apart.
Permit me
a healing place.

Allow me a soft bed
on which to rest;
let someone soothe
my aching brow;
keep the memory
of my first born son,
not amidst the dry reeds
or dull souls,
but amongst the best.
Allow me a bed
on which to rest.

Ought we to go in there?
Helen asked
as you both stood outside

the bombed out factory
off Rockingham Street
sure we should

you said
but it’s got
STAY OUT signs

on the big doors
she said
you looked at her

with her thick lens glasses
and her hair tied in plaits
nibbling her finger in anxiety

come on in
you said
nothing will happen to you

while you’re with me
she didn’t look convinced
what if someone sees us?

she asked
no one cares around here
kids are always going

on bombsites
you said
she looked around

her eyes seemingly larger
than they were
are you sure?

she said
yes now come on
and you took

her small hand
and pulled her through
a small opening

in the side
where other kids
had made an entrance

she a pulled face
on the other side
of the gate

and rubbed her arm
where a line of blood showed
look

she said
I’ve scratched myself
you dabbed at it

with a grey handkerchief
and spittle and she watched
as you cleared up

the line of blood
will it be all right?
yes

you said
it’ll be fine
and you walked on

across the yard
and into the bombed out factory by
a door hanging

on its hinges
and into the dark interior
she stood by the entrance inside

and took in the semi darkness
it’s frightening
she said

no one is here
you said
how do you know?

she asked
it’s too quiet
you said

she leaned closer to you
and grabbed your arm
what was that?

she whispered
a rat probably
what? she said

a rat
you said
let’s go out

she said
nothing will hurt you
while I’m here

and you patted
the toy gun
in the belt

of your jeans
she looked at you
then out

into the semi darkness
you walked in
and up the stone stairs

by a wall
and she followed
her breathing

becoming louder
as you walked up
once at the top

and along a landing
you came to a small office
where the door was missing

and there was a hole
in the roof where a bomb
had blown it off

as well as other parts
of the building
you stood

looking around
the room
where rain had rotted

what furniture remained
and on the floor
were books soaked

and rotting
Helen said
can we go now?  

you looked up
through the hole
in the roof

and there
was the afternoon sun
and a white cloud

moving slowly across
a blue sky
and she moved

next to you
and kissed your cheek
but you didn’t know why.

Down came
the heavy rain
***** coal
coloured puddles

and you and Helen
stood under
the railway bridge

she clutching her doll
Battered Betty
close to her chest

you staring out
at the grey rain
thunder and lightening

making Helen scream
and clutching
your arm

her thick lens spectacles
steamed up
and hiding her eyes

I hate lightening
she said
what if it strikes us dead

it won't
you said
putting on

the brave boy routine
not while
you're with me

she didn't look
convinced
to a great degree

and peered out
through her smeary spectacles
when will it stop?

she said
it's not near
you said

you have to count
the seconds
between the lightening

and the thunder
and that should tell you
how far away it is

she took off her glasses
can you wipe these for me?
so you took the spectacles

and wiped the glass
on the end
of your shirt

until clear and clean
and handed them
back to her

and she put them on
that's better
she said

peering out
at the rain
and the puddles

on the cobblestones
of the short road
and the bomb site

nearby
you counted
after the flash of lightening

and the bang of thunder
10
you said

it's 10 miles away
she peered out again
at the grey sky

and pouring rain
seems right above us
she said

you gazed at her
standing there
drowned looking

with her hair
hanging over her face
and stuck

to her head
her dress clinging
to her tightly

her shoes sodden
you felt heavy
as if you'd swam

in a lake
and climbed out
fully dressed

with your jeans
and shirt wet through
clinging to you

I'm cold
she said
her teeth beginning

to chatter
her knees knocking
she clutching

Battered Betty
you put an arm
around her

and held her close
smelling the damp
the rain

the peppermint
on her breath
come

you said
let's go home
before we catch

a death
and you took her hand
and ran along

the cobblestones
stepping by puddles
and down Meadow Row

her fingers becoming cold
her hand wet
and slippery

and she beside you
clinging on
to her doll

by its swinging arm
making its one
good eye open

and close
like one feeling sleepy
wanting to doze.

We talked about the dance,
she said. Is that all? Yes,
well she did mention that
her man was late home

from work sometimes
and she misses him
before she has to leave
for the dance show,

but that's all. I see,
Fred said. Nellie looked
at him, brushed her hair.
Her dancing is faltering,

Nellie said. As if she
had other things on her
mind. What other things?
he asked. How do I know?

She didn't say. Unless she
thinks her man is cheating
on her? Do you think he is?
Fred said. He's the type who

would, Nellie said. What's
the type who would? I don't
know, but you can tell, there's
something about him gives

me the creeps. Women's
intuition? he said. You could
say that, she said. How comes
she doesn't have that intuition,

too? Fred said. She's in love with
him, love blinds, she said.
What are you dancing, tonight?
he asked. Swam Lake, she said.

She finished brushing her hair
and poured him a scotch and ice
and prepared to leave. He watched
her as she put on her coat, her

fingers buttoning up, her eyes
watching her hands in action,
her tongue poking over her
lower lip.  He lifted his glass

of scotch, studied her ankles,
and had a long slow sip.

Susie polishes the silver.
She hates polishing the
forks, the bits in between,
the stink of the cleanser.

She’d rather be in bed
with Polly in the attic.
Holding her close, feeling
her body next to hers.

The cold weather offers
a good excuse. Polly’d
say, get off me you queer
***, otherwise. She rubs

the cloth over the prongs,
the stink making her feel
nauseous. Dudman, the
butler will be along soon.

He’ll snoop up close to her,
look over her shoulder;
press his body next to hers.
Maids are as nothing, he

often said, pressing his
finger into her back, or
pinching her ****. She holds
her breath as long as she

can; the stink is getting to her.
She thinks back to the night
before, Polly’s nightgown
against her flesh, her smell

invading her nose, spooning
close. She recalls the moon
in the skylight, captured like
a painting, the stars spread

like ***** on a dark cloth.
Mrs Gripe the cook called her
a lazy cow over breakfast,
the fat ***** staring at her

with her cow like eyes. She
rubs between prongs, eases
along the handle. She’d love to
shove the fork into Dudman’s

****; push it in with all her
might.  Soon the bell would
ring, someone would want
morning tea upstairs. She

breathes out, puts down
the fork, picks out a spoon
and begins the cleaning again,
thinking of Polly, her fingers

caressing the spoon’s end,
imagining ******* along
Polly’s waist, moving her
thumb into the indentation,

sensing her body move, that
weird overriding sensation.

She enters the room
where you’re making up
the old men’s beds and

creeps up behind you
and puts her arms around
your waist and breathes

on your neck. What do you
want Sophie? I have work
to do and if Matron finds you

here there’ll be trouble.
She puts her hand over
your mouth and says well

shut the **** up then what
do you expect if you’re pushing
out the words as soon as I get

near you. You smell her hand
near your nose feel her skin
next to yours. You move her

hand away and say do you have
to use that kind of language?
She pulls a face and falls back

on the made up bed and says
what if Matron comes in now eh?
What you going to tell her? Get

up you can’t lay there like that
you say trying to pull her off the
bed. She pulls you down on

top of her and holds you there
as you struggle to get away. Calm
down you ******* ****** boy

I won’t hurt you and she laughs.
You smell peppermint. Her
tongue licks you. Her lips

press on to yours. She pushes
the kiss right into you. You
want to breathe need breath.

She releases you and you get
off the bed and tidy yourself up
and say get off the bed God

knows what the old boys will
think if they come in now and
see you lying there like a *****.

She pokes out her tongue and
says at least they are men and
know what their penises are for.

Come on Sophie give me a break
you say gazing at her there her
uniform rising up her thighs.

Ok ****** boy she says and she
gets off the bed and straightens
out the bedcover and pillows and

then stands gazing at you and says
it’s not every girl who’ll give that kind
of chance. You say nothing and go to

the window and peer out at trees and
bushes in the ground. Then she’s gone.
The room’s silent when you turn around.

It's snowing out,
Christine says,
peering through
the glass

of the window
in the locked ward.
You stand beside her,
staring at the falling flakes,

surreal, chilly, white.
I want to be out in it
like a child, she says,
not stuck in here

like some prisoner.
You can smell her scent,
near by, entering into you,
distracting you. She

presses her palms
against the glass,
breathes on it,
steams it to a small

area of invisibility.
There's a tractor out
in that field, she says,
see it? Yes, you say,

sensing her closeness,
her arm touching yours,
elbow touching elbow.
And those birds look

at them, gulls, rooks,
feeding on the churned
over ground and the snow.
You wonder why

the **** who left her
at the altar could do
such a thing, why he got
that far and then left her

there in her white dress
and flowers and a church
full of people waiting
and then not show and she,

now, stuck in here full of stress
and with a fragile mind.
I want to go out in the snow,
she says, but the nurse

ignores her, walks by,
goes on about some other
business. Why can't we
go out in the snow? she

says to you. Maybe they
think we're going to run off,
you say, watching the tractor's
slow drive, the birds flocking

behind on the ground.
She sighs, puts her hands
down from the glass, holds
them in each other, could do

with a ******* cigarette.
Hey, nurse, got a cigarette?  
Need a smoke, she says.
I got a smoke, you say,

I'll go get them. So you go
to the side room, where
the men are, and bring
your packet of cigarettes

and plastic lighter, and give
her one and light it for her
and light one for yourself,
and she inhales so deep

that she seems to stop
breathing and then exhales
up in the air, holding the
cigarette between her slim

fingers, her hand just so.
And you stand there by
the window watching the
tractor again and the falling

snow, and she's there again,
peering, smoking, sighing.
I'd not have left you at the altar,
you say, I'd not have done

it to you. She says nothing,
the smoke hitting the glass
and flowing inward again,
she gazes out, the tree tops

blanketed in whiteness,
birds in flight, you sense her,
smell her, imagine her.
I wonder who he's *******

now? she whispers, easing
out smoke, the snow falling,
the tractor pausing, then turning
back up the field, birds following.

She inhales again, looks away,
walks back into the main ward,
her fine *** having that sway,
her white night gown like some

dowdy wedding dress, holding
tightly to her, her figure shown,
the outline of her ******* showing,
blue against white. You turn and

watch the snow fall, the tractor
drive, birds in tow, your mind
blank now, white, cold as snow.

Benedict met Julie
(the druggie
and whatever
else she was)
circa 1967
at the foot
of Nelson's Column
in Trafalgar Square.

She was dressed
in a mini skirt,
tight top, her hair up.

He dressed in his red shirt,
pink slacks, black shoes,
smiled as he approached.

Never guess how many times
I've been chatted up
as a *****, she said,
since I've been
standing here.

Guess you
put them right,
he said.

Do I look
like a *****?
she asked.

No, of course not,
he said, taking in
her mini skirt,
the tight top,
the pressing out ****.

She sighed.
Anyway you're here,
where now? She asked.

The gallery? He said,
indicating the National
Portrait Gallery behind.

I need a drink, she said.
Are you allowed
with the medication
you're on?
Since when
did you become
my father? She said.

He looked at the people
round about, the pigeon feeders,
the meeting of lovers,
visitors from some
foreign shores,
middle class,  
up your *** bores.

Ok, he said, let's go
have that drink,
then take in a gallery
or cinema.

I feel a need
to make a hit,
she said.

They only let you
out of the hospital
because they think
you can be trusted,
he said.

Then they shouldn't
trust me should they,
she said.

But they do.
It's up to you,
but I'm not
sticking around
if you go back
down that alley,
he said. I said
I felt a need,
didn't say
I was going to,
she muttered.

She moved away
from the Column;
he followed, through
the Square, pass
the people and pigeons,
the kids and parents.

He gazed at her ***
as she moved ahead,
the sway of it,
the thighs, sans
stockings, her feet  
with sandals,
treading the ground.

She stopped at the edge
of the road; he stood
beside her, took her hand,
felt her warmth.

They found a bar
in Leicester Square.
Ordered drinks, sat down,
lit cigarettes, smoked.

Guess who I met
the other week?
He asked.

Who? she asked.
Charles Lloyd,
he said.

Who's he? she asked.
Jazz sax-player.
Met him outside
Dobell’s' record shop
in Charing Cross Road.

Is he famous? She asked.
Sure he is. I got him
to autograph my copy
of his latest LP,
Benedict said.

What did he say?
She asked.
Sure man he said
and scribbled on
the back cover.

She looked out
of the window;
took a long drag
of her cigarette.

He watched her profile,
the lips holding
the cigarette,
the puffing out
of smoke.
Thinking of her
in the hospital ward,
the white dressing gown,
the skippered feet,
that time they made love
in that small room
off the ward.

Another drink?
She said.
Sure, he said,
and ordered two more.

Some place inside her head
a wild wave of need
swept up the empty shore.

As you took
old Mr Wheale
to the lavatory

and sat
and watched
he didn’t fall

or slide
you recalled
the night before

lying in Mrs Tuba’s bed
the curtains drawn
against the night

the street lamps
shining through
the bed soft and wide

and she turning up
the Mahler 5th
and you thinking

of the parish priest
and what he’d say
if he could have seen you

there smoking
naked and bare
the book you’d bought

on the side
the Solzhenitsyn
gulag book

she wanted to read
the dresser
and chest of drawers

and photos
on the side
nearly done

Mr Wheale said
breaking through
your thoughts

his cataract eyes
staring into space
and you remembered

Mrs Tuba coming in
the room
dressed in her pink

dressing gown
open down the middle
her ******* inviting

her big blues eyes
smiling
turned up

the Mahler
she said
bought these two whiskies

and she laid them
on the side
and climbed

into her bed
I’m done
Mr  Wheale said

and so you did
what was needed
and helped him dress

and on his way
his metal frame walker
shuffled along

the passageway
the music of Mahler‘s 5th
a memory

Mrs Tuba
gone to sleep now
you guessed

the whiskies drunk
the *** forgot
a new day entered

the window on your right
swift it had gone
that ****** night.

Monica watched Benedict
practise Judo
with her brothers
on the grass
by the fence.

She watched
from her bedroom window.
She had parted
the drawn curtains
with her fingers

enough to see
without being seen.
She cheered him on
in an urgent voice.
She would have gone down

and cheered him on
from the sidelines,
but she was still
in her nightwear
and by the time

she had a wash
and dressed
they would be gone.
Watching him
made her excited;

it was a physical thing,
something she could
almost point to,
sense and touch
with her fingers.

She stared down at him,
watched his every move.
Sometimes he would
take on both boys
at a time and defeat

them both, other times
he took them
one at a time
and they would end up
on their backs

on the grass.
Wish he would put me
on the grass, she whispered
to the pane of glass,
touch me

as he does them.
She couldn’t describe
how he made her feel.
Whom could she ask?
Her mother would

scorn her
for even asking
such a question.
She wished she had
a sister to ask,

but all she had
was three brothers.
There was cheering
from outside, Benedict
had fallen. He had

miscalculated a move
and fallen on his back.
There was laughter
as he rose and dusted
himself off.

Oh, she murmured.
She put a hand
to her lips.
His head turned
towards the window;

she backed away.
Had he seen her?
Heard her voice?
She moved back
to the window

and peered out.
They were practising again.
But this time
it was karate,
they were breaking

pieces of wood
with the side
of their hands.
She wished
she could be out there.

Near him,
sensing him close to her.
He came most Saturdays
to be with her brothers.

They worked in the week
at the nurseries
half mile away.
Sometimes she was up early
and caught him

before her brothers were out
and she talked with him.
Once he took her
to see the peacocks,
riding on their bikes

to get there.
She had wanted him
to kiss her, but he hadn’t.
So near to her,
yet she daren’t

reach out
and touch him, that day.
She stood at the window
and stared at him.
He had taken off

his jacket and was
in tee shirt and jeans.
They fought each other now,
their blows barely touching,
the karate touches

merely skimming the skin.
Odd this sensation
flowing through me,
she said, this expanding
desire within.

The Mediterranean Sea
caught the moonlight

as you wandered the beach
with Mame

she grabbed your hand
and kissed your cheek

isn’t it out of this world?
she said stopping

and looking into your eyes
and breathing out

her peppermint breath
you smelt the sea salt

felt the slight breeze
coming across the sea

wouldn’t you rather be
with one of the other guys

than be here with me?
you said

gazing at her fuzzy hair
her light blue eyes

oh **** the other guys
it’s you I like

she said
brushing a hand

through your hair
pulling you in closer

to her small tight *******
don’t you like me?

she asked
I thought you fancied me

the way you kept staring at me
on the coach and in Tangiers

you heard the Berber drums
and voices from the camp base

coming on the wind
and wondered if the others

would guess she’d taken you
down the beach

for something romantic
or tumble in the sands

with all lips and hands
well?

she asked
standing there

in her flowered
two piece bathing cloth

sure I do
you muttered

sensing her hand
reaching down

your jeans
seeking an *******

a sign of interest
do you ever think

of those ancients
who may once

have stood
where we now stand?

you said
how they too

may have stood
beneath a sky

and stars
and moon like us?

she stood back and stared
and uttered coldly

no I haven’t
and couldn’t give a cuss

and off she went
up the beach

to the base camp
on smooth sands

and rough tufts of grass
and oh how she knew

to wiggle
her small tight ***.

Geraldine rides the bus to work.
She sways side to side with the
motion of the bus, sitting in the
compact human zoo, faces, limbs,

bodies, eyes, mouths. The sky
outside is an early morning icy blue.
A man opposite stares, his eyes
moving over her, his hands in his

lap, fingers playing with each other.
His eyes settle on her legs, drink
them in. She feels as if he were
******* her, taking each item of

clothing off one by one. His eyes
are dark, deep set. She stares back
at him, takes in his lips, parted, thick
and saliva sits there. Her thoughts

move to Holly and the night before,
the game they played, the role plays,
the pre-*** drama. The man shifts
in his seat, wrinkles his nose, moves

his eyes to her *******. She looks away,
senses his eyes fondling her ****, his
imaginary fingers groping. Holly would
have said something to the creep opposite,

would have shown him up, but she
doesn’t have that way with her, she sits
it out, pushing thoughts of him away,
focuses on Holly’s tongue licking the

inside of her thighs, sensation electrifying.
The man looks away, no doubt to *******
in his dark mind with his imaginary fingers.
Geraldine lets the thoughts of Holly and

her deeds linger, ***** in the hotness,
the scents, the sighs, the smells. She stares
at the man. He looks at his hands, his fingernails.
There is dirt beneath the nails, black as soot

as if he’d rooted in dark soil. She looks away;
Holly has set her (with her deeds) to ****** boil.

After history with Mr Finn
about Saxons or Vikings
or some such thing
you walked home

from school
with Helen
along St George’s Road
the afternoon traffic

hustling and bustling by
and Helen said
that Cogan boy
pulled my plaits

and called me four eyes
and said I looked
like a pug
I think you look pretty

you said
do I?
she said
yes

you replied
and don’t mind
about Cogan
you said

tapping your jacket pocket
(where you kept
your six-shooter cap gun)
he said he’d smash my face

but he never does
he’s all mouth
and short pants
you said

Helen put her arm
under yours
and squeezed it
nice of you to say

I’m pretty
she said
no one’s said that before
and she looked ahead

and you stole a glance
sideward on at her
her plaits held in place
by two rubber bands

her thick lens spectacles
which made her eyes
larger than they were
and her small nose

beneath the bridge
of the wire frame  
you looked away
carrying the image of her away

storing it in your mind
and she said
my mum likes you
she said you’re not like

the other boys
around here
o
you said

thinking of her mother
large as life
pushing the big pram
squeezed into

the huge coat
nice of your mum to say
you said
she pulled your arm closer

to her
her dark blue
raincoat
against your black jacket

you sensed the six-shooter
against your ribs
thinking of Cogan
and firing a cap bang

in the back
of his head
my mum said
I can go

to the cinema
with you
on Saturday morning
matinee

Helen said
o good
you said
not caring what

the other boys might say
with her along side you
in the sixpenny seats
you in jeans

and open necked shirt
and she maybe
in that flowered
red dress

white socks
and black battered shoes
sensing her arm
on yours

as you approached
the traffic lights
at the big junction
catching a glimpse

of her smile
as you both crossed
the road
when the lights

turned green
the afternoon sky grey
rain seeming near
smelling it in the air

thinking of Helen
and of a snatched kiss
but you didn’t think so
or didn’t dare.

Helen and you
walked home from school
the long way
you wanted to show her

the man
in the pie and mash shop
cutting up eels
for jellied eels

or for the pies
how he would stand there
with his knife
and take up an eel

and holding it
firmly on a board
would cut off its head
and then proceed

to slice it up
into small pieces
and into a bucket
on the floor

and when you showed her
standing outside the shop
peering through
the window

she said
O my God
and put a hand
to her mouth

and spoke
through her hand
and added
poor eels

to end up
in someone's stomach
and the way
he cuts them up

and the pieces
still moving afterwards  
and she moved away
and walked up the road

still holding a hand
over her mouth
you don't fancy
pie and mash then?

you said
not with eels in it no
she replied
through her fingers

you smiled
not funny
she said
poor little eel creatures

yes I guess it is
a bit brutal
you said
but fascinating

to watch
I don't think so
she said
taking her hand

from her mouth
you both went under
the subway of the junction
she slightly

in front of you
her two plaits of hair
bouncing
as she walked

her green raincoat
tied tight about her
you whistled
so that it echoed

along the subway
bouncing off the walls
all along
the artificial lights

giving off
a surreal sensation
how can people eat eels?
she asked

just the sight
puts me off
don't know
guess they don't think

of it being eels as such
just as something to eat  
you said
you both came out

of the subway
on the other side
and walked along
the New Kent Road

by the cinema
she looking
at the billboards
through her thick lens glasses

are you sure your mum
doesn't mind
having me for tea?
she said

well we're not actually
having you for tea
we usually have
beans on toast

or jam sandwiches
she slapped your hand
you know what I mean
she said smiling

no Mum don't mind
you said
she invited you after all
I pleaded against it

but she wouldn't listen
you said smiling
Helen's face frowned
and she stood still

really?
she said
no I'm joking
you said

and she nodded her head
uncertainly
looking at you
through her glasses

I'm just kidding
you said
you touched her hand
she smiled

and you both walked on
and across the bomb site
the uneven ground
the puddles of rainwater

you your mother's son
and Helen
a lucky woman's
daughter.

I rise with the morning bell, said Sister Agnes; I hear it now in my ears. It rings in the ears and heart. The window shows dawn just about to come over the cloister wall like a mischievous child about to play forbidden games. I sing in choir with my voice absorbed by the voices of others and the walls of the church. I walk the cell like one waiting to die; listen to the birdsong outside like one wanting new life or life renewed. Sister Blaise is in the cloister garth walking with the birds, the morning chill resting on her black serge shoulder. I watch her walk; her feet tread like one on eggshells. Her hands hidden beneath her blackbird breast, her head bowed like one at prayer. She has birds at her feet, St Francis like. I shall leave her, kneel in prayer, and climb the stairway to contemplation. My father's tears settle on my sight; his voice broken; his eyes looking out at the garden where once we walked. He would have had me stay at home; dry old-maid fashion at his beck and call day and night as my mother did until cancer dragged her weeping to the far beyond. I shut my lids against the dawn; press my lids like one seeking blindness to the harsh day's light. My brother, George, sits in some Paris café talking of art and painting his oil-drench canvases in his back street studio. Father talks of him as one who is lost. Both of us are lost to him, each in their own way. George cares not; his art and women are his all. Thoughts push their way through the curtains of my prayer; they are rude and unclean; they are ill bred like the children my mother despised. I rise from prayer like one defeated. The light from the dawn blesses me with warmth; my flesh touched like one in love. I look at Sister Blaise and her birds; her hands are open like one crucified. Her rosary hangs from her belt; a thousand prayers cling to each bead. Last night I saw her kiss the feet of the stone ******; lay her hand on the Saviour's head. Holiness nests in her heart like a white bird in a dark bush; she shall hold me in my dim hours. The bell rings once more; its echo vibrates my ears and heart. I was happy when I entered your house; your handmaiden shall attend your needs. Prayers escape me; liturgies are my food and drink; my beads shall be my stones of pain. My aches shall be the nails to crucify me in my dark hours; my Christ bleeds in my monthly death. All shall be forgiven. The stones shall break my bones; the words pierce my fleshy heart. I shall go now; descend the stairs for dawn time prayer. Night flees me like one unfaithful to a lover's kiss.  I come.  My bridegroom

Lizbeth cycled in from the town
and set her bike
against a fence
and asked your mother

where you were
out somewhere
your mother told her
bird watching

or digging up old bones
in the woods
oh ok
Lizbeth said

and walked back out
on the dusty road
and walked down
the small lane

by the cottages
birds calling
mostly rooks
high up

in the trees
or the flutter of wings
as birds flew
from hedgerows

at her approach
she trod carefully
between the cow pats
on the lane down

her black Wellingtons
touching the hem
of her black skirt
the green top

short sleeved
showing
her thin arms
a steam ran slowly

on her right
over pebbles
and stones
and weeds

and then she saw you
by a tree
looking up
through binoculars

unaware
of her approach
didn't know
you bird watched

she said
breaking
into your world
of birds and nature

with her words
you gazed at her
her red hair
drawn tightly

into a ponytail
at the back
of her head
her freckled skin

the greeny eyes
not much else
to do
you said

us London boys
have a lot to learn
in this
off the beaten track

of a place
she nodded
and stared
her eyes focusing in

at the bird book
in your hand
and binoculars
around your neck

what's London like?
she asked
like Dante's Inferno
you replied

whose?
she said
who the heck is he
when he's at home?

you walked towards her
tucking the bird book
in the back pocket
of your jeans

Italian poet
you said
wrote the Divine Comedy
you added

she raised her eyebrows
and gave you
that I'm none the wiser stare
thought I'd come

and see you
out of school
she said
remembered

your address
nice of you to come
you said
unsure why she'd come

to this neck
of nowhere land
I saw your mother
Lizbeth said

she told me
you'd be bird watching
or digging up bones
in the woods

she had that
I'm getting bored look
the way she stood
don't get the chance

to talk with you
at school
what with
the separate playgrounds

and nosey kids in class
thinking there's
a big romance
if you talk

to a member
of the opposite ***
she looked older
than her 13 years

much older than you
being the same age
and the boys
are pretty much

dumb arses in class
except for you
she added
looking at you

with her green eyes
want to see
my collection
of bird eggs

and old bones?
you said
where are they?
she asked

in my bedroom
you replied
oh
she said

odd place
to keep old bones
nowhere else
to keep them

you said
ok
she said
and walked with you

up the country lane
and in the gate
and along the path
to the cottage door

will your mother mind?
she asked
why should she?
you asked

no reason
just that my mother
would give you
the third degree

under a bright light
she said
you took her
in the back door

taking off
the muddy boots
and so did she
standing there

in her white socks
just taking Lizbeth
to see the old bones
and bird eggs

you told your mother
ok
she said giving Lizbeth
a quick glance

don't let him bore you
to death
your mother added
with a smile

Lizbeth smiled too
and followed you up
the narrow stairs
to your small bedroom

she looked around
the room
at the wooden
chest of drawers

and double bed
who sleeps
in the bed with you?
she asked

my younger brother
you said
oh
she said

staring
at the small window
that gave view
of the garden below

and the fields beyond
you showed her
the bird eggs
you'd collected

and the old bones
from the woods
kept in a glass tank
you handed her

a blackbird egg
it lay in the palm
of her hand
it looked good

and blended well
with her soft skin
and lifeline
and headlines

across the hand
fragile isn't it?
she said
bit like my heart

she added softly
she handed back the egg
and wiped her hand
on her skirt

removing invisible
or imaginary dirt
what do you do
when not watching birds

or digging for bones?
she asked
get the cows in
from the fields

or help weigh
the milk
or help my father
in the garden

or go for walks
on the Downs
you said
you certainly know

how to live
on the wild side
she said
oh not always

you said
sometimes
it can get
quite boring

and I have to read books
or watch TV
she smiled
do you think

about girls?
she asked
not much
you said

why's that?
she asked
what's to think about?
you said

seldom see them
out here in the wilds
and at school
there's little time

or opportunity
or too many
complications
or too many

ears and noses
and eyes
what about now?
here now?

she said
gazing at you
and the double bed
what about now

and here?
you asked
putting away the egg
in the tank

and closing
the lid
to keep out air
or dust

she frowned
and sighed
as if a moment
had burned out

or an old world
had died.

The nun leaves
the warm parlour

off the cloister
and feels the cloisters’ cold

and biting frost of early dawn.
Each bite and nip

of toes and fingertips
a minor crucifixion.

My self my enemy
you shall not win.

The cross signifies
the crossing out of I,

the I’s greed and wants
and selfish such.

There is birdsong.
Smell that blossom.  

Do not rush, walk as told,
remember that.

Sense that cold.
Feel those nails,

hammering flesh,
co-joined with Christ,

as His bride, day
and tortured night.

See that fresh born sun;
night’s moon shies away.

The nun pauses.
Sniffs the air.

The time of bleeding.
Tombstone of another’s death.

She sees, smoke like,
her rising breath.

It was a Saturday morning
And you were 19

and you were racing along
Victoria Street having just left

Victoria Railway Station
on your way to Dobell’s

Jazz Record Shop
moving quickly

through the sea
of humanity

thinking of jazz
and what record

you were going to buy
at the shop that day

imaging yourself
******* through LP sleeves

taking a mental note
of which one

you might buy
a John Coltrane or Miles Davis

an Art Blakey or maybe
a Dizzy Gillespie

a jazz record being played
over the loudspeakers

in the shop
you mingling with others

in the crowded place
when this hobo stopped you

taking hold of your jacket gently
and said

have you got some small change
for a sandwich?

no
you replied

I haven’t
and rushed on

through the crowd
******* in your pocket

loose change
silvery coins

and his voice
in your head  

as you raced along
and your conscience

nagging you
maybe the voice

of the believed in Christ
so you stopped

and turned around
and made your journey back

through the people
passing by

your fingers taking hold
of the coins

the silvery loose change
and there he was

the hobo asking others
the same question

and they too went by
shaking their heads

or saying
no sorry no change

and you took his hand
and put in the loose silver

into his open palm
and said

here go buy yourself
a sandwich or whatever

and you turned
and left looking over

your shoulder
and he stood there

staring at his palm
and the coins shining

in the morning sun
and then you looked ahead

thinking of the record shop
and the LPs and the jazz music

being played
but deep down

in some other part of you
you knew you’d given

to one who maybe
was hungry

and had unconsciously
prayed.

She had dried His feet
with her hair. She’d not
forgotten that. Not long
after she’d seen the same

feet nailed and bloodied
to the wooden down beam.
Her tears had helped wash
them, those feet, she later

remembered the tingle she
had felt as her long hair
dried them, something in
touching, emptied her of

self and opened up her
darker self. Had He seen
more than others, understood
what others were blind to,

forgave what others condemned?
That moment, His feet in
her hands, touching her hair,
her hands. His eyes spoke to

her, His words pinpricked her,
each sin (as others saw them)
scabbed over as he went by,
His shadow kind of healed her.

She knew that now, not then
so much, after His demise (or
so seemed) and the placing in
that tomb, she felt letdown,

emptied, like after some dark
passage ***. But she’d seen
Him after, the feet healed,
the holes unbloodied, His

voice soothed her inner coil
keyed up tight. But mostly she
recalled the washing of His feet
on that warm moon filled night.

Nima splashed water from one
of the fountains in Trafalgar Square
over Baruch. Laughing she did
it again, but he side-stepped, like

one out of rain, hands wide as if
to bless. He'd met her a few moments
before; by Nelson's Column, she’d
written from her hospital bed, drug

taking recovering (so said), cold
turkey or whatever she'd scribed.
Finishing the ablutions, she walked
on, he followed, stepping beside

her, catching her in profile, taking
in her cropped hair, brown, washed
and washed. She talked of the nursing
staff, who talked of her behind her

back, some at least, she added, chat
of the *** cupboard we used, that
time you came, she said, laughing,
walking out of the Square, along by

the gallery, her voice too loud, he
thought, but sounded out by the
traffic passing. She was clothed in
a blue dress, too short, he thought,

seeing her thighs, sans stockings or
tights, sandaled feet. They went into
Leicester Square, she talking of one
of the quacks she'd seen, head case,

foreign, fancies himself, she added.
Baruch, spied the billboards, new
films, merchandise, drinks, cigarettes,
lowering his eyes, watching her sway

her hips and ****, hands swinging,
gesturing.  She stopped by a bench
and sat down, he did likewise, ears
catching her words, holding them in

his mind, something about them being
jealous of my sexuality she added,
giving Baruch the eye, maybe thinking
me a *****, a druggie slapper, she

said laughing, her hand rubbing against
the top of his, he sensing skin on skin,
remembering, the quickie in the side
room, cupboard size, just off the ward.

He talked of his boring job, the mind
numbing labours, the Coltrane jazz LP,
played on and on, he said, eyes closed.
She lay her head on his shoulder, he felt,

smelt the combination of expensive scent
and hospital smell (soaps or disinfectants),
felt her fingers rubbing his. She took out
a cigarette, offered him one, he took and

she lit up with red plastic lighter. Inhaled,
exhaled, inhaled, silence, her hand wrestled
with his, watching smoke rise, upwards,
twirling, in the hot summer spread skies.

How was it for you?
Uncle asked, lying
Slumped across Auntie,
Some small-beached
Whale, his voice escaping
His lungs as would air
From a punctured tyre.

Fine, it was fine, Auntie
Sighed, her soprano
Voice easing beneath
His sweaty soft bulk,
Unaware their young
Niece was standing silent
By the half open door,

Capturing them in the
Semi light, waiting small
And innocent to ask for
Water, dithering, unsure
Whether to ask and stay
Or simply to close the
Door and walk away.

The rain
had not stopped
all day
and so

you wandered
around
the school
assembly hall

like others
equally bored
peering
now and then

out of the window
at the falling
of the rain
and the empty playground

and you walked
with Boxall
and one
of his cronies

and listened
to his poor jokes
or his tales
of his father’s farm

when Christina
came over
and taking you
by the arm

led you
to the passageway
and said she knew
a quiet spot

where
you could both
be alone
and away

from the riff raff
so you let
yourself be led
along the passageway

she still holding
your arm
and you looking
about you

at the passing windows  
and prints
on walls
of famous art works

and into a small
deserted room
off
the dark passageway

and once inside
she shut the door
and leant
against it  

looking at the one
small window
at the other end
it’s a bit dark

she said
but at least
we can be
alone here

for a while
she released
your arm
and moved

to a wall
across the room
and you followed
we’ll have to

listen out
for prefects
or the caretaker
whose room it is

she said
you looked at her
standing there
her eyes focused

on you
her hair neat
and well brushed
and some scent

coming from her
( her mother’s
borrowed
she later said)

her grey skirt
(knee length)
and jumper
and white blouse  

sans tie
aren’t you going
to kiss me then?
she asked

of course
you said
and kissed her lips
putting your hands

about her waist
and she
did likewise
and it was strange

being there
with her alone
not having
others nearby

or other eyes
watching
and the kiss
seemed surreal

even though
her lips
were on yours
it seemed

like a dream
her hands
pressed you
close to her

and you sensing
her waist
in your hands
feeling her hips

and then
her ribcage
sensing her
small *******

pressed on
your chest
and the semi dark
of the room

and her scent
and flesh
and hands
and lips

and you listening
to her words
and footsteps
along the passage

and voices
and her eyes closed
and yours open
taking her in

sensing her there
and hearing words
not hers
outside the door

and you both
broke apart
and hid
behind the door

as it opened
and the caretaker
entered
leaving

the door open
where you hid
and he stood there
sorting through

his junk
and you both
standing there
holding hands

lips burning
breathing in the air.

Why do you wear
your guns back to front
in the holsters?
Helen asked me

as we walked
the bomb site
by Meadow Row
I saw this cowboy

in a film
at the cinema
have his like this
and you cross

your hands over
and get your guns
isn't it slower
that way?

she asked
no it's speed that matters
not how
you wear your guns

I said
I showed her
how quick I was
and she stood bemused

clutching her doll
Battered Betty
tightly to her chest
haven't you got

caps in your guns
to make them
sound real?
she asked

no I ran out
and anyway
I can make
the sound myself

by going
BANG BANG
she jumped away
holding Battered Betty

to her chest
you could have told me
you were going
to make that loud

banging noise
Betty got frightened
I looked at her
tightly woven plaits

of hair
and thick lens glasses
and her small hands
holding the doll

sorry Betty
I said
patting the doll's head
I put the guns away

and we walked
to the New Kent Road
and along
under the railway bridge

and by the Trocadero cinema
gazing at the billboards
and small pictures
of films

being shown
you can come
with me here
on Saturday

I said
they've got
a good cowboy film
showing

haven't any money
for the cinema
Mum said
she can't afford it

Helen said
my old man'll
cough up some money
if I ask

I said
she looked at me
Mum'll let me go
if you ask her

Helen said
ok let's go
ask her now
I said

so we walked
to Helen's house
and I told her
about how I practised

drawing my guns
everyday
she looked at Betty
but whether

she was listening
to me
or not
I couldn't say.

Doronit would spit fire
and Baruch knew it
he'd had it before
that time she'd gave him

the hard time because
he'd sat watching
some dame
in a caravan opposite

hanging out washing
on a make shift line
fancy her do you?
Doronit said

why don't you go over
and chat her up
but Baruch told her
he wasn't interested

and that he was just
observing the washing
hanging process
looking at her smalls

I suppose?
she said  
no he said he hadn't
but he had been looking

at the fine movement
of the dame's ****
but he never told
Doronit that

yes she'd spit fire
she'd lay the words on him
and that time
she saw this

other dame's name
in his note book
and when he came home
for lunch

she said
who's this then?
you having it off
with her?

Baruch told her
it was some dame
he was watching at work
all about

security and such
and she began
throwing stuff at him
shoes coat hangers knives

forks and spoons
whatever she could lay
her hands on and some
of it came down the stairs

like missiles
and he went up
and pinned her down
on the bed to calm her

and she relaxed
and said
was that all? no affair?
no

he said
no affair
nothing
just security

at work
and she smiled
and kissed him
and that was that

all over
fire spat and done
but this time
the fire

would be for real
and Baruch knew it
and he watched her go
about her work that day

hoovering dusting
cleaning the floor
and he waved goodbye
at the door

and never looked back
all over
no more fire
no more

Doronit had done it
for the last time
and he recalled her
that last moment

she with her cigarette smoking
her hair tied back
her eyes full
of dull fires

burning embers
and that is all
looking back
he remembers.

Mrs Parton said
come on round
my husband's out
for the day
and won't be home for lunch

so Baruch went around
on his afternoon off
forsaking the relaxation
of listening to Delius

forgoing two glasses of wine
and a closed eyes
lie down on his bed
he visited Mrs Parton instead

walking up her street
eyes behind curtains
watching him he supposed
she opened her door

and let him in
there
she said
sit on the sofa

and hey take off
your jacket
so he took off
his jacket

and she laid it
on an armchair
a dog barked nearby
o pay him no mind

that's just Brownie our mutt
I locked him outside
o right
Baruch said

looking up
at the window
across the room
where the sound

came from
you want a drink?
she asked
yes ok

he said
I'll get you one later
she said
and she leaned into him

and kissed his cheek
he felt it and sensed
the passion behind it
but didn't expect it

after all
she was 40
to his 28
( why did I come

around? he mused)
she leaned back
and gazed at him
her eyes hawk-like

taking in
his uncertainty
don't look so surprised
she said

after all
you did come around
yes
he said

of course
she kissed him
on the lips
and shut out

any more words
he might have had
he closed his eyes
tried to remember

a bit of Delius
some aspect
of his music
to make sense

of his moments
their lips parted  
she placed a hand
on his upper thigh

moved it to his crotch
(Mrs Cleves would have
got him at this stage
of operations a scotch)

his eyes lit up
his pecker stirred
I can sense movement
in the jungle

she said
how about here
on the sofa
I don't want to

on the marital bed?
Baruch tried to calm
the pecker
attempted to think

on higher things
are you sure?
he said
right now?

why waste time
she said
and proceeded to
lift up her skirt

and take off
her underwear
he sat
with an uncertain stare  

come on
she said
let's get on
before the kids

get home from school
school?
he muttered
yes they'll be home

in an hour or so
she said
she lay back
and pulled him

close to her
he fiddled to undress
thought of how
Mrs Cleves

would have got him
nigh on hooked on
***** first
before she pounced

he lay on her
(Mrs Parton)
his lips touching hers
but the pecker

wouldn't stir
it lay slumped
like a drunk
come on

she said
don't you want to?
I do but Percy doesn't
he said

Percy?
she muttered
he pointed downwards
o

she said
her voice
indicating disappointment
maybe I was too rushed

she said
maybe
he said
and sat back down

on the sofa
and she sat up
how about a drink?
that might stir him

she said
ok sure
Baruch said
she walked off

towards the kitchen
he sat studying the room
he put away his pecker
zipped up the fly

the mutt barked
the sound of a bottle
being uncorked
a voice singing

he thought of Mrs Cleves
**** naked
on the rug
19 years his senior

but my God
he thought
she made it all
so much easier.

She was almost tempted
To jump from the bridge
Despite the crowds that
Passed, despite the coldness
And filth of the water below,
But she didn’t; she walked
On and slit her wrists in the
Hospital corridor instead;
In some dark place no one
Noticed until the blood
Followed her footsteps
Like a worrying child.

Two men stopped her
And took her to nurses
Busy at some sideward
Desk; found her in the
Corridor, they said, blood
Everywhere, doesn’t answer,
Though, we’ve tried that,
Won’t say a dickybird,
Maybe she’s dumb or deaf,
One man suggested, standing
Back as if to see her better,
Watched the young girl as
If for the first time, taking
In the blood soaked jeans,
Tee shirt, hands and arms
And turned away, nodding
To his companion, with a
One of those druggy types,
No doubt, suggestion in the
Slow movement of his head.

Then she was gone, taken by
The nurses behind curtains,
Low voices, murmurs; their
Interest slipping away, the
Men moved on, chatting
How Cardiff would do in
The next match, and don’t
Tell the wife about the girl,
She’ll get the wrong idea,
Then there’ll be hell
To pay, one said, walking
Through the doors into
The afternoon sunshine.

She was almost tempted
Speak, to say how the devil
Tempted her to jump, how
The voices told her what to
Do, but she said nothing,
Just watched the nurses
Dab at her slit wounds with
Wads of bandages and frantic
Touches of their hands, while
Up on the ceiling, she noticed
A fly buzzing around the naked
Bulb, looking for a way out
From death; just like me,
She thought, just like ****** me.

Milka followed Baruch
along the road
to his parent's house
and up the stairs

to his bedroom
she looking about her
as she climbed
won't your parent’s

be home?
she asked
no they're at work
he said

my mother until
half two
Milka nodded
and thought

of the bewilderment
if they came home
too soon
and what if they did?

they came to the landing
and he showed her
the single bed
by the wall

next to another
by the window
whose bed is that?
she asked

my brother's
Baruch said
he's away
oh

she said looking
at the single bed
by the wall
with the blue bed cover

well?
he said
what do you think?
she looked at the bed

and then at Baruch
it's a bit narrow
she said
it'll be ok

he said
unless you don't want to
he said
she bit her lip

are you sure
no one
will be back early?
sure as sure

he said
he took in
her bright eyes
the hair

shoulder length
and well groomed
the yellow
tight fitting top

and blue jeans
she looked by him
at the window
can anyone see us?

he looked out
the window
I’ll close the curtains
he said

she looked at him there
eyes wide open
and alert
his black jeans

and white shirt
you don't have to
he said
just thought

that after last time
in the barn
it would be better here
she nodded

that was a bit
uncomfortable
she said smiling
hay and straw

in my *******
when I got home
he smiled
yes and that mouse

that ran over
my backside
she laughed
and relaxed

and I screamed
she said
he nodded
and looked at her

standing there
by the bed
we don't have to
if you'd rather not

he said
she looked at him
and said
I want to

it's just the anxiety
that your parents
will come home
and catch us

he stroked her hair
they won't
he said
I'd not risk it

if I thought
they'd be home early
she sat on the bed
and he sat next to her

she kicked off her shoes
and he did so too
she looked at him again
then  stood up

and unzipped her jeans
and took them off
and laid them
on the other bed

he did like wise
she took off the top
over her head
and placed it on top

of her jeans
he took off his shirt
and put it on top
of his jeans

then she unclipped
her bra
and threw it
to the other bed

he stood there
gazing at her
small mounds
the brownish dugs

she removed
her pink *******
and flicked them
to the bed

by the window
where they rested
by the windowsill
he took off his briefs

and threw them over
by his jeans
she breathed out
deeply and slowly

he put a hand
on right breast
felt the softness
ran his fingers

over the dug
she smiled
and touched his pecker
then she lay down

on the bed
and he lay beside her
his hand touching
her thigh

and she saw
the sunlight
through
the uncurtained window

in the bright
midday sky.

He always thought
hers was a peasant's body
not as a critique
but by something

about the simplicity
of the way she walked
or stood or the way
she lay on the double bed

one hand resting
on her naked abdomen
her brown haired head
on a pillow at rest

the way one leg
was raised
one flat down
on the bed

the small area
of ***** hairs
he was by the window
of his bedroom

looking at the garden below
then up along the road
the afternoon sun
settling on the trees

aren't you coming
back to bed?
she said
still not satiated ?

he said smiling
sensing his pecker move
not of you
she said

or of Percy
if he's willing
he sniggered
at her nickname

for his pecker
the green bus went by
along the road
good God

he said
that's her bus
whose?
she said

my mother's bus
she’ll be here
in a few minutes  
she lay there

open mouthed
uncertain of what
to say or do
you'll have to get up

and we'll go
before she wonders
what we were doing
up here

he said
she moved from the bed
as if in a daze
her nakedness complete

her ******* bobbing
her hands searching
around for her clothes
he moved faster

hurrying his dressing
taking quick glimpses
through the window
his mother was not

in view
he took a glance
at his lover
semi dressed

hair in a mess
her naked buttocks
disappearing
into cloth

he loved that final glimpse
of nakedness
that final sight
of bare flesh

his mother was in sight
along the road
quick
he said

downstairs
and she grabbed
her stockings
and shoes

and followed him
down the stairs
two at a time
her bare feet

sensing the cold floor
through the kitchen
and out the back door
along the brick pathway

he closed the door
and locked
and put the key
back under the mat

and speedily
followed his lover
into the woods
the ground prickling

beneath his feet
and she smiling
out of breath
hiding behind

the old shed
putting on her stockings
and he wondering
how it may have been

if his mother
had caught them
making love
and their nakedness seen.

The combing of the hair
the brushing
the hand holding the strands
brushing her hair

Coco wishes
it was her hair
wants to feel more
than hair

wanting to feel full stop
to enter in
to hold
to kiss

to take
each inch of skin
and lick
and o gods of wherever

is this love?
such overwhelmingness
such empting
and the hair held

the fingers
letting run through
the sensation
the breath held

the breathing paused
love o love o love
and then
there is this

that wanting
to be with
wanting
to have and kiss

and the brushing of hair
and eyes taking in
each aspect
from each angle

and she is speaking
and Coco hears
but doesn’t
listens but the words

are slippery as eels
and are gone
but there
allusive

just out of reach
and the neck
and the skin
and that space

her eyes settle on
and that bath time
that watching
as one does

that drying of another
as one is paid to do
but more
o love wants more

not once
not twice or thrice
but forever
if such there is

for this young miss
for Coco
to have and hold
and deeply kiss.

After tea
you went out

into the summer evening
without cowboy hat

or rifle
but your six shooter

tucked in the belt
of your jeans

to meet Helen
under the railway bridge

next to the Duke of Wellington
public house

I thought you weren’t coming
Helen said

standing in her summer dress
and holding her favourite doll

Battered Betty
my horse refused to come

so I had to walk
you said

Helen smiled
my mum knows I’m with you

but I mustn’t be out late
Helen said

where shall we go?
you asked

let’s go and see
what’s on at the cinema

Helen said
so you both walked

along the back streets
until you came

onto the main road
and studied the cinema billboards

I saw Davy Crockett here
you said

who’s he?
Helen asked

he was a frontiersman
who fought Indians

and wore a bearskin hat
you said

was he here?
Helen asked

it was a film
you replied

oh
she said

she swung Battered Betty
behind her back

from hand to hand
I haven’t been

to the pictures recently
mum said we can’t afford it

what about Saturday matinee?
you asked

you could come to that
it’s for kids only

and it’s fun
Helen brought Battered Betty

into her arms
I’m not sure

she said
I could asked your mum

you said
I’d take care of you

I’ve got my six shooter
Helen put her hand

in your hand
and said

ok she’d listen to you
Helen said

you felt her hand in yours
and hoped no boys

who knew you
saw this or

the following
small lips kiss.

At Waterloo Station
the steam engines
puffed powerful steam
reaching up

to the rooftop
and you stood there
hands in your pockets
your nose sniffing in

the white and grey smell
you can taste it
on your tongue
and Janice beside you

her eyes looked up
at the rooftop
as the steam
reached high

her hands clutching
the small bag
I want to be a train driver
when I’m older

you said
I want to smell
that smell
and breathe in

that steam and shovel
coal in the engine
maybe you will
Janice said

maybe you’ll be
on a train like that
big and black
and powerful

she put her hand
under your arm
and squeezed
Gran said we can be

what we want
if we want it
bad enough
Janice added

you felt her hand
under your arm
sensed her squeeze it
we went to the seaside

on a ******* train
like this last year
you said
and I put my head

out the train window
and my mum said
keep your head in
or a train

will knock it off
that’d be horrible
Janice said
she clutched

closer to you
as the steam train
puffed out more steam
and the sound was loud

and powerful
and she said
maybe
when you’re an engine driver

you can take me
to the seaside
with Gran
yes

you said
and if you come
to the engine
before you take off

I can show you
the engine
and how powerful it is
and she smiled

and put her head
on your shoulder
yes
you said softly

when I grow up
and when I am older.

I was on the bomb site
off Arch Street
collecting pieces of wood
and newspaper

-******* in a ball-
and small pieces of coal
liberated from the coal wharf
near by

plus a few Swan Vestas
borrowed from
my old man's box at home
I lit a fire

near the railway arch
and Ingrid said
are you allowed
to do that?

not that I know
I said
what if a policeman
comes?

she asked
I'll just say
it was alight
when I came

and I was
keeping warm
I replied
but that's lying

she said
stretching the truth
a little
I said

she frowned at me
her bruised eye
was on the mend
and was just a slight

memory now
-her old man's
handiwork-
what if you get burnt?

she said
risk of the game
I said
I shouldn't be here

if my dad saw me here
I'd be for it
she said
you're always for it

I said
you've only got to look
at your old man
and he whacks you

I replied
not always
she said
looking away

he slippered you
the other week
for dropping
that bottle of milk

she said nothing
but looked across
the bomb site
at the passing buses

on the New Kent Road
I got out a small tin
and opened it
want a cigarette?

she peered at me
then at the tin
where'd you get those?
she said

I made them
I said
made them?
yes out of dog-ends

I picked up
from the gutters
and borrowing
cigarette papers

from an uncle
I made them up
she pulled a face
but they must have

other people's
spit on them
she said
but the papers

are fresh
I said
and besides
the burning tobacco

gets rid of that
she looked at me
and said
yuk

I put the tin away
and we watched
the fire burning
a Rozzer stopped me

on here the other week
and said to me
did I see you smoking?
I said

no I've not been smoking
I'd flicked the **** end
onto the bomb site
behind me

and he looked
at me suspiciously
and said
better not let me

catch you sonny boy
and he walked off
I'd have wet myself
she said

if a policeman
stopped me
we watched the fire burning
for a few more minutes

then we went across
the bomb site
to the chip-shop
to buy 6d of chips

and stood outside
and shared them
watching the small bomb fire
burning across the way

on that cold
November day.

Benedict wheeled Anne
out the back gate
of the nursing home.

The sea was calm,
the tide was out.
He pushed her wheelchair
along the path by the beach.

He could smell the salt
in the air, the mild breeze
through his well kempt hair.

She sat with her hands in her lap;
she wore a blue skirt, her one
leg showed from knee down.  

You’re not a very exciting pusher
of wheelchairs are you, she said.
My old gran could push me quicker.

I don’t want you falling out, Benedict said.
Don’t be a ******* ****, Kid,
push me; I want the air in my face,
the wind up my nose, she said,
grabbing the arms of the chair
and shaking them. So he pushed
her quicker, his puny arms giving
it all they could, his legs like frail
pistons moving quickly onward.

That’s it, she bellowed, faster,
faster, Kid, get those lazy legs
of yours ****** moving.  

He pushed harder and gathered
speed, his hands holding on
to the handlebars for dear life.

They had covered a good distance
in a short time and he had to take
a break for breath. What’s a matter
got a puncture? she said. No, he said,
out of breath. Well ****** rest then, Kid.

He turned the wheelchair round
to face the sea. Then stood beside
her looking out at the horizon.
The blue sky, grey clouds, gulls
in the air. This is the life, Kid, she
bellowed This is ******* living.

He said nothing; her language
stung his ears. His mother would
have washed his mouth out
with soap for saying such.

There were people on the sands;
some in deckchairs, some standing
gazing out to sea; kids with buckets
and spades making sand castles,
some swimming, some throwing
a ball to each other. Look at that fat ****
over there with her swimsuit on,
Anne said, pointing to a woman
standing with a man on the sea’s edge,
bet they had to pour her into that,
she added. Benedict said nothing.

He looked down at Anne’s one leg
sticking out of her blue skirt.
She looked up at him. Help me up
and out, she said. He took her hands
and pulled her upwards and she
swayed slightly, but then managed
to stand ***** on her one leg,
the wheelchair behind her.

Should have brought my ******
crutches, she said. Sorry, he said,
didn’t know you wanted to get out.
You’ll just have to hold me up then
won’t you, she said. She put her right
arm around his shoulder and he let go
of her hands. There we go; you can be
my crutch, she said. He could feel her
arm about his shoulder, her weight on him.

You’re a good mate, Kid, she said.
She kissed his cheek. None of those
nursing sister would have wheeled me
out along here not for all the ******
rosaries in Rome, she said. He smiled.

He could feel the damp patch of skin
where her lips had been. They stood
gazing out at the sea together, she swayed
slightly on her one leg, he sensed her
nearness; wanting to be stronger,
he stood firmer, his feet planted deeper
in the sand. Then he sensed her stump
beneath her skirt, rub gently against his hand.

Chanan closes his book.
His companion
has gone sightseeing.
The coffee is drunk.

The day is fine, the sky
a watery blue,
pale clouds drift.

He sits and meditates
on another coffee,
another cigarette,
watching passing crowds,
visitors and natives
of Dubrovnik.

He raises a finger,
a waiter nods,
goes off.

Chanan notices
across the way,
at another table,
a woman sitting,
hat red
at an angle,
slim fingers holding
a holder with cigarette,
the red lips,
the blue dress,
cleavage,
crossed legs,
red shoes.

He studies her,
takes in the hand
on knee, the hand
with holder,
the fine way
of inhaling
and exhaling,
the smoke drifting.

She leans back,
sky gazing,
in between drags
she sips her wine.

He takes in
the fine figure,
the turn of head,
the shoes of red.

He imagines her
(while his companion
is out seeking the sights)
coming to his room
at the hotel,
soft music playing,
lights down low,
wine bottle and glasses,
the usual patter,
the romantic air,
the twin bed waiting.

His coffee comes,
the waiter departs,
the woman stands
as a man approaches,
dark haired,
slim figured,
trimmed beard,
well dressed,
an air of affluence.

They go off
arm in arm,
she wiggling
her hot behind,
her red shoes,
tap-tapping.

Chanan stumps out
his cigarettes,
sips his coffee,
nothing ends
like it seems,
he is left
with an empty evening
and a lonely dream.

Two sets of pram wheels
a plank(some kid's dad
brought that)

a wooden cross beam
a nut and bolt
to hold

the cross beam
in place
a piece of rope

(Ingrid gave that
an old skipping rope)
an orange box

and the go-cart
was ready
by the bike shed

and Jimmy said
I best drive it first
as I'm the eldest

ok
you said
Ingrid said nothing

she looked at Jimmy
hands in her
cardigan pockets

biting her lip
Ingrid supplied the rope
you said

she deserves
a ride too
sure sure

Jimmy said
climbing
into the orange box

and taking up the ropes
into his hands
right you push

he said
I brought
my mum's prop stick

Ingrid said
you can push with that
she pointed

to a long pole
by the shed door
yes ok

Jimmy said
so you took up
the pole and placed it

in the back
of the plank
and began to push it

through the Square
Ingrid stood watching
as you pushed

the go-cart
at running speed
on on

Jimmy said
and he steered
the go-cart

around the Square
as you ran faster
then let go

and the go-cart
went at its own volition
and you walked

and stood by Ingrid
will he let me ride it?
she asked

he will
you said
or I'll not

push him again
you watched
as the go-cart

slowed down
and Jimmy drove it up
to the bike shed

where it came
to a stop
why'd you stop pushing?

he asked
couldn't push any faster
you said

it needs constant pushing
he said

I'm not a machine
you said
he sat looking

at Ingrid
she can push
he said

she's a girl
you said
I can push

she said
and she took the pole
and shoved it

at the back
of the plank
and began to push it

off as best she could
with Jimmy steering
along by the sheds

and off once more
into the Square
and you watched

her push
her hands tight
around the pole

her legs running
as fast as she could
and there

as she ran
and her skirt rose
you saw red marks

on her thigh
her old man's work
you said with a sigh

then it was gone
as she ran down
the *****

and out of sight
with the sound of Jimmy
cheering her on.

Mrs Wren said
she'd have her husband back
if she could
but the guy was just

too wrapped up
in himself
and even though he thinks
the world of his kid

he thinks of other things
or others more
like that time
when he promised to come

to the kid's birthday party
and didn't show
o
he said  

I had some one come call
and I didn't want to send
them away
(woman probably

the one he has at the office
who cleavage is to die for)
and that other time
when he said he'd

have the kid
while I had a trip
with the girls out
but no at the last minute

he doesn't show
it's all I had the flu
or I had one of my heads
(more like

the ***** turned up)
and I had to stay at home
while the girls went
and had a good time

or that other time
when he said I
was the most important person
in his life

and wanted me
as his wife
then he goes off
with a smooth talking

wiggly *** girl
with her own car
and only after
he'd got as far

as he could with her
did he return tail
( or something)
between his legs

and flowers
and chocs
and o so sorry honey
I had her all wrong

it's you who mean
the most to me
or that time
when we were on

our honeymoon
( the kid conceived
that time)
and walking arm in arm

along the beach
him spewing
all the words
the romantic stuff

but eyeing all the girls
taking in their bikinis
or their shapeliness
and one even came up

and had the nerve
to chat him up
while I stood there
giving her the glare

and he o so Mr Cool
forgetting me standing
like a fool
or that afternoon

I found him in our bed
with that woman upstairs
the one who borrowed
the sugar each week

and all he said was
you know me honey
I'm weak
I can't resist the eyes

but there you go
Mrs Wren said
I love him so
despite the lies.

I am a holder of dolls,
said Monica,
I keep them in my arms
in light and dark,
I sleep with one
in my bed at night,
her fuzzy hair
tickles my face,
my dreams are of
my mother's cries,
her anguish over
the men who come.

I am the bearer
of her smacks,
her voice vibrates
in my ears,
her hand marks
colour my skin.

My window looks out
on fish shop below,
the baker's shop
on the left,
on narrow
Meadow Row,
the bomb sites
on either side.

My mother's men
come and go,
they make her
laugh or cry,
they sleep beside her
in her double bed,
I hear their voices
in the dark,
the sounds of giggles
or weeping,
the slapping of hands
on flesh,
the darkness brings me
bogeymen and shadows.

One of the men,
crept to my bed,
removed my doll,
touched my leg,
lifted my nightdress,
our little secret
he whispered to me,
the darkness swallowed him
up, the dirtiness left
in his wake.

I am the sleeper
of light sleep,
I listen for the sound
of creeping feet,
for the door **** to move ,
for the door to open,
for the hands to touch,
for the secrets kept.

From my window I see
the children at play
on the grass below,
with toy guns,
bows and arrows,
dolls and prams,
they look for me
to join in,
to enter their games,
the boys seek me
as their cowgirl moll,
they ride their invisible
horses across the plains,
shooting out
their cowboy dreams.

I watch the sky darken,
the moon a silver coin,
the clouds
puffs of smoke,
my mother
calls me to meals,
the table and chairs,
old and stained,
her man friend
drinks and smokes,
makes silly remarks,
***** jokes,
me he pinches
(under the table)
or secretly pokes.

I am the holder of dolls,
they are my true companions,
they never complain,
they share my dreams,
they share my pains.

From my window
I see Benedict play,
he alone knows
of my plight,
he my knight
in cowboy shirt
and jeans,
my teller of tales,
my listener of woes,
he buys me
sweets or chips
after our games,
walks me home
with his 6 shooter gun
resting in the holster
by the side of his leg,
his cowboy hat
slanted to one side.

He keeps my secrets,
holds my hand
over busy roads,
eyes the men
my mother brings home,
guns them down
in our shared dreams.

I kiss his cheek
as a kind of thanks,
he blows me a kiss
from his open palm
as he rides
the bomb site plains,
he knows my fears
of the men
and my mother's smacks
and the pains,
he stares at my mother
with his hazel eyes,
his steady stare,
he alone likes me,
he alone is there.

The small dinner party had gone
Off well, Hazel thinks, sitting at
The dressing table, gazing at herself
In the mirror, seeing her hair done

Up just so, the way her maid, Dunne
Painstakingly did it for her. She begins
To unpin her hair, placing the pins in
The small glass dish, her fingers unused

To the task. Dunne is down in the kitchen
With the temporary cook, helping to clear
Up, tidy things away as is her want, her
Tidiness part of her character. She sits her

Hair unpinned, staring at her features,
At her eyes, the mouth slightly open, the
Teeth even and white. In the mirror she
Can see the made up bed, the covers

Turned down, the china hot water bottle
She knows just under the covers, put there
By Dunne. She’ll be there soon, Dunne,
Her maid, her lover, ******* her and

Herself. She has her own room and bed
Up in the attic, but she seldom uses it unless
Guests are there over night or are staying
For a few days. Tonight she will be here,

Hazel muses, rubbing a tongue licked finger
Over her brow, and they will snuggle down
And talk of their day and then make love,
Then sleep. Since her father’s death and the

Truth of his deeds and what he made Dunne
Do and the forced ***, she feels a mixture
Of anger and grief mixed into a compound
That makes her tired and confused. She waits.

She wants Dunne there, wants her fingers
To undo her zips and buttons, brush her hair,
Feeling the fingers on her skin, in her hair.
She wants to feel Dunne’s lips on hers, needs

Dunne’s fingers moving over her body, wants
To know each aspect of her maid’s body. In
Her mind she can sense the feel, remember
The point of high sensation, as if her whole

Body was taken to the limits of exhilaration
Of passion, as if she might explode and all her
Being be scattered into ***** of sensuality.
She can’t find the exact words to express it.

She sits and waits, waits sitting, breathes
In, breathe out. Dinner had gone very well.
The evening guests talked of this and that,
Had their laughs and jokes. Mr Phibuster

Had lectured to her on the economy, how
Some upstart in Germany was stirring up
Trouble. She couldn’t have cared less. Her
Eyes kept going to Dunne, watching her

Coming and going with dishes and glasses.
She sits up straight, Dunne is coming, she
Hears her footstep in the passage, her voice,
Some Mozart aria is tunefully humming.

Lydia
sat on the
red tiled door

step of the
ground floor flat
looking out

at the Square
one morning
one Sunday

her father
was in bed
her mother

preparing
Sunday lunch
listening

to music
on the old
radio

her 15
year old big
sister was

asleep with
her boyfriend
her brother

Hem was out
looking for
spiders

to pull off
their legs
one by one

the man with
his boxer
dog walked by

then she saw
Benedict
in tee shirt

and blue jeans
armed with his
6 shooters

in holsters
wearing a
cowboy hat

where abouts
you going?
She asked him

clean up Dodge
he replied
why? is it

***** then?
She called out
sitting there

in her green
flowered dress
Benedict

walked over
to where she
was sitting

you ok?
He asked her
pushing back

on his head
the black hat
no I'm bored

and fed up
she replied
come with me

we can both
clean up Dodge
Benedict

said to her
so where's Dodge?
She asked him

on the big
bomb site off
Meadow Row

can I have
one of your
6 shooters?

Sure you can
have to tell
my mum where

I'm going
Lydia said
Benedict

nodded his
head and said
best not to

mention Dodge
or she may
not let you

go with me
so she went
indoors and

asked her mum
where will you
be? she asked

we're going
to clean up
Dodge City

who are we?
Benedict
and just me

her mother
stared at her
o I see

mother said
be careful
of the roads

and that was
all she said
carrying

on with the
preparing
of the lunch

Lydia
went off with
Benedict

borrowing
one of his
6 shooters

tucked in the
green bow of
her green dress

her eyes bright
her straight hair
unbrushed

and
quite a mess.

The stables
where horses
snort and move

and grooms work
and sky dull
and greyish

Alice walks
holding on
for dear life

to the hand
of Mary
the one she

has chosen
to be her
new mother

fingers red
with washing
chores and things

but it's warm
as she holds
the hand tight

Mary talks
of cold nights
noisy bed

attic mice
and spiders
in corners

of the room
Alice says
I could stay

in your room
keep you warm
cuddle up

hold you close
as I did
with Mother

in her bed
before she
was locked up

with illness
of her brain
Mary sighs

feels the hand
in her own
small and warm

small fingers
tiny nails
pink and pure

different class
than her own
we will see

Mary says
stable sounds
horses snort

their large heads
looking out
******* eyes

large white teeth
busy grooms
at their work

Alice looks
inner fear
but draws near

wants to stroke
Mary lifts
Alice up

her red hands
wedged beneath
small armpits

mother's love
smells the soap
in the hair

on the blue
pinafore
Alice smiles

feels the horse
smooth and hot
on her hand

Mary holds
feels the heart
beating soft

as she holds
Alice up
to the horse

secret child
adopted
in her heart

none must know
of this love
secret pact

lift her on
a groom says
Alice thrills

lifted there
Mary holds
the groom laughs

in loud barks
in the blood
this horse love

the groom says
Alice smiles
happiness

shining out
of her eyes
Mary holds

her tightly
keeps her there
on the horse

safe and sound
then later
after that

lifts her down
to the ground
as the horse

with the groom
walk away
come on then

Mary says
let's go back
your father

will wonder
where you are
Alice nods

holds the hand
soft and warm
wants to be

close to her
but she sees
by the house

Nanny stand
arms folded
grim features

dressed in black
Mary holds
the child's hand

tighter still
walking back.

Your sister called her
the girl in the red beret

and there she was
in the outdoor

swimming pool
in the park

her gran sitting
in the stands knitting

and Janice saw you
and said

Fancy seeing you here
can you swim?

You stood
in the shallow end

of the pool
in your blue trunks

looking at her wet fair hair
clinging to her body

and her eyes bright
in the sun’s afternoon light

No not so far
you replied

I can
she said shaking water

from her hair and head
I can swim the length

and back almost
you looked over

at Jimmy in the pool
talking to friends

she touched your hand
and said

I can show you
how to swim

and she smiled
and you felt her hand

on yours and hoped
Jimmy wasn’t looking

seeing her touch you
Maybe another time

you said
pulling your hand away

and plunging it
into the water

I’ve got to go
you said

my friends
are waiting for me

and she looked at you
her eyes now sad

and she said softly
No stay with me

I like it
when you are near me

and she stood there
in her pink swimsuit

her hair sticking
to her face

her eyes watery and blue
and gazing hopefully

(the noise and laughter
from the pool

momentarily shut off)
at seven year old you.

A female Buddha,
the way she sat, not
love making, that some

other. Cross-legged,
he remembered her,
on that blue sofa, the

Mahler playing from
her hi-fi, her oval face,
soft features, that loud

laughter, the Glaswegian
accent cutting through
the attempted English

tones. The bottle of whisky
opened, the glasses filled,
supped, sipped or what

ever the word is, it happened.
It’s no good taking some
people out of the slums,

she said, you need to take
the slum out of the people.
She looked then nothing

like the former nun she
had been, he thought,
perfume invading the nose,

her hair piled in some out
of date Beehive, some
French queen prior to

revolution, she sat, glass
in hand, other plump
hand toughing his thigh,

rubbing her fingers up
and down. She wanted
to stir his pecker, wanted

motion through his jeans.
He listened to Mahler,
gazing beyond her at the

painting on the wall, that
tat she collected. Her
hand rubbed higher, her

soft tones suggestive, her
talk of slums and slum
dwellers put aside. An

evening of *** ahead, in
bed or on the sofa, with
the female Buddha, her

plump *******, thighs,
arms, maybe lost there
amongst the folds of flesh.

She despised his Marxian
philosophy, loved his
****** prowess, his proud

perfect pecker. He loved
her whisky, her soft to
touch skin, her *******

to allow him in. The female
Buddha gone now, her
heart gave out, he was told,

and looking back, years after
years, his youth misspent
at times, too much *****,

*** and moral lack, he had
moved on, improved, but
loved to smile and look back.

Your Aunt Edna
had asthma
and she carried around
a *******

asthmatic mask
which frightened
the life out of you
especially when

she put it over
her mouth and nose
and her eyes went
big and dark  

and she said
it’s ok Tony
nothing to worry about
it’s to help me breathe

and she managed
to laugh
and you kind of relaxed
and watched

as she sat down
and closed her eyes
and breathed in
and her breath

came back
of its own accord
and then she put
the mask down

and she was herself again
and her dark hair
was curled and wavy
and she looked like

an actress when
she wasn’t gasping
for breath
and didn’t have

that awful mask
over her face
and some days
she took you

to the park nearby
and watched you
run and play
or sat with you

on a bench
when she needed
to catch her breath
and you liked the park

with its tall trees
and wide green spaces
and the green
painted railings

that went all around
and there was that
gateway you went in
and you remember dogs

running and their owners
throwing sticks or *****
but you just sat
with Aunt Edna

as she put on her mask
to find her breath
and you and she
not knowing then

that hiding behind
the asthma
was ugly Mr Death.

Dennis watched
as Miss Richie
slapped your face
and then stormed off

what was that for?
Dennis said
you rubbed your cheek
fire hot

I guess she didn't like
what I said
you replied
what did you say?

he asked
I asked her
if it was her face
or was she breaking it in

for an ape
you said
Dennis laughed
his green/blue eyes lit up

like pinball lights
what made you say that?
he said
because she would me up

and said I had a discarded look
you said
maybe you have
he said

maybe I have
but that's my face
not hers
you said

the bell rang
for morning break
and so you went down
the back stairs with him

and into the playground
and took out
your football player cards
and set down

by the far wall
and joined in the game
of flicking cards
nearest the wall

but Derek won
the first lot
and you lost
your favourite

and watched
as he handed them
into his winning pack
over in the other corner

plump Miss Richie was standing
arms folded
glaring at you
any more

for any more?
Derek said
count me in
you said

taking more cards
out of your jacket pocket
and along with Dennis
and Derek and Richard

you flicked your cards
and the game
was in play once more
Dennis's card won

and he collected the cards
on the ground
by the wall
that's me out of cards

you said
and wandered off
to where Ingrid
sat alone

by the playground steps
hair pinned back
with metal grips
her grey skirt stained

her cardigan holey
with missing buttons
her eyes brightened
when she saw you

saw you lost cards
she said
yes not my day
you said

not mine either
she said
what's up?
you said

I lost my dinner money
she said
and dad will **** me
when he finds out

where'd you lose it?
you said
don't know
I went to get it

from my bag
and it was gone
she said tearfully
you put your hand

in your trouser pocket
and took out a 2/6d coin
here have mine
you said

I can't
she said
what will you do
about your dinners?

I'll tell my mum
I lost it
you said
but she'll get angry

with you
Ingrid said
yes but she'll not **** me
or harm me

unlike your old man
you said
she took the coin
and put it

in her cardigan pocket
thank you
she said
no other boy

would do that for me
they don't like me
and call me names
she said

I like you
you said
and walked up
the stairs

to the boys' toilets
wondering how to tell
your mother
you'd lost your coin

on that Monday morning
on your way to school
as you opened the door
and entered the stall.

Janice walked back with you
from Harper Road
where you’d been shopping
for your mother

for sugar
in a blue paper bag
and flour and eggs
and other items

on the list
and Janice
with her red beret
and red dress said

what was the book
you bought
in the newsagents
the other day?

it’s about Robin Hood
you said
and his Merry Men
and I’m half way

through it already
was he for real?
she asked
I guess so

you said
I’ve seen programmes
about him on TV
and Maid Marian

who’s she?
Janice asked
Robin’s girlfriend
you said

and sometimes
in the boring bits
of the programme
they kiss and such

but I like
the fighting parts best
with swords
and bows

and arrows
you added
my gran said
violence solves nothing

Janice said
as you both walked
into the Square
and she said

she heard it some place
that those who live
by the sword
die by the sword

but I don’t **** anyone
you said
I just pretend
to sword fight

the bad knights
or sometimes fire
my bow and arrow
at the pram shed door

imagining it’s the drawbridge
of the bad knight’s castle
o I see
Janice said

sounds fun
you can be
my Maid Marian
if you want

you said
so long as you leave out
the kissing bits
she stopped

and looked at you
don’t you like kissing me?
she said
you looked at her

in her red beret
and red dress
and white socks
and brown sandals

her hands holding
the bag of shopping
from side to side
sure I do

you said
if it’s ok for Robin
then I guess
it can’t be too bad

good
she said
can I use
your sword too

and help fight
the bad knights?
you nodded
and walked on

and she followed
but don’t tell Gran
Janice said
or she’ll tan my backside

or so she said
the other week
don’t worry
I won’t say a word

you said
and sure
you can use
my other sword

Maid Marian does
on TV
so guess
you can too

and that was that
and you climbed
the stairs in silence
to your mother’s flat.

Hey Skinny Kid
one legged Anne said
have you ever seen
a *******?

no
you said
thinking it
some kind

of fish
she nibbled
at her scrambled egg
on toast

at the table
in the children's
nursing home
you mouthed

Cornflakes and milk
Anne was next to you
eyeing
the nursing nun nearby

would you like
to see a *******?
Anne asked
in whispered voice

thinking it
some rare find
you said
yes ok

where will I see it?
the beach?
she almost choked
on her scrambled egg

are you all right Anne?
the nun asked
coming over
her black and white habit

swishing as she walked
yes
Anne said
egg went down

the wrong way
well be careful
the nun said
and walked off again

yes the beach
if you like
Anne whispered
trying to keep

a straight face
but you're sure
you've not seen one?
you nodded your head

not that I know of
you said
have you asked Sister Bridget?
you added

giving the nun
a look
o yes she's seen one
Anne said

straining the muscles
in her face
did she say so?
you said

o I know she has
Anne said
you mouthed
more Cornflakes

and milk
little Miss Sad
sat nibbling
at her toast

her tiny fingers
holding hard
the other kids eating
their breakfasts

the morning sunshine
shining through
the windows
after we've finished

I'll show you
Anne said
show him what?
Malcolm asked

who was sitting
on Anne's other side
never you mind prat face
Anne said

only special people
can this see
what I'm showing
Skinny Kid

then I'll tell Sister Bridget
Malcolm said
kiss my backside
and drop dead

Anne replied
Sister Bridget
Anne swore at me
Malcolm said

the nun shook her head
and said
Anne it's a sin to swear
God is listening

you know
and so you sat
and wondered
if you'd ever see

what it was
one legged Anne
was going
to show.

You and Judith
sang in the choir
at the Major’s

daughter’s wedding
and after
you walked along

to the house and gardens
where the reception
was being held

where there were marquees
for food of various kinds
and a huge beer tent

where there was champagne
and beer and wine
and soft drinks and lemonade

and she said
I will never have
a wedding like this

and she glanced around
at the marquees
and the people

in their fine clothes
and large hats
and waitresses walking

with trays of drink
maybe not
you said

taking two glasses
of champagne  
from the tray

of a passing waitress
not with the money
my dad gets

from farm work
she added
taking the glass

you offered her
and sipping
and you watched her lips

and how they worked
the crystal glass
and her fingers

holding the stem
as if it were a gold gem
worth more

than her father earned
in a lifetime
but I can always pretend

she said
and placed her arm
under yours

and walked you forward
over the grass
we can always pretend

it’s our wedding day
and these are our guests
and over the way

in the entrance
of one of the marquees
Hill stood with his

schoolgirl girlfriend Shirley
both supping the bubbly
him in his Sunday best

and she in a pink
and white dress
and her blonde hair

and stockings
and white shoes
and you said

would we invite Hill
and his girlfriend
or Tidy and his thick

caterpillar eyebrows?
she looked over at Hill
and pretty Shirley

and said
we have to be generous
when in love

and it’s our wedding day
and she lay her head
on your shoulder

and you watched
the bride and groom
over by the main marquee

kissing and embracing
and the people
around them

were cheering
and as you both
moved on

she said
where shall we go
for our honeymoon?

the south of France
you said
somewhere warm

and glancing at the sky
it carried a promise
of a coming storm.

He'd already
slit his wrists
and tried
to hang himself

in the crapper
from the water
pipe system
and now they kept him

in the locked ward
sans belt or laces
and kept him
in sight

of at least
one nurse's sharp eyes
but still he managed
to liberate laces

from some old guy's shoes
while he slept
and had just about
tied one end

of the tied laces
to the pipes
when a nurse
seeing him

through the curtains
raised the alarm
and banged
on the door

and raised
merry hell
but he just set about
his slow task

attempting to put
the narrow noose
about his head
when some big

male nurse
(ape build)
banged open
the door

and pulled him down
sans the laces
and pinned him
to the floor

Benedict smelt
body odour
and cheap aftershave
and still

the ape nurse
held him down
there was that
Beatles' song

on the radio
on the locked ward
HELP
I need somebody

the nurse joined in
the chorus line
Benedict caught sight
unwittingly

of the female nurse's
pale pink *******
as she moved
on over to help

and her perfume
was better
and has she
pressed down

nearer
to give aid
he closed his eyes
gentlemanly

so as not to view
the cleavage
coming his way
can’t have

too much excitement
(he mused darkly)
in one suicide
attempting day.

Do you want to see
my collection of knives?
Jim asked
sure

I said
so he went
into his
ground floor flat

and I sat
on the grass
outside
his bedroom window

cleaning my
6 shooter gun
with my handkerchief
here

Jim said
have look
at this beauty
and he handed me

a narrow bladed knife
with an eagle
on the handle
and German script

on the blade
Meine Ehre Heisst Treue
what does that mean?
I asked

Dad said it means
my honour is loyalty
Jim said
I ran a finger

along the blade
it was still sharp
it's an SS knife
he said

I handed him
back the knife
and off he went
to get another

this one
had a curved blade
be careful
of the blade

Jim said
it's very sharp
I bet that's taken off
many a head

he said
sliding his thumb
under his throat
what kind

of knife is it?
I asked
it's a Gurkha
combat knife

he said
he took
that knife away
and brought back

a knife with
a knuckleduster handle
what the hell is this?
I said

taking the knife
into my hands
and turning it over
it's an Aussie

fighting knife
Jim said
could have
slit open a ***

he said
I tried not
to think of that
but looked

at the knuckleduster handle
and imagined
a man's hand
and fingers there

at one time
I handed Jim
back the knife
and he went

back inside
there were voices
coming
from Jim's room

and Jim's old man
came to the window
and said
don't tell no one

what you've seen Benny
Jim should
have known better
and backed off

into the room
I looked
at my 6 shooter
in my lap

Jim came
along the grass
back from the flat
sorry about that

he said
Dad has this thing
about knives
and such

he helped
open up
Belsen camp
and saw too much.

The Moroccan sun was hot
and the sands
of the beach
down from the base camp

were warm
beneath your feet
as Mamie and you
took a walk

looking seaward
then skyward
the sounds
from the base camp

becoming faded
background buzz
and she said
those toilets are a disgrace

two bricks
over a hole
in the ground
and after a few drinks

one stands there
swaying fearing
to fall in
yes not quite up

to the 5 star hotel standard
you said
but this is a camping trip
across half of Europe

and beyond
not some top notch
holiday in the swanky
middle class arena

but still
she moaned
trying to balance
on two bricks

is no mean trick
you sensed her hand
hold yours
her skin warm

sticking to your skin
her fingers moving
between yours
and you recalled

the night just gone
while the guy
you shared the tent with
had gone on a trip

to Fez
you and she
kissed and embraced
and did the business

while outside
you could hear
the voices
of others

as they passed by
or music played on guitars
from the guys
in the bar

up a small way
as you both lay
on your backs
staring at the blue top

of the tent
the heat of the sun
pushed through
and the bodies wet

with sweat
and she put
a hand on your belly
and rubbed

in a circular motion
as far away
you heard
the sway

and run
of the Mediterranean sea
and nearby voices
and their laughter

and gossip
as you and she
kissed
lip to hot lip.