Ingrid hears
her mother's
cries and moans

in the night
flesh slamming
against flesh

she cringes
wondering
if she'll be

next in line
she is torn
by her fear

should she stay
just in case
her father

doesn't come
or should she
go and see

if her mum
is ok?
her room's dark

a slither
of light comes
from the moon

through curtains
a steam train
goes over

the steel bridge
just over
the roadway

she listens
for more moans
flesh on flesh

thump thump slap
she sits up
on the edge

of her bed
there are sounds
whimpering

then footsteps
in the hall
her father

shouting out
she cringes
she wishes

Benedict
was there now
she wishes

he could be
her young knight
in shining

armour on
his snow white
horse charger

but he's not
he's asleep
in a flat

down the stairs
she hears her
mother's moans

a door slams
then silence
she creeps back

into bed
carrying
Benedict

her young knight
in armour
in her head.

Sunny day
that hospital
visiting day
she outside

in a chair
smoking a cigarette
I sat  in a chair
next to her

wouldn't
let me out
she said
wanted to meet you

in London
but the docs
put their spoke
in the wheel

and the parents
are none too happy
about it
means

they have
to visit me
rather than I
go to them

I said nothing
let her speak on
get it out
of her system

she had this
dressing gown on
her hair tied back
in an untidy bun

bright red slippers
on her feet
if I didn't have
these cigarettes

I’d go completely
over the wall
with the other
fruit cakes in here

she said
they said
you were here
at the hall

I said
I went there first
Warwick said
you were here

bought you these
and I gave her
a pack of smokes
and a small box

of chocolates
she took the gifts
with her free hand
and placed them

beside her
on the grass
God you are good
to me

if we were in the City
I’d repay you
she said
no need

I said
given out of love
not lust
she smiled

guess so
she said
they keep
that small cupboard

locked now
she said
after that time
we had it off

in there
she said
I looked back
towards

the hospital ward
a few yards away
too small anyway
I said

she inhaled slow
on the cigarette
her eyes half closing
due to the smoke

do you really get
that church
tambourine
banging thing?

she asked
the essence yes
I said
not necessarily

the trappings
she stared at me
her free hand
in her lap

the other holding
the cigarette
to one side
I suppose people

need to believe
something
in this **** circus
of a world

she said
guess so
I said
she looked down

towards the road
some fifty yards away
where traffic
moved slowly by

and as she moved
she crossed her legs
a glimpse of thigh
caught my weary eye.

From cloister
he walks,
the black robed
monk,

pausing in the aisle
of the abbey church
to genuflect;
stopping,

he gazes at us,
then into
the bell tower
to ring the bells

for Compline.
I watch
as the red altar light
flickers

into semi dark
of the abbey;
remembering she
who kissed

in another dark
with warm
kissing lips.
The bells break

the silence
of the evening chill;
one by one
the monks enter

at their own pace,
hooded
in black robes,
each to their own place.

Abela
sips her wine
wipes her mouth
looks around

love it here
Dubrovnik
she utters

I sip beer
turn a page
of my book
poetry
D. Thomas
Welsh poet

lovely wine
why don't you
try the wine?

I like beer
I reply

why do you
have to read?
she mutters

why do you
have to talk?

she cold stares
sips more wine

cigarette?
I suggest

get your own
she replies

I sip beer
close the book

nice place this
beer's good too
and that girl
that waitress
she's good too

what's so good
about her?
what's she got
that I’ve not?

I don't know
not seen her
undress yet

I light up
a hand rolled
cigarette

those two guys
she tells me
at the bar
the other night
are gay guys

I inhale
hold the smoke
exhale it

you think so?

it stands out
a wide mile

you liked him
the dark one
his dark eyes
wavy hair

she closes
her eyelids
zips her lips

what makes you
think they're gay?

I saw them
lip kissing
she whispers

we lip kiss
we hand kiss
we thigh kiss
we breast kiss

THAT'S ENOUGH
she bellows

I think they're
nice fellows
I tell her
not my scene
but nice guys

Abela
drains her wine
glares at me

another wine?
I ask her
cigarette?

I want gin

I signal
a waiter
one gin please
I tell him
and whiskey

he goes off

she lights up
a French smoke

about the girl
the waitress
just a joke
I tell her

(but the girl
the waitress
occupies
a small room
in my mind)

how days go
she utters
how time flies.

Abela
sees nothing
in Renoir's

kind of art
she prefers
Constable

or Rembrandt
so she says
as we lie

in the bed
after ***
cooling down

we smoking
cigarettes
a slight breeze

in the air
a window
half open

moon and stars
visible
those women

at the bar
she utters
with those

hairy men
how could they?
could they what?

fancy them
like sleeping
with an ape

we each have
our own taste
I tell her

I couldn't
not with them
she tells me

I'm glad she
fancies me
and my beard

as I kiss
between thighs
listening

as I do
to her moans
and her sighs.

Abigail Abthing drew breath like water,
Breathed in the cold frost of morning.
Abigail knew pain like an old friend,

Knew its bite that gnawed her bones.
Always trust. Never leave it to others,
She’d say, gripping her hands together,

Biting her lips, closing her eyes.
Abigail knew cancer; knew its false promise.
Trust to none, but He who loves,

She said, feeling the burning
In her heart and head.
Abigail knew time was near,

Knew the knocking at the door
Was death; drew her last breath
Like a long forgotten word.

There's butter
on her lip
from the toast

and bread crumbs
on her cheek
where fingers
have been there

and she moans
endlessly
about my hair
or my beard

Abela
I tell her
there's a blob
of butter
on your lip
at the top
hanging there
for dear life

and those books
that you read
she moans on
those deep books
with long names
of writers
why read them?

I like them
I reply

as she talks
the butter
on her lip
rides like some
horse breaker

Abela
how's the toast?

she gazes
at the toast
in her hand

it's quite good
she replies

the butter
is still there
on her lip
hanging like
some kid's fresh
smooth bogey

I see it
look away
nothing more
I can say.

Frankie folds
her hankie
into neat

triangles
he watches
how fingers

so nimble
can also
form tight fists

for defence
yet these hands
so often

caress him
bring him on
to the point

Frankie wipes
her thin lips
why are you

looking so
Johnny boy?
She asks him

O nothing
just thinking
(on how she

manages
to hold his
young pecker

so gently)
about what?
He smiles some

boyish smile
bet I know
what's on that

mind of yours
Johnny boy
what is that?

He answers
taking in
her peach like

******* beneath
orange cloth
*** of course

all you think
about's that
no you're wrong

I wasn't
he replies
so what then?

My beauty?
My fine teeth?
My long hair?

Your fingers
how nimble
they perform

simple tasks
(how nimble
caressing

his body
her fingers
running down

his back bone)
you liar
Johnny boy

you're thinking
of that night
we made love

and my hands
potter's hands
brought you up

like fine clay
to the point
of hotness

guess you're right
those fingers
I could ****

each one so
that's enough
Johnny boy

time for school
keep it cool
keep it cool

and they walk
sulkily
to lessons

on history
about war
and bloodshed

but he wants
to make hot
love instead.

I think about you a lot.
Do you? Yes, especially
when you're not near.
John looks towards the

sports field at the school.
Why about me? I don't know.
Elaine has let the words
out, but they're like

uncontrollable hounds.
I guess I think of you, too.
Do you? He nods his head;
sees a blackbird go in a hedge.

What do you think about?
You. What about me?
He looks at her, sees her eyes
like large puddles behind

her cheap-bought specs.
Did you mind? Mind what?
Me kissing you? She feels
his eyes on her; she tries

to hold the words in some
kind of order. No; I didn't mind.
He looks away; sees other
kids at play. I didn't mean to

upset you, just kind of happened.
What did? The kissing, the kiss.
She feels unsure; wonders
whether the kiss was meant

or not. Did you mean to kiss me?
He looks at her again; he sees
how dark her hair is close up.
Sort of, wanted to. He's not good

at words with girls; they make
his words come out all wrong.
Unexpected, she  says, the kiss.
He nods, sees how soft her lips

( up close) now seem. Not kissed
a girl before. He watches her
scratch her head; her fingernails
seem chewed. Not been kissed

before; not by a boy, she adds.
She wants to say more; tell him
how it makes her feel inside;
how since the kiss, she's felt opened

up like an oyster in someone's palm,
waiting to be ****** out and in, but
she doesn't, she just stares at his nose
and a few protruding light brown hairs.

What was that
all about, my son?

What happened there
while I was elsewhere,
Ole, my dear one?

Where did that sneaking up
on tiptoe death come from?
From what dark passageway
or behind from which
dowdy curtain did it spring?

Had I known,
I would have not
gone home,
I would have fought
to hold you back,
would have held you close,
not let you loose.  

I still see that short ward,
the hospital smell,
that shadowy corner,
the off-white bed,

you bent over,
head down,
puffed up,
breathing hard,
whispering words,
unable to take flight
as wounded birds.

Sheila waits
by the school bus
where she'd seen
the boy John

leave that morning
and she thinks
that if she can see him
before he gets on the bus

she might settle
for her mind and heart
how he feels
if he feels about her

other kids are coming out
of the school
some going home on foot
some getting on

to school coaches
or buses
she adjusts
her thin wired spectacles

on the bridge
of her nose
pulls her school tie neater  
and pats her hair to tidy

she focuses
on the entrances
and exits
but still no sign of him

she's nervous
and uncertain
of herself
or her mission

it seems to her
as if the boy
occupies
her whole mind

at that moment
she feels as if
her life is upside down
and she hasn't

even spoken to him yet
just seen him pass by
and he seemed -
she's certain-

to smile at her
she doesn't know
what to do
with her thin hands

she tucks them
into her coat
out of the way
like unsettled children

then she sees him
coming out
of the exit
with a boy

named Rennie
they pause
laugh and talk
and laugh again

then part
and Rennie goes off
his own way
and the boy John

comes towards her
she's unsure
if she can speak to him
she panics

looks at him
he approaches the bus
and she says
can I speak with you?

he stands there
gazing at her
for a moment
sure but it'll

have to be quick
as my bus goes soon
he says
she walks away

a bit from the bus
and he follows
can I hang around
with you?

she utters shyly
hang around?
John says
she flushes red

be your friend?
she says
looking at his
brown hair

with a quiff
and his hazel eyes
peering at her
he studies her

looks at the bus
at her again
what's your name?
he asks

Sheila
she says
he smiles
sure

but we'll have to talk
about it tomorrow
as I must go
he says

and he touches
her hand
then climbs the bus
and walks along

the aisle
and out of sight
on the bus
she stands there

gazing up at the bus
wondering if she'll
see him
but the bus starts up

and drives away
and she looks hopefully
at the bus as it departs
but there is

no sign of him
at the window
so she holds onto
his image

and watches
the bus go.

Hannah lies
her collection of knives
on her bed
most given

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

SS man-
her mother
passing by
her open door

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

I'm showing Benedict
my collection
Hannah replies
O heem

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

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

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

Hannah sits
on her bed
and waits for Benedict
to arrive

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

about it
the door knocker bangs
gie th' duir
Hannah

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

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

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

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

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

he picks out    
the SS knife
and says
deadly thing this

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he asks
no
Hannah says
she doesn't trust us

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

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

Yochana
waits for me
to get off
the school bus

she stands there
in her school
uniform
black straight hair
thin features

missed me then?
I ask her
getting out
of the bus

not really
she answers
her thin hands
are clutching
each other

can we talk?
she asks me

sure we can

so we walk
towards school
kids passing
beside us

what is it?
I ask her

Angela
my best friend
at the school
says not to
talk with you
but I must
I can't sleep
otherwise

we pause by
the school gates

what is it?
I ask her
noticing
just how thin
her frame is
her features

you kissed me
why did you?

why did I?
I wonder
watching her
on her cheek
it had been
just like that

felt like it
I answer

is that all?
nothing more?
she asks me

I like you
I tell her
think of you
all the time

so you say
she utters
shouldn't kiss
just like that

hurry up
get in school
a prefect
near the gate
says to us

what's the rush?
I ask him

just get in
he utters

we go in
the school grounds

don't kiss me
any more

she mutters
and goes off

I watch her
her thin hips
do not sway

she looks back
towards me

I blow her
a palm kiss

she grabs it
and puts it
to her breast
then walks on
out of sight

Reynard R
my best friend
comes over

who's the ****?
he asks me

just a girl

aren't they all?

some are more

girl's a girl
bit of skirt

then he talks
of football
and would I
be in goal
at lunchtime
on the field

I guess so
I reply

but it's her
Yochana
I think of
and the kiss
on her cheek
at the start
of the week.

Baruch sat with Fay
on top of the concrete
bomb shelter
on the grass area

of Banks House
in early evening
looking skyward
taking in the stars

sprinkled in the dark
blue sheet of sky
and the moon quartered
as if someone

had taken a slice
out of it like cheese
the coal wharf
was closed up

the shops shut
a few stragglers walked
to the Duke of Wellington
for a drink

deserved or not
steam trains
still went over
the railway bridge

over Rockingham Street
disturbing the air
Daddy said
Jews killed Jesus

Fay said
looking side ways
at Baruch beside her
is that true?

I think the Romans
did the killing
the Jews kind of
egged them on

I suppose
Baruch said
but Jesus himself
was a Jew

he added
watching a bat
flap across the sky
catching his eye

was he?
she said frowning
he doesn't look Jewish
in the picture

in my Bible
she said
he looks
kind of unJewish

Baruch smiled
I guess they painted
the Jewishness
out of him

he said
she lay back
on the shelter roof
her hands resting

on her stomach
looking at the sky
Baruch lay beside her
the density of space

is fascinating
he said
kind of
makes you wonder

how far in it goes and on
Heaven is out there
Daddy said
Fay suggested shyly

beyond the deep dark
Baruch watched
another bat
flap by

the light of stars
reaches us
long after the star
has burnt out

and died
he said
it's like seeing
ghost stars

she laughed
and reached
for his hand
really?

she said
sure are
stars are light years away
their light takes

many years
to reach us
she held his hand
it felt warm

in the evening air
the light
from the nearest star
left there

when we
were 8 years old
and now we're 12
and seeing it

here and now
she liked to feel
his hand and skin
she dismissed

what her father said
that to touch
a Jew
was a deadly sin.

Shlomit sat
on the corrugated roof
of the pram sheds

gently kicking
the heels
of her battered

black shoes
against the brick wall
and she told you

her mother wore
more makeup
than usual to cover

the bruises
her father gave
but don’t tell anyone

she said
I’m not supposed
to say anything

mother said
you know
in case he hears

she mouthed off
to neighbours
you said you’d

tell no one
looking at her
beside you

her hair pinned back
with grips
her thick lens

spectacles
blowing up her eyes
her black skirt

and stained blouse
with the plastic
necklace you got her

from the fairground
around her thin neck
you’d seen her old man

crossing the Square
some nights
three sails

to the wind
singing sometimes
cursing others

and one day
you saw her mother
black of eyes

and spilt of lips
carrying shopping back
from the shops

you don’t wear make up
you said
guess he leaves you alone

her eyes looked away
her drowned kitten
perfume took

your nose
and as she moved
you saw the bluey

green skin
on her upper arm
but you knew he did

the screwball
talked with his fists
if his words failed

but Shlomit said nothing
of that she talked
of her wedding day

when she grew up
and how many kids
she’d have

and she having
a white dress
and a big house

although you knew
she thought it
even if

it wasn’t said
that her future husband
maybe like

her old man
or maybe just
a deep down dread.

He had thought all girls the same
Different only in name,

The figure size,
Or the colour of their hair,

But she was different from the rest,
She drove him to despair

With her deep blues eyes
And gorgeous gaze

That stunned him
And haunted him for days.

You always were
my advance guard,

even as a kid,
way out

in front
searching out

the land ahead.
Now, you've gone

ahead again,
leaving me behind,

bringing up
the rear;

but now,
you've entered

Death's land,
and I can't

come yet,
my dear.

They must know why,
you said
in your quiet voice,

doubts beginning to knock;
knocked sideways.
Two days later,

my son,
you were dead.
That corridor,

the time ticking by,
you-
yes, you,

shadowy,
come to me still,
dreams, maybe.

Your touch
on your mother's shoulder
the other night?

I played the Led Zeppelin
once again,
recalling you saying:

always the rocker.
Dark waves,
light at the end

of no tunnel so far.
No other light
except a dying star.

If only he hadn’t phoned,
If only you could have
Remembered him as he was
And not the person who rang
And said those things.

If only you’d been out,
If only he’d been delayed
And missed you being home
And never the said the words,
Never got through, never
Even thought to ring and say
The awful things he said.

You wanted to keep
The special time with him,
Pack it away in that part
Of your mind for special
Things, for times
And people that made
You happy and fulfilled.

He’s spoilt that now,
Ruined it all with his
Clumsy lips and unthinking
Mind, spoilt the memories
With his crooked heart
And poison tongue, messed
Up the little tucked away
History of him and you,
The special nights, the kisses
And *******, the laughter
And smiles, the holding hand
Moments through parks and streets;
All undone, all so incomplete,
An utterly failed history.

Time to close the tome of him
And you and slam it shut, pushing
Out the memories like stake air
Between the pages of a musty book.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

being too hot
to wear
girls are a downfall
Reynard said

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

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

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

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

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

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

the grass
and she talked
of her morning
of dreary lessons

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

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

and eyes
and how
her lips moved
and her hand

was becoming damp
in yours
and you sensed
her pulse

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

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

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

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

I was in a red phone booth
in Rockingham Street
looking for coins left behind
in the little cups
in the phone machine

my old man knocked
on the glass window
of the booth

I looked at him standing there
his deep set eyes
his Errol Flynn moustache
I came out of the booth
and let the door shut
behind me

what are you
doing in there?
he asked

looking for coins
left behind
I said

were there any?

no none at all

he nodded
and looked in the booth
shame
sometimes punters do
he said

I looked at him
he had a hollow look
about him
sunken cheeks

just as well
it was me
and not your mother
who saw you in there
he said

yes guess so
I said

well got to go to work
he said
how about
going to see a film
this weekend?

sure be good
I said

John Wayne film

cowboy film?

no war movie
Pork Chop Hill
I think it's called
he said

ok be good
I said

he nodded and left
I watched him go
and out of sight

I opened my hand
and looked at the coins
I found in the cup
of the phone machine

I pocketed them
and walked to Baldy's shop
and bought
some bubblegum
and a drink of pop
and walked back to the flat

I ought to have shown
my old man the coins
but I didn't
and that was that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If wishes were pebbles‭
I could fill a beach.‭

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

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

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

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

During his afternoon break
and her half day from work
they met at the back
of his house by the woods

where the corrugated
iron garage stood
she in her grey skirt
and white blouse

and summer jacket
and he in blue top
and jeans and hair
combed in the Elvis style

slightly greased
she talked of the store
she worked
the customers

the manager's moans
the poor pay
and he listening
as they walked

through the woods
hand in hand
she animated
her voice clear

as dawn's light
he liking to hear
sensing her mood
thinking of the school days

the year before
how easier it was
back then to meet
that time in the gym

at school in lunch hour
and later
that hay barn adventure
and that time

they got caught out
in the rain
and were drenched
and how his mother

let her dry and wear
other clothes she'd saved
they reached the edge
of the pond

and stared out
and over the watery skin
the ducks
the swan who'd

settled there
and they lay
on the grass
dry as hay

flowers weary
from the afternoon heat
birds singing
from branches over head

and she lay back
taking in the sky
hands behind her head
and he lay beside her

commenting
on passing clouds
the shapes
and what they were

he sensing her there
her hand
her body close
to his

her raised leg
the way her thigh was
the eyes of her
gazing upwards

the blue gazing
at blueness
and he thinking
of that time

by this pond
they last came
and she kissed him
until his lips

were sore
but now she lay
and talked of clouds
and what the shapes

may be
or of work
and how it tired her
no kissing of lips

or caressing hands
on flesh
just the lying
the idle talk

the sky above
the slow
seeping away
of a former love.

In Malaga
at the base camp
you danced at some disco
and drank Bacardi

and coke and it was
well into the early hours
of the morning
when you left

with Mamie
tiptoeing between
tent ropes and the unlit
areas between

and she said
I can’t find
where my tent is
and you said

I’d let you share mine
but that young army guy
is in mine
and three in a bed

is a bit cramped
but where is mine?
she said
searching around

touching tent ropes
as she went by
you stood watching
trying to decide

where your tent was
what are we to do?
she asked
let’s go back

to the club
until it gets lighter
or we remember
where our tents are

you said
but I’m tired
she said
I want to go to bed

and sleep
you searched around
by the hedge of the field
and then said

wait
I know where
mine is now
and you led her

to the tent
and unzipped it
and there inside
was the army guy

fast asleep
you can come in here
if you like
you said

but she just stood there
in the semi dark
cussing into the night
come on in

and be quiet
you said
I want my tent
she said

I want my own ****** tent
ok go find it then
you said
and began to climb inside

wait
she said
in a hushed voice
and came over

to your tent
and looked in
what about him?
she asked

he’s asleep
you replied
what will he say
and finds me here?

you gazed
at the sleeping soldier boy
his mouth open
his eyes closed

a soft snore
filling the air
either come in
or go elsewhere

you whispered
I can’t
she said
not with him there

and so she turned
and wandered off
into the semi dark
another chance walking off

into the night
some things you hope for
you murmured
never come right.

After Friday choir practice
in the church

after the other members
had gone to the vestry

to ready themselves for home
she stood in the darkened church

looking at the altar
and the high windows

where only moonlight
shone through

and she said to you
we’ll stand here one day

and get married maybe
and say our vows

and there will be
our families and friends

and the parson will say
kiss the bride and you will

and she smiled
and looked at you

standing in the quiet church
and you said

some years off maybe
we’re only fourteen

and still at school
and we’ve got to get pass

your mother yet
like trying to get a ball

by a fat goalie
who fills the net

but she just shook her head
and smiled and said

don’t be so negative
look on the positive side

look to the future
with bright eyes

and it seems strange now
and sad to look back

at that night
with you and she

standing in that aisle
in semi-dark

while outside
in the night sky  

fate was working out
a different answer

where you
would marry others

and she would die
from cancer.

After all that time
There is a sense of triteness in the air,

With no care for observation
Beyond the norm;

No desire for dreams to storm
Sombre sleep. No consolation

Needed for inaction,
No satisfaction sought because

None desired, beyond the satisfactory.
No temptation tried or if tasted

No tainted with trying
Beyond the trite.

After all that time
There is a sense of death in the air.

We sit by the river
on the grassy bank
our bikes parked by trees

Milka says
no ***
Auntie Flo's come

I look at the water
who's she?
I say

she looks at me darkly
my bad week
she says

I look at her
is that why you
were so long
coming down
this morning
while your mother
was giving me
the works?

What do you mean
the works?
She says moodily

you know
tea and biscuits
offering me stuff
being nice
talking warmly
walking quite seductively
across the room
I say

so while I was having
to bathe myself clean
and stuff
she was coming on
to you?

That's a bit strong
just being nice to me
I reply

she fancies you I bet
if she wasn't
so ancient
she'd be at your door
Milka says

jealous of
your mother?
I say  

no annoyed that she
has the nerve
and with you
for encouraging her
you should take pity
on her not
encourage her
Milka says

she pouts her lips
and stares ahead
at the flowing river

I just sat there
didn't have to
encourage her
the tea was nice
and the biscuits
quite scrumptious
I say

aren't I nice
and scrumptious?
She asks
turning and gazing
at me

shame about Auntie
I say
and it is such
a lovely day
and the grass
is quite tall over there
and well that's it
I guess

yes it is
she says
so make the most
of me as I am
and be nice

she kisses me
and we lay down
on the grass
and make the most
of what we have
and curse Auntie's arrival
and she thinks
of what may have been
and I think of her
and try to keep
my thoughts
quite clean.

You used to cross
Rockingham Street
to the bakers
on the corner

of Meadow Row
and buy 6 crusty rolls
and a white loaf of bread
and carry them back home

to the fifth floor
of the flats
where your mother said
keep the change for going

and you pocketed the change
to save for the 6 shooter gun
you’d seen in the toy shop
along the New Kent Road

and your mother
would butter a roll
and put in a slice of cheese
and you would go sit

in the window
over looking
the railway
shunting yard

and eat
taking in the rail trucks
loaded with coal
being shunted into

the yard and the trucks
unload and the coal
would fall down through
to the coal wharf below

and then you saw
the coal carts loaded
with sacked up coal
and the horses in harness

waiting to go
and you imagined
one of those horses
in saddle and you

taking off across
the Wild West
with your new 6 shooter
in your hand

tracking the bad cowboys
and dropping into
the public house
for a glass of redeye

or lemonade
don’t be too long
your mother said
nearly time for school

and as you ate
the last few crumbs
and sipped
the last drops of milk

from the glass
and wiped your mouth
with the back of your hand
a steam train

crossed the bridge
and you thought
of the bad cowboys
on Bank’s House Ridge.

Reynard and I
held back
after biology
while the other kids

had gone
and we walked up
the corridor
I could have scored that goal

lunchtime
if Goldfinch
hadn't got
in my way

he's always
where you don't
want him to be
Reynard said

I saw Jeanette
walking ahead of us
with her blonde friend Angela
Jeanette had class

I thought
her friend
was a short
mouthy girl

but Jeanette
was quite reserved
and looked at you
as if you had stepped

in her sunshine
but I liked her
and that quick kiss
I snatched the other day

still felt stuck
on my lips
Angela had short tight
blonde curls

Jeanette had long
dark hair reaching
her shoulders
I gazed

at her thin figure
her arms by her side
the satchel
over her shoulder

Reynard was still talking
about the football lunchtime
I was looking
at Jeanette’s sway

of hips almost unseen
yet visible
to the trained eye
the way her legs

came down
to her well heeled shoes
the white ankle socks
think we ought

to try get Frazer
on our side
he'd be great in goal
better than Dunton

the prat
he couldn't save a goal
if the ball
was as big as he was

Reynard said
yes we must get Frazer
I said
wondering how I’d get

that kiss
that Jeanette promised
the lips tempting
and her cheek

just visible
the place my lips
touched
the other day

and the kiss
just stayed there
and wouldn't
go away.

After the bath the drying of,
the white towel under the
arms, over arms and *******,
between thighs, all over until

all dries or near so, and while
drying, she thinks of the long
afternoon spent, the meal, art
gallery and back to the hotel

for *** and talk and *** again.
She smiles, drying along her thigh,
here where he put his lips, kiss
planting, lips damp and wet, his

tongue lick lick, she laughs softly,
dries her buttocks, rubs and rubs,
and him reciting some short *****
poem, tapping his fingers along her

spine. She pauses the drying of, sits
and recalls the kisses set, the places
laid, the excitement caused and
raised and she in giggles near to

wetting and he laughing. After
the bathing, the rumination and
towelling all over, skin rubbed,
bath oils, powder, remembering

embraces, touching in places (what
would Mother have said?), and
he running finger along her nerves
and setting her juices to flow, then

have to leave, said he, have to go,
then gone, bed empty, space vacated,
scent left, odours lingering, still on
fire, unsatisfied desire. She sits and

puts down the towel, takes cigarette,
lights, inhales and thinks on and when
next and where, and if in truth, he’ll
come and (God be praised) ever be there.

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.

The boy John
had gone

he'd been there
for about an hour
sitting on the settee
then briefly
-with her mother's
permission-
out in the garden
where they looked
for birds and butterflies

Elaine had seen him off
from the front garden gate
-her mother peering
through net curtains-
and watched until
he disappeared
around a bend

did you know
he was coming?
her mother asked

no I had no idea
Elaine replied
looking at
the empty place
on the settee
where he'd sat

he does know
you're 14
I suppose?

he's in my class at school
he's 14 too
Elaine said
sensing the place
where he'd sat
beside her and the kiss
on the lips
so sudden so gentle
yet Mum had been
in the kitchen
what if she had seen?

he might have
asked first
her mother said
not just turn up
on the doorstep

I didn't know
Elaine said
then licked her lips
where his lips
had been

can I trust you?
her mother asked

trust me
to do what?
Elaine said

do nothing
her mother said

do nothing?
Elaine said
looking unsure
what her mother meant

do things with him
her mother said

do things?
Elaine repeated
what things?

her mother frowned
and said
nothing just nothing

Elaine nonplus
nodded her head

her mother smiled
now what
was I doing?
she said
o yes the washing
and went off
to the wash room
and left Elaine frowning
at her mother's
departing figure

do nothing?
Elaine muttered
to herself
and patted the space
where the boy John
had sat
then touched her lips
and that was that.

Dottie has the made the
bed where Sammy slept,
bakes a cake, picks flowers
from the garden to put in
the small vase on the table.

Sammy has gone away
after his three day stay.

Willie’s asleep in bed,
his window open to catch
dawn birdsong, smell of
flowers, air’s heavy scent.

She pops a pill that Sammy
left; will help you sleep he
said, during their late evening
walk in the nearby woods,
as Willie recited his poetry.

She puts two teabags in
the ***, pours in water,
lets it stand, hot steam
coming out the spout.

They have the house
to themselves again,
no more having to keep
the sounds down, no
need to whisper anymore.

She pours the tea
into Willie’s cup,
adds milk, sugar and
stirs, pours tea for herself
with no milk, or sugar, sips
slow through pursed lips.

She climbs the stairs to
Willie’s room, teacup
and saucer on a small tray,
few biscuits and a pill.

She watches her brother
sleep, his head facing
the window, his arm
outside the duvet, his
hand open, a finger
pointing unwittingly
towards the pillow
where she had lain
the night before.

He breathes slowly out,
a gentle exhalation, no
snore, as she studies
him as he sleeps and
wonders what he thinks
or dreams; what poems
are born there, what
worldly wants or care.

She leaves the tea beside
the bed, she’ll not disturb
his dreams or thoughts;
she gives a final look and
goes downstairs; the pill it
seems has begun to work, she
has no worldly wants or cares.

Elaine walked home with her sister after getting off the school bus she had looked up as the bus drove off and stared to see if John was looking and he was and she smiled or she is sure she did smile then after the bus had gone she wondered if she had smiled or not or whether she had imagined she had done so her sister walked on chatting about her day Elaine just listened as much as she thought she ought but deep down she was not interested in her sisters day she was more concerned about John and how he had talked to her and named her after a butterfly but now she had forgotten the name of the butterfly was it Peacock or whatever she couldnt recall and did it matter? no it didnt stay in her mind the name so it couldnt have been important  at all she thought looking past her sister at the trees and the hedgerow which they walked past when they entered the house her mother was in the kitchen preparing the dinner her sister talked to her mother about her day but apart from saying hello and yes she was all right Elaine walked up the stairs to her room and shut the door and put her school bag on the floor and walked to the window and stared out at the garden and the trees and birds in the air and she thought of John and his talk of birds and how he sought out their nests not to invade or destroy but to study and see what nest it was and how many eggs and what was the name of the butterfly he said she was? she couldnt recall and looked back at her bed at the neatness of it after her mother had made and tidied up and her favourite doll lay next to her pillow she lay down on the bed and crossed her legs at her ankles and put her hands over stomach and stared at the ceiling white but with a spider black and plump settled in the corner by the window she hated spiders hated the way they settled there as if waiting for the lights to go out at night then creep along above her bed and then silently lower themselves down into her bed or head or on her pillow she thought of john how he had talked to her even though she had stormed off a while ago after the kiss he gave her and it had unsettled her but now she wondered if he would kiss her again and if he did how she would feel next time she sighed and looked at her feet at the shoes black and slightly scuffed and she knew her mother would tell her off for having her shoes on while laying on the bed she stared at the shoes then eased them off with one foot after the other the shoes falling to the floor and her feet just having the white socks on and she wiggled her toes and sighed and closed her eyes and wondered what John was doing now and if he was at home now and what he was thinking and was he thinking of her as she was thinking of him she mused trying to imagine him in her minds eye wondering if he would kiss her kiss her the Frump as the other kids called her at school he had once kissed her she embraced herself her hands on her shoulders crossed over her ******* imagining that maybe he would embrace her like that and hold her close to him and if he did how would she react and why did he blush so easily as she had when he seemed to take note of her she wanted to pretend he was there beside her now here in her room where she felt safe and here on her bed so she could hold him and he hold her but what then? kissing? and how would her body react to that? She didn't understand her body it seemed to act on its own like it did that time when he kissed her and her body acted almost independently of her heart plump faster and her pulse raced that day and O God she had thought sh'd wet herself  but she hadnt it was just a thing about him how he could affect so even if she didnt think her did he did she pulled the pillow from behind her head and held it close to her feeling it with her fingers with eyes still closed she imagined it was he there his body she was holding soft not firm she sniffed it it smelt of herself her shampoo her sweat her not him she held it against her ******* kissed the top pretending it was he whom her lips touched but it wasn't like him when he kissed her that day it seemed so soft like a feather touching but it was him his lips touched her so softly yet stirred her so much she hugged the pillow tighter yet hugging it made her feel uneasy what if it was him she was hugging where did things go from there she wondered what happened next when he had kissed her that day his hands had touched her back one hand moving over bottom and yet she wasnt so aware at the time of the effect it was afterwards after he had gone that she realized that he had touched her there or the maybe it was like a palm print there at least she imagined so was that what happened? was it touching too? where touching? O she pushed the pillow away from her and opened her eyes and stared at the pillow laying there white and soft and lifeless an aunt had said to her a while ago beware of boys Elaine they only want to get into your ******* and yet her aunt had never said why or what the boys were after and she hated being fourteen at times she wanted to be nine or ten again when thing seemed simple and her body did what it was told but now it seemed to do what it wanted and not what she thought it should she sighed and put the pillow under head again and lay on her side and stared at the wall her hands tucked between her thighs her mind full of what ifs and sad sighs.

I saw her outside school
by the steps
leading down
from the classrooms

her eyes were red
behind her thick
lens glasses
her plaited hair

was untidy
she held
a grey/white handkerchief
what's up?

I asked
she shrugged her shoulders
and walked away
from the school

her satchel over her shoulder
along Colnbrook Street
what's up Helen?
I was beside her now

and tried to get
her to talk
(not usually a job)
we came out

on St George's Road
she dawdling along
her handkerchief
to her eyes

some one upset you?
One of the teacher' tell you off?
some boys called me
an ugly four eyed clown

she said
who were they?
I said
don't matter

she said
they said it
we walked along
in silence a while

I tried to think
who would have
upset her
who'd say that

to her
want an ice cream?
I asked
as we came

to a grocer shop
haven't any money
she said tearfully
I have

what do you want?
We went in the shop
and she chose
from a list

by the ice cream counter
I gave the store minder
the coins
and we walked

out of the shop
with our ice creams
thank you
she said

that’s' all right
I said
so who upset you?
that Cogan boy

and another boy
she said
I’ll button his lip
I said

he's always trying
to upset kids
anyway he can't talk
he wears glasses too

I know because
he had to take them off
the last time
we fought

after school
am I ugly?
She asked
you're pretty

I said  
you've the loveliest eyes
I’ve seen
she smiled

and we walked on
towards the Elephant and Castle
I thinking
of jam sandwiches

for tea
and she maybe
thinking
of kissing me.

Mother said
you were to go back

to Mrs Clark’s house
for tea after school

and she would pick
you up later

after work
and so when

the bell went
for the end

of the school day
you went with Mrs Clark

and her daughter Helen
for tea and Mrs Clark

talked all the way
to her house

her words rough
as hewn stones

going over your head
to which you just nodded

or shook your head
and when you arrived

at the house
which smelt

of past dinners
and washing drying

and the baby’s nappies
she said

What would you like for tea?
Bread and butter

bread jam
bread and Bovril

or dripping?
and how about

a large mug of tea?
Helen said

I’m having bread and jam
and a mug of tea

why don’t you too?
you said

Yes that will be fine
and shyly sat in a chair

by the window
looking out

at the backyard
where washing hung

on a clothesline
and an old doll’s pram

sat rusting by a wall
and Helen came

and sat next to you
in her grey skirt

and off white blouse
and swung her legs

back and forth
under the chair

her white ankle socks
and black scuffed shoes

coming in
and going out  

of view
and she said

After tea
I’ll show you my dolls

and the doll’s house
my daddy made

out of orange boxes
and as Mrs Clark

made the tea
you sensed Helen’s small hand

run along your arm
which set alarm bells ringing

in your head
and a sweating in your palm.

After lessons at junior school
coming down the bricks stairs

Helen said
can I walk home with you?

Sure
you replied

and she set off with you
along St George’s Road

the traffic and smoke fumes
setting the scene

she in her school frock
and cardigan

and white ankle socks
beside you in your grey jacket

and grey short trousers
and she said

I don’t usually walk home alone
but mum said I can walk home

with you save her coming along
to the school with the other kids

and pram with baby
you took in

her two plaits of hair
and thin framed glasses

with large lens
which made her eyes

larger than they were
her small hands

by her side
a small school bag

over her shoulder
and did you know

Janice likes you?
Her grandmother

told my mother
the other day

after school
but I like you better

do you like me?
she asked

you noticed
she had small white teeth

with a thin brace
along the top

sure I do
you replied

I like Janice too
but you I like more

and she smiled
and put her right hand

in yours and squeezed it
and you smiled

but hoped none
of the other boys around

noticed the hand holding
after all a tough boy

has a reputation to maintain
and as you squeezed

her hand back
clouds darkened

and it started
to **** with rain.

After ***
Abela
likes to lie

in the bed
listening
to duets

from that guy
Puccini
-I get us

some coffee
from the small
kitchenette-

isn't it so
romantic?
She asks me

from the bed
sure it is
but what are

they singing
about it's
foreign words

I reply
carrying mugs
to the bed

where she lies
**** naked
invitingly

words are words
it's the sounds
that move me

she tells me
I put mugs
on both sides

of the bed
on small side
cabinets

I climb back
into bed
Puccini's

getting her
in the mood
she eyes me

runs fingers
down my thigh
kisses me

on the lips
on the chin
on the cheek

my pecker
stirs himself
from slumber

not knowing
what hour
day or week.

I was laying
on my stomach
on the grass
reading a book

Netanya was laying
on her back
soaking up
the sun

as if owed her rent
her blouse open
at the neck
her arms bare

her grey skirt
drawn up
above the knees
to brown off

her legs
how can you read
on a day like this?
she said

I can read any time
I said
you should be soaking up
the sun

getting your lily white
body tanned
I like my body
as it is

she closed her eyes
face upwards
I remembered the time
my brother and I

went down to the beach
at Dubrovnik
in our suits
and conceding

to the sun
took off our jackets
and rolled up
our shirt sleeves

revealing our white arms
I smiled
and turned a page
I sensed the sun's heat

on my head
I’d turned my collar up
to protect my neck
from the burning heat

nearby birds sang
unsure which
far off
the hum of traffic

I smelt the after smell
of Sunday roast
and mint sauce
and tasted

the white wine
on my tongue
even with sunglasses
the glare of the sun

made reading
a chore
so I closed the book
and lay on my back

and stared at the sky
birds flew overhead
here and there
I thought of the girl

who served in the café
in Dubrovnik
whom my brother and I
chatted up

with no results
she with her broken English
and we with no clue
when she spoke

her native tongue
we drank wine then
too much some days
then Netanya came along

and that night
we made love
half a dozen times
and the world seemed

a different place
as if someone
had turned a light on
in a dark house

and it was seen
for the first time
then the light
had become dim

and the house
like a prison
a child cried
in the background

another child laughed
the neighbour's kids
no doubt
a dog barked

a woman called out
a man snored
the sun shone bright
I closed my eyes

the book remained closed
I dozed.

You watched her run
the bread
and butter knife
along

her inner arm
blunt blade
gesture only
enough to give

the nurses
something
to think about something
to make them

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

the locked ward
in her light blue
nightgown
no shoes

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

for razor blades
or something sharp
no doing
you said

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

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

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

with it all
she said
almost managing
a small smile

bags
under her eyes
her pale skin
thin lips

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

your next chance?
maybe
you said
she touched your hand

ran a finger
along the wrist
and scar
her gentle skin

setting fire
to tired flesh
then after tea
after the sandwiches

which Big Ted
brought up
from the canteen
watching

the sky
turn blue
to black
you knew

the dark was approaching
and the Black Dog back.

We walked down
Deacon Way
(had to get her away
from her home

and her old man
and his Bible bashing)
it was after school
and tea

and the sky was blue
but becoming grey
she tied her long
blonde hair

into a pony tail
with a red ribbon
but what will
my father say

when he finds
that I’ve gone out?
Fay said
say you needed the air

say the nuns said
you had to appreciate
the evening air
that God made

I said
he knows the nuns
will not have
said that

he keeps in touch
what they say
and how
I am behaving

at school
she said
and how do you
behave at school?

I asked
I do my best to be good
she said
but they are so picky

you have not said
your Pater Noster
with due reference
or you have said

the Ave too quickly  
who's the Pater Noster?
I asked
the Lord's Prayer

she said
and the Ave
is the Hail Mary
I see

I said
although I didn't see
we came back
to the New Kent Road

and stood
by the hairdressers
on the corner
where now?

she asked
I ought to get back
Father will be looking
over the balcony for me

how about a bag of chips?
I said
Father says chips
are bad for you

make you fat
she said
but they're good
fill you up

if you're hungry
I said
best not
she said

I must go back
he'll get so angry
ok
I said

so we crossed the road
and walked down
Meadow Row
she looked anxious

I looked at her
sideways on
her blue eyes
blonde hair

and that look
in her features
of sad despair.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

After that
the only
thing she thought

mattered was
the sunlight
coming through

the tall trees
as you and
she lay on

your backs by
the large pond
listening

to birdsong
and the wind
coming through

the branches
and she there
full of life

breathing in
the sharp air
and she said

Van Gogh could
have captured
this morning

with the trees
and sunlight
and the way

the wind moves
through branches
and you said

but Renoir
despite his
arthritic

hands could have
captured your
young beauty

on canvas
somewhere off
a dog barked

a cow mooed
and your hand
like a crab

moved over
the green grass
and touched her

small warm hand
and she smiled
like da Vinci’s

painting of
the Mona
Lisa you’d

seen in that
old art book
in the school

library
tucked between
a battered

old atlas
and book of
poetry

which no one
ever read
no doubt the

pond’s still there
the sunlight
and the wind

but she’s not
she gone now
all silent

amongst the
peaceful dead.

After the ball game
on the high school
playing field
Shoshana is still

sitting there
with another girl
so I go over to her
and she blushes slightly

and I say
what did you think?
she looks at me
and says

not very good
are you?
I smile
no not much

but they will
insist I play
at least you're honest
she says

I am
best way
I reply
the other girl

stands up and says
don't want to play
gooseberry see you
later Shoshana

and she walks off
something I said?
I say
no I think she finds

boys embarrassing
Shoshana says
I look at her
sitting there

dark hair
long straight
bell will ring
in a minute

she says
best get back
towards school
she stands up

and I say
where do you live?
I live a little way away
I get a school bus home

she says
so do I
I say
I know you do

she says
you get on
the same bus
as I do

I look at her
do I?
yes you've not seen me
I get on as quick

as I can
she says
I see you though
a bell rings

from school
well see you later then
I say
and she's off

leaving me there
and I wander back to school
across the grass
watching her go

her slight figure
in the afternoon sun
taking note
of her neat ***.

Jim’s younger sister
Followed you everywhere
and stood watching

as you rode the old car
around the field
or whizzed around

on their motorbike
to the cheers and shouts
from the fence

Monica why don’t you
go off and play
Jim said

yes
said Pete
her other brother

go play with your dolls
go take a run and jump
she said

and still stood watching you
her eyes fixed on you
like wasps on a jam jar

I want to watch him ride
she said
and stood with her hands

on her hips
waiting until you stopped
the bike and got off

and wandered over to you
and said
I like the way you ride

like how you sway
and swerve on the bike
and you smiled at her

and took in
her short stature
her dark eyes

her determined expression
and as Pete rode off
on the bike

and Jim stood
on the fence
calling to him

Monica put her hand in yours
and said
wish you were my brother

I know you’d let me ride
the bike or car
and not tease me

or bawl me out
I guess I would
let you ride the bike or car

you said
and sensed
her small hand in yours

her thumb rubbing
against your skin
but seeing

as you’re not my brother
she whispered
maybe you could

marry me one day
and we could ride off
into the sunset

like they do in the movies
in Jim’s old car
yes sure maybe

you said
knowing inside
that’d be a bridge too far.

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?

The exhaustion after the dance.
Aching of her feet, muscles stiff,
The pulsing of the music still there,
Vibrating along her tired young bones.  
The Stravinsky ballet takes it out of her.
Coco sits on the bench, stretches out
A leg, rubs along the shin. Eduard would
Have watched, would have studied each
Step, each leap, each pirouette. She can
Recall his finger running along her back,
The fingertip easing down between her
Buttocks. Oh, she says, out load, the other
Ballerina turning to note, ah, that touch,
That invasion. The other ballerina smiles
And turns away.  He will meet her after
The dance, will take her to the cafe, they
Will eat and talk and he will gaze and smile
And she will remember his touch and words
And the *** and the old woman downstairs
Banging up on her ceiling because of the
Noise of the bed, cries of joy, sensuous feeling.

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She sniffs the fresh air
at the open window.
He has left the room
to go shower or ****,

she doesn’t give a ****.
It was all a mistake,
a girl’s dilemma, not
wanting to be left on

the shelf as her mother
sweetly put it. The doll,
with the loose arm or
wonky eye, is the exact

words she recalls, looking
back at the room where
a short while ago he’d
juiced her orifice for sure.

There is a smell of farm
animals on the air, freshly
mown grass, the sounds
of cows and birds and a

dog barking. Her mother
said the first time will
seem a little uncomfortable
but hang in there it will

get better, her mother’s
words echo, the tone, her
breath carrying the words
almost adding some of her

own excitement. None felt,
the first time, a big shock
to her system, a plunging
into some kind of hell. That’s,

how it is, he said, groping her
****, the first time for a girl. She
looks at the countryside, fields,
trees, birds in the sky, county lanes,

a house or two and this old small
hotel he’d found on the journey out.
She seems to leak, his stuff seeping
Slowly from her, sticky and damp.

Mother spoke so beautifully of the
first time and love and such how her
heart and mind would feel. All she
can think and say is: big ******* deal.