Elaine got off
the school bus
following her younger sister
not sure if John

was on the bus
or not
she didn't look
although she had been

tempted many times
to look about her
but she just stared
out the window

at the passing view
listening to others
talking and laughing
wondering if John

was there
and if he had been
looking at her
she walked on

by the school fence
her sister went off
with a friend
into the girls' playground

she looked
at her shoes
scuffed
black

her white
ankle socks
looking
now and then

at the passing feet
of others
not looking
but staring

waiting
for the school bell
to ring
can we still talk?

a voice asked
she looked up
John was standing there
with that quiff of hair

that hazel eyed stare
she blushed
and looked at him
talk about what?

she asked moodily
looking at his
loosely tied tie
anything

as long
as we can talk
he said
she didn't feel

like talking
or listening
but she did
she was in

such a depressed mood
that she thought that
any moment she
was going to cry

and she didn't want
him or others
to see her cry
she looked behind him

at passing girls
their hair
all arranged neatly
you're not going

to kiss me again
are you?
she said
he looked at her

then at her hair
not if you don't
want me to
he said

although at that moment
he wanted to
because he wanted
to make the oddness

of the day before right
to get them back
to some kind
of friendship again    

she wasn't sure
if she felt relieved or not
part of her
wanted him

to kiss her
to show others
that someone
did find her attractive

and that she wasn't
just a 14 year old
frump as others
called her

we can't talk now
she said
the bell will soon go
maybe lunch time

at recess?
he nodded
sure
he said

I’ll look out for you
O by the way
I saw a Jay yesterday
she looked at him

there was a small smile
on his lips
Jay?
she said

it's a bird
he said
don't see them often
but it was in

our garden briefly
O
she said
not knowing

what else to say
about a bird
I’ll show you
a picture

in my bird book
at recess
if you like
he said

she nodded
and a smile spread
on her lips
the book of birds

he kept in that
coat pocket of his
she thought
the school bell rang

and he said
see you later
and touched her hand
and was gone

she she sensed
his touch still there
warming moving along
her nerves

like a fire
opening up
a small unknown
deep down desire.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

spoken to her
and not verbally
abused or called
her names

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

OK
so she was frumpy looking
and shy
and the glasses

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

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

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

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

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

to the image
inside her head
and snuggle down
between blankets

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

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

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

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

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

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

and wake
and even when
she returned
and began to dress

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

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

he touched her
sensing along
with her fingers
biting her lip

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

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

That is it
all over
Elaine thinks

on the bus
after school
she and John

and the kiss
all done with
everything

on the edge
her nerves wrought
as if each

hidden thought
was exposed
to everyone

silently
she sits near
the window

looking out
tears sitting
on the rims

of her eyes
like actors
impatient

to get on
to the stage
and perform

she’d seen John
walk on by
to get on

the school bus
he is there
across the

aisle sitting
looking out
as she is

wondering
what went wrong
what he’d said

or done wrong
at lunch time
on the field

at recess
he saw her
on the bus

sitting there
looking out
not at him

pretending
not to know
he is there

Goldfinch talks
beside him
some such stuff

in his ears
empty words
soft laughter

all John wants
is Elaine
to have her

near to him
her body
close and warm

not this cold
far distance
between them

Elaine feels
all undone
all exposed

each nerve taut
every
thought of John

being near
but not near
wanting him

next to her
as it was
before lunch

the bus moves
to go home
she watches

scene changes
vibrations
moving tears

to the edge
like fragile
suicides

thinking on
the long fall
but her love

bites deeply
all undone
can’t recall.

Elle sits in mid act
of dressing. The floor
is ******* buttocks,
scrawny ****, he had
said some short while

ago. Sensations still
there, stirred up, half
fulfilled, wanting more
on her part. But he’s
gone off to smoke or

bath or set paint to his
canvas or paper. She
knows he likes his red
heads, the real thing,
not a dyed for the show

of it type. ***** gives
the game away, he’d say,
laughing, pointing. He’s a
weird type even if he
sets well paint to art.

To complete the act of
dressing, forget the ******
aspect, dress and be off.
Mother used to say, save
your virginity like a precious

pearl, don’t throw before
swine and give away after
a good meal and too much
wine. Mother, Elle thinks,
knew little of *** except

the one act from which I
came, then closed up shop
and set her legs to be
crossed when men were on
the scene. She puts on her slip

and necklace, the one he gave
her, the one with red stones.
He has painted her a number
of times, brushed her onto
canvas, eased her down with

artistic determination. Sold
to others to peer at, to lust
after, to have framed, placed
on some cold wall. She sits
half-dressed, musing, slow

******* the red stones, like
drops of blood. He’ll not want
her that time of month, not
with her pains and messy flood.

Elsa sits on the edge
of the roof of the building

smoking a cigarette
her thoughts on Bolright

her feelings on the downside
her get up

in the morning
and have a good look

out on the city
still intact

the stone on the rooftop
is warmed by the morning sun

and warms her ****
and thighs

and so what
she thinks

if he doesn’t
come back again

what the heck do I care
I had a good time

had a good night
the bed rocking some

the Miles Davis CD
oozing from the hifi

rising in the air
and he was a cool lover

had that way about him
that make the most of

this baby because
you won’t feel

the same again
kind of sensation

and she looks
at the passing traffic

the ant like people below
the smell of the city

the sensation
of the warm stone

beneath her
the warmth rising

through her skin
the touch pretty much

like his
but softer

more gentle
and she inhales deeply

on the cigarette
sensing the smoke

against the back
of her throat

sensing it take up
in her lungs

and thinking of him
trying to remind herself

of each moment with him
the touches

the kisses
the ***

oh yes the ***
and she exhales

the smoke
and laughs to herself

as if remembering
a private joke.

I meet Nima
on the Embankment
behind Charing Cross
underground station.

She's waiting for me
with hands in the pockets
of her coat,
collar turned up,
looking down
into the Thames.

I cross over the road
towards her,
her back is facing me,
slim figure,
hair tied back
in a ponytail.

Been waiting long?
I say.

She turns and her eyes
are tired and drained.

Not long;
been looking
at the water,
she says.

She kisses me,
puts her arms
around my waist.

What's in the bag?
She asks.

I bought a LP
at Dobell's Jazz Shop.

She takes the bag
and looks inside.

Might have guessed
it would be jazz.

She hands me
back the bag.

How are things
at the hospital?

She shrugs
her shoulders.

Difficult;
the ******* want me
to do this and that;
had a job
to get out today,
she says.

Let's go get a drink
and chat,
I suggest.

She nods and we
walk up towards
Charing Cross Road.

So how did you
get out after all?

I sneaked out,
she says,
got some clothes
and here I am.

Whose clothes?

Don't know;
underwear are mine,
the rest I borrowed,
she says.

Won't they be looking
for you at the hospital?
I ask.

Who cares.

We take a coffee
in a cafe off
Charing Cross Road
and sit down.

You're a drug addict,
they're bound to be
looking for you,
I say.

I wanted to see you;
needed to get out
of that hell hole
and the **** nurse
and quacks,
she says.

I give her a cigarette
and take one myself
and light up.

Don't you want
to see me?
She says.

Sure I do,
but I'm worried about you.

Don't worry.

I do.

She inhales
and looks at me.

I want *** and a fix,
she says,
I know where
I could a fix,
but I want ***
with you, Benny,
not just anyone.  

I look around
at the those nearby
in the cafe
who heard her.

She closes her eyes.
I know,
no place available,
some nights
I’m that desperate
I fancy the night nurse.

I raise my eyebrows.

I don't,
just saying,
she says,
her closed eyes still,
unmoving.

I recall the quickie
at the hospital that time.

I look at her
sitting there,
eyes closed,
cigarette smoke
rising in the air.

Judith took me
to the derelict cottage
just off the wood
in the Easter recess

from school
she opened up
the back door
and into the kitchen

with its smell
of damp and decay
it's been empty for years
she said

my sister and I
used to come here
and pretend
it was our own cottage

smells horrible
I said
ignore the smell
she said

pretend it's our
own cottage
and we have
just moved in

after marrying
when did we marry?
I asked
after we left school

she said
smiling
she walked into
a larger room

with wide windows
looking out
onto a large
overgrown garden

we could grow
some of our own food
she said
looking out

the window
I looked at
the hanging wallpaper
and a damp patch

on the ceiling
and our children
could play out there
she said

what children?  I asked
when did they come along?
after we married
she said

I don't remember
I said smiling
you will
if you pretend better

she said
moving through
to another room
at the front

I noticed a space
where a picture
must have hung
because it was cleaner

than the rest
of the wall
I like this room
she said

this is where we will sit
and have our TV
and radio
and the children

can sit with us
and we can cuddle them
I nodded playing along
let me show you upstairs

to the bedrooms
she said
so I followed her
up the creaky stairs

her green skirt
swaying as she walked
three bedrooms
she said

one for us
one for our boys
and one for our girls
she stood

in the front bedroom
looking out
over an untidy hedge
onto the road

this is our bedroom
she said
turning around
looking at it all

our bed can go there
she said
pointing to a wall
on the left

and we can have
a dressing table
and dresser
the room was empty

and smelt
over by the right wall
was a pile of ****
some one's been here

and dumped
I said
probably some *****
or hobo

she looked
at the ****
and said
who's dumped

in our bedroom?
I laughed
it isn't our room yet
pretend

she said
I pretended
the **** wasn't there
and we went

into the other bedrooms
and she said
this was where
such and such

will be
and out of the window
the overgrown garden
seemed vast

with an apple orchard
to the left
she touched my hand
and squeezed it

we will be happy here
she said
I looked about
the room years after  

the cottage smelt ranker
and she was dead.

Benedict walks from
the men's dormitory
into the lounge of the
locked ward passing

the night nurse still
on duty in her small
office. Yiska is sitting
on the black sofa smoking

a  cigarette, a packet
of cigarettes on the small
coffee table with a plastic
lighter. She looks up when

he enters and says, Want
a cigarette? Thanks, he says
and takes one from the
packet and lights up, and

sits beside her on the sofa.
He's dressed in a dressing
gown over his pyjamas; she's
in a pink nightgown over

what he can't see, and looks
over towards the window
showing early dawn sky
and trees. Life goes on out

there, she says, while we're
stuck in here like ******
Humpty Dumpty's. Benedict
nods and says, And all the

king's horses and all the
king's men can't put us
together again. Silly nursery
rhyme that is, she says, how

can ****** horses put you
together again? even these
****** quacks can't do it
so I'm sure horses can't.

She inhales on the cigarette.
Benedict looks at her beside
him. How did you get in here?
he asks. I was jilted by my

so called fiancé at the altar
and I had mental breakdown,
she says after exhaling smoke
into the lounge. You? she asks.

Tried to stab myself, he says,
so they brought me here, then
I tried to hang myself, so they
locked me in here sans belts

or laces. You tried to hang
yourself in the bogs, didn't you
while here? He nods. Yes, I
borrowed one of the others'

dressing gown belt, he says.
****** persistent aren't you?
she says, smiling. He nods. Now
I'm watched like a blue-arsed

fly round a birthday cake. Did
you have the ECTs? she asks.
He nods and looks at her thigh
showing through the gap of her

gown. Not any good apart from
a headache, he says. I hate them,
she says, I'd rather slit my wrists
and be done with. She inhales

deeply and looks at him. She
takes in his hazel eyes and quiff
of hair and haunted look about
his eyes. Something, he says,

within us dies. Or's killed, she
replies, in a sad voice with a
dark depth to her gazing eyes.

Isis had let the girl into
her small private room

at the school, she should
have said no, but she was

of two minds, and then
one, and then she just let

her in, and turned to the
window, not wanting to

face the girl, and let her
look break through to her

heart, and she had heard
the girl whisper, I love you,  

so soft it seemed as if breathed,
as if a small knife had entered

under her ribs and inched
towards her heart, and she

had not turned around, and
had just replied equally softly,

I know, and then a few moments
Later, I love you too, and then

there was silence, and she
sensed the girl put her arms

around her waist, but she had
done nothing, just stood there,

looking out on the school grounds
at the playing field, and the girl

had released her, and Isis had
uttered, Best go now Jodie, and

she heard only quiet footsteps
and the door closing with a dull

thud, and the room seemed
suddenly empty, as if a world had

begun to die and another been
born, and over the playing field

a warm sun opened up like a
young god to a bright new dawn.

Dalya argues
with the German,
but she understands
nothing he says.

Fick dich?
What's that mean?
She asks me.

Best you don't know.

Is he swearing at me?

I nod.
The German walks off;
his broad shoulders swinging.

Who does
he thinks he is?

German, I guess.

She gestures
with her middle digit
at his departing back.
What did he say?
She asks.

Guess.

Sounded rude.

The German guy
has gone around a corner.
(I am glad).

We walk
to the next café
and sit at a table
near the window.

A waitress
takes our order
and walks off
to the back,
her hips swaying
her black skirt.

He was in the wrong,
Dalya says.

Guess he
didn't think so.

But he was
and his attitude stank
and he was **** ugly.

She foams at the mouth;
her eyes are bright
and full of anger.

Life's too short.

Short or long
that Square Head
was in the wrong.

I look at her
sitting there;
the hair drawn tight
in a bun
at the back
of her head;
her jaws rigid.

She smells
of cheap soap
and cigarettes.

If I was a man,
I’d have thumped him.

If you had been a man
he'd have thumped
you first.

The waitress
brings our order
and puts out
the coffees
and cream cakes,
then smiling at me,
she walks off,
swaying again.

I imagine;
thinking of
another place
and time.

Fick dich, to him, too,
she says,
stirring her coffee.

I imagine he might.

What?

Do as you request.

She looks at me,
her eyes focusing on me
like an eagle at prey.

And to think
they thought they
were a superior race.

Human error, I suppose.

They weren't;
I had relatives
gassed in Belsen.

She looks away;
her eyes watery;
lips drawn tight.

That's not down to race,
that's down
to human folly
and wickedness.
I had a friend
whose father helped
clear out Belsen;
he was in the army;
****** his head,
I say.

She says nothing;
silence descends
and caresses us
in its cold arms;
breathing in our ears.

I look at her;
eyes full of tears.

Nima sits
on the grass
just outside
the mental
hospital

I’m with her
in a chair
watching her
finger roll
a thin smoke

her nightgown
has flowers
bright yellow
with green leaves

what's it like?
I ask her

what's what like?
she replies

this madhouse
hospital
and the staff?

she lights up
the thin smoke
and inhales

could be worse
she mutters
exhaling
drug addicts
come here now
on this wing

I see her
empty eyes
the pale skin
random spots
on her chin

not had ***
for so long
I’m almost
virginal
she tells me

how are you
in yourself?

I don't know
kind of numb
want a fix
want some ***

she looks down
at the grass

how are you?
she asks me

surviving
as one does
playing jazz
drinking *****
missing you
I reply

miss you too

she's silent
keeps smoking
a thin gap
appears in
her nightgown
near her thigh
glimpse of skin

that last ***
in London
was quite good
she mutters

I recall
her laying
on a bed
birth naked
in that small
hotel room
her garden
of Eden
hot waiting

where's it end?
I ask her

I don't know
she utters
in some room
all alone
or in one
of London’s
dark gutters.

I’d just come back
from Somerset
the night before
after staying

with an aunt and uncle
and was walking down
from the Square
when Enid

was walking up
from the baker shop
off of Rockingham street
I’ve missed you

she said
got back last night
I said
her left eye

was bluey green skin
how’s your old man?
I asked
still thumping

his daughter happily?
she looked away
up at the flats
behind us

I walked into
a lamppost
she said
wasn’t looking

where I was going
I noticed four
finger size bruises
on her arm

but said nothing
about them
yes I know lampposts
kind jump out at you

when you pass by
she looked at me
I ought not
talk to you

she said
why?
my father said
he doesn’t like you

and I mustn’t
talk to you
but you are
I said

besides
I don’t like
your old man either
so that make us

kind of balanced
I better go
she said
but stayed

looking at me
if I see your old man
on the stairs
of the flats

I’ll trip him up ok?
no no
she said
her mouth

staying open
I was kidding Enid
relax
she gripped

the white paper
bag of rolls
in her hand
and looked up

at the flats
missed you
she whispered
glad you’re

back again
and I watched her
walk up the *****
to the flats

the sky was dark grey
promising rain.

Enid and I
stood on the balcony
of the flats
outside my parent's place
looking down at the Square

she rested her chin
on her hands

I held on to
the top bricks

kids were playing below
skip rope
or war games
or chasing each other
in some tag game

that boy over there
called me a skunk
she said
pointing to a boy
playing football
with others
he said he could
smell me for miles

o him
I heard
he still wets the bed
a night
I’ll remind him
about smells
I said

and that one over there
with the ginger hair
said he'd give me a 1d
to look at the colour
of my underwear
she said

what a cheap ****
it ought to be
at least 2/6d
I said

she laughed
he ought not
to ask at all
she said

no he ought not
but that
is a mystery to him
and one should pay dearly
to satisfy one's mysteries

she looked at the early
evening sky
orange sun
weak clouds
birds in flight
heading towards night

I looked at the moon
becoming stronger

I like it out here
standing with you
I said

do you?
she said
most try and avoid me
even my parents
except my father
seeks me out
only to punish

your old man's
an after birth
I said quietly

what's that?

ask your mother

best not
she said looking down
at the Square again
I wish your parents
were my parents
she said softly

I gazed at her sideways on
the uncombed hair
the dark eyes
the left one
still slight bruised
her pale complexion

then you wouldn't be you
you'd be another
and I’d be your brother
and wouldn’t know
you as you
as I do now
and I’d miss that aspect
somehow

she looked at me
then she looked away
at the darkening sky
and closing of day.

Enid sips
her share of
the Tizer

as I share
the fruit buns
between us

it's Easter
off from school
sitting down

on the grass
by Bank's House
with her palm

she slowly
wipes the top
off of the

big Tizer
drink bottle
and hands it

back to me
do you get
Easter eggs?

she asks me
one or two
I reply

I take a
big mouthful
of Tizer

she nibbles
her fruit bun
do you get

Easter eggs?
I ask her
it depends

if I'm good
my dad says
she replies

and are you?
am I what?
are you good?

try to be
but then he
my daddy

says I've not
Enid says
I hand her

the Tizer
having wiped
the bottle

your old man's
a pig head
Enid snorts

and Tizer
rises up
her small nose

I smile then
and hand her
my hanky

a clean one
fresh laundered
not funny

she tells me
me choking
she wipes the

Tizer from
her small nose
as I pat

her thin back
and pick off
bits of bun

exploded
on my arm
want more drink?

not just now
she replies
with choke tears
in her eyes.

Enid parts the curtains and peeps out at the sky and the coal wharf over the road where coal men are loading up the coal trucks and lorries she can hear her father's loud voice from another room she blinks at the sound the sky looks blue and a sun is coming over the railway bridge so maybe ok to go out and see if Benny is around and what he's doing today but her father's bark of a voice makes her shudder her mother's screech rides on the air over her father's bark in a kind of operatic duet she closes the curtains and sits on her bed waiting for the row to subside and hopes it will not overrun into her room and bring her into the firing line as it did sometimes she caresses her body in a way no one else does or will her ears on the alert for sounds coming nearer  she gets up and goes to the bedroom door and listens the voices are still in duet but softer now but more bitter then a thump thump sound a scream and cry and Enid moves back from the door and her eyes wide open she stares at the door as if at any moment it will explode inwards and her father come in on her in a spiteful rage she moves to the wall by the window and stands there waiting sensing her stomach rumbling with hunger needing feeding but she daren’t yet go out to the kitchen and the bruises on her arm and body have only just begun to fade from last time she creeps along to her bed and climbs in between the sheets and fakes to sleep maybe then he'll not disturb a roar of words explodes from the passage and a screaming voice counterpoints then silence and door slams and then whimpering then silence then a radio comes on  music replaces whimpering and roaring voices she sits up on the side of the bed and listens intently her stomach rumbles her breathing she notices is heavy her pulse is racing along she can sense it as she holds her wrist between fingers she gets up and walks slowly to her bedroom door and opens it cautiously and peers out along the passageway the radio is playing music her mother is singing along to it in a slightly croaky voice Enid walks down the passage and into the kitchen where a light bulb shows a messiness of plates and cups and saucers and a frying pan on the grimy stove she looks in the larder and takes out a box of cereal and taking a bowl from the shelf she fills the bowl up with cereal and pours in some milk she looks for a spoon and for the sugar tin you've got up then? her mother says standing at the kitchen door a cigarette between lips a bruise on her cheek Enid stares and nods about time at least you were out of his way God he was in a foul mood this morning her mother says moving into the kitchen the smoke from the cigarette following her into the kitchen and making Enid's eyes watery get your breakfast and best be out in case he's home lunch time and still in a mood her mother says Enid puts a spoonful of sugar over the cereal and goes into the sitting room her hand shaking she trying to keep the bowl steady and sits at the dining table listening to the music on the radio behind her she looks out the window through the net curtains at the railway bridge and out onto Rockingham Street and the beginning of Bath Terrace her mother enters the room a cup of tea on a saucer in her hand the smoke about her head and sits opposite Enid deep in thought rubbing the bruise on her cheek Enid wants to ask what was wrong with her father and why was he in such a mood but she doesn't she just eats in silence looking now and then at her mother's face and the bruise spreading there and the music seems too happy for the occasion and she wishes it wasn't on but she listens all the same don't annoy him when he gets home her mother says try and keep out of his way Enid looks at the cereal bowl the pattern of flowers around the outer rim what's up with Dad? she asks her spoon half way to her mouth short of money says I waste it says I don't know how to save her mother says looking out the window her eyes watery red the cigarette shaking between fingers Enid wants to go to hug her mother but doesn't in case her mother has bruises where Enid can't see says I spoil you too much her mother went on looking at her her eyes hollow and deep Enid says nothing but spoons the cereal into her mouth and stares at the tablecloth with its blue pattern her mother's words now drone on and Enid tries to shut them out and think of later and seeing Benny and talking to him he knows what she has to put up with he knows and he'll take her some place and she can forget for a while what has happened at home maybe they'll go to the park and ride the swings and slide or go on a bomb site and Benny collect stones for his catapult can I go out with Benny? she asks her mother breaking into her mother's monologue of woe yes I expect so her mother says tiredly but don't let your father see you with him you know your father doesn't like him or you being with him Enid nods and finishes her cereal and takes her bowl to the kitchen and washes the bowl and spoon under the cold water tap until clean and puts them on the draining board to dry catching sight of her father's shadow out of the corner of her eye.

Enid holds
the boiled sweet
Benny gave

in her hand
she opens
and closes

her small hand
feels paper
on her skin

sticky smooth
on one else
gives her sweets

but Benny
she's hungry
no breakfast

that morning
her father
had said no

too naughty
go without
now she sits

in the school
lavatories
the boiled sweet

in her palm
her stomach
grumbles noise

feels sickly
she unwraps
the boiled sweet

with fingers
and puts it
in her mouth

sweet juices
sugary
explosion

of flavours
on her tongue
she ***** it

turns it round
swallows down
the juices

on the wall
someone's inked
Mrs M

has a big
white bottom
Enid *****

more juices
then swallows
the boiled sweet

her stomach
still rumbles
as she looks

at paper
slightly soiled
by her feet.

Enid barely hears her mothers farewell not given happily not wanting her daughter to to go out to see the boy Benny whom Enids father doesnt like but none the less she lets Enid go out of the flat calling out half heartedly as she puts the boiler on for washing Enid rushes down the concrete staircase of the flats before her mother changes her mind and calls her back she takes the concrete steps two at a time to get out of the flats faster  then out into the Square out into the fresh morning air rushing past the man with his boxer dog not looking back in case her mother is on the balcony beckoning her back home she runs down the ***** her hair sensing the air going through it where will Benny be? she muses coming to the end wall of the ***** and taking a right turn through a gap in the wall and waits on the kerb of Rockingham Street looking up Meadow Row wondering if Benny is on the bomb site up there behind the green grocer shop she waits her feet on the edge of the kerb rocking back and forth wondering whether he will be there or whether he is still at home in the flats  after a few minutes of indecision she crosses Rockingham Street and walks up Meadow Row slowly hoping Benny is there because she doesnt like going on bomb sites on her own too creepy and there might be tramps hiding there and she doesnt like them they frighten her she passes houses and looks up towards the green grocer shop in case Benny is there waiting like he sometimes does but no he isnt there  she passes the public house on the corner hears a piano playing and the smell of beer and an old man at the bar drinking and smoking she walks to corner and turns into the Arch Street where the back of the coal wharf is and the bomb site opposite she walks up gingerly hands folding inside each other nervously coal wagons and lorries are parked by the coal wharf  and coal men are busy working loading up both lorries and the wagons drawn by horses she looks over the bomb site scanning the ruins and half walls for Benny she screws up her eyes and puts a hand over her eyes to block out the morning sunshine and yes there he is she says to herself over by the wall putting cans on a low wall as targets for his catapult practice she walks over towards him glad she has found him happy for the first time that morning despite her  fathers temper and rages she had not been touched that morning no slaps or hidings just the rows and her mothers screams and cries Benny turns and sees her and waves his hand beckoning her over she walks over the bomb sites uneven ground  until she is next to him he studies her takes in her face and eyes and scans her body for bruises and black eyes none good he muses sticking his catapult into the back pocket of his jeans you all right then? he asks yes she says wondered if you were here or not been here a while now he says you got out all right then? he asks noticing apprehension in her eyes yes just about Mum let me come although I have to be careful Dad doesn't see me with you or therell be hell to pay Mum said Benny nods his head he knows Enids old man knows hes a bully and belts Enid but he befriends Enid despite her old mans dislike of him whered you want to go? Benny asks she shrugs dont mind where he smiles what about Kennington Park? she looks unsure is it far? she asks no about fifteen minute walk he says not been there before she says is it good yes it is good he says we go along Kennington Park Road and when we get there we can get a drink of pop and maybe an ice cream her eyes light up then she frowns havent got money she says he raises his eyebrows so? Ive got a few bob my old man gave me some for doing a few jobs for him and my mum gave me a bob for getting her some shopping the last few days Benny says Enid nods her head and wishes her parents gave her money for doing jobs rather than her fathers hand across her backside or her mothers sharp tongue well? Benny says want to go? ok she says it sounds good and Ive not been before but at the back of her mind she worried about her father what he would say or do if he found out shed been out with Benny come on then Benny says and they walk across the bomb site she walking beside him feeling happy to be with him feeling safe despite them being only nine years old Benny seemed older seemed like her knight in short sleeved jumper and jeans  they walk on to the New Kent Road and she knows Benny knows his way even if she doesnt well how was your morning? Benny asks looking at her side ways on my dad was in a mood and shouting and there was a row so I hid in my room until he went to work and Mum wasnt happy but she said I could go out but to be careful Enid says her voice letting the words flow as much as to inform as to get it out of her mind what set him off? Benny asks looking both ways before they cross the road dont know he was rowing first thing their voices loud and hen Mum screamed and I was afraid hed come in my room and give we a whack or something as he does if hes in a mood but he didnt Enid says they walk on down Kennington Park Road traffic passing them by hes a *** on your old man Benny says I had him in my sights the other evening when I had my toy rifle on the balcony I could have blown his head open with one shot but the cap just went BANG and Enid jumps back and Benny laughs sorry didnt mean to frighten you he says holding out a hand towards her which she takes and holds did he see or hear you? she asks no I hid behind the walls but I reckon he nigh **** himself and they laugh and she feels a **** of happiness run through her and his hand holds hers warm and soft and secure shes happier now than shes been for age thats for sure.

Been there enough times
to remember it.

That couple ran it.
Her with the bust

and him
with the moustache.

Had some good times there,
you came with us once

didn’t you?
Some years ago now.

Nice place,
Ramsgate.

We took the girls
when they were young.

Freda, Elsie, Sally
and young Enid here.

They thought I
was a poor soul

surrounded by females.
Nag, nag,

and nag it was.
Back in those days,

it was a different couple
had it first.

That Mr and Mrs Gentry.
Him with the one eye

and her with the figure
of a hippo.  

Good old days.
Before the last war that was.

You walked home
from school
with Sutcliffe
(O’Brien was off

with dysentery
which Eddie thought
was a load of ****)
along the New Kent Road

by the shop from which
you bought
a stamp album
and the silver looking

6 shooter gun
and holster
with the belt
with pretend bullets

all around
in little holders
and Eddie said
his big sister

was beginning to spend
too much time
in the washroom
getting herself

all geared up
for her boyfriend
and that his dad
banged on the door

wanting to get in
for his shave
( she’d used all
the hot water

her mother had boiled
in the copper
for the family bath
that night

and his sister
had bellowed back
I’ve got to look my best
I can’t go out

smelling
like a dead rat
and Eddie laughed
(his buck teeth showing)

and Dad told her
she’d feel his hand
across her backside
if she got  

too mouthy with him
so she shut her noise
and came out
all dolled up you

her hair all piled high
her lipstick bright red
her tight skirt
and Dad said

if you think you’re going out
dressed like that
you can think again
but she did

and that was it
and Mum said to him
she's only young once
but he just shaved

and moaned
and I could hear him
muttering to himself
and so Eddie went on

(O’Brien would have
baited him about his sister
would have riled him bad
but he was away

and Eddie was glad)
and so you got
to the corner
of Deacon Way

where Sutcliffe lived
and so you walked
across the road
to Meadow Row

and he waved
and you watched
his blonde cropped hair
and black uniform

disappear from sight
and walked towards home
hands in pockets
satchel on your back

scuffed shoes
kicking stones
onto the bombsite
home to tea

of bread and jam
then out with Ingrid
on the balcony
looking down

over the ledge
at the people passing
or kids playing
making a din

until her father
called her
with his rough voice
and she went back in.

Sonya was reading
some Kierkegaard book

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

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

want to go out
for a coffee?
I asked

if you're paying
she said

I paid last time

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

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

what's that got to do with it?

equal paying of bills
I said

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

do you want coffee or not?
I said

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

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

who said
they're not going my way?

your **** says so

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

it isn't so pretty
as your face

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

you've been reading
too much Kierkegaard
I said

you want *** again?

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

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

you like ***?

she frowned
yes of course

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

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

I smiled
OK if that's
what you want

can we go see
some art afterwards?

sure
I said

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

Ernie’s big sister
was a *****
or so
your old man said

although
he didn’t say
what she did
or what

she was for
you often saw her
go out
in the evenings

from the downstairs
lower flat
on the corner
dressed in a short

red skirt with
a slit at the back
and high heel shoes
and her hair

up high
in a beehive style
or you’d see her
by the entrance

to the Square
standing there
talking to some guy
with that

come **** me look
in her eye
but no one told you
what a ***** was

or did that part
of the action
your old man hid
you thought

she was a small time
actress like the ones
you saw on
the big screen

who stood in saloons
when the cowboys
came in or was a moll
who hung on to some

gangster’s arm in those
black and white films
you saw on winter
afternoons

but when you went
by her standing there
or she spotted you
up on the balcony

of the flats
she’d wave or smile
but seldom spoke
other than to say

hi there kid
or how’s your old man
and off she’d go
with her tight skirt

with the slit
at the back
and her wiggling ***
and high heel shoes

and her hair piled high
with that
come have me later
look in her eye.

Yiska sees
the key turn
in the lock

of the door
of the locked
ward; watches

as nurses
come and go
and the key

turns again
to lock in.
To escape

from the ward
one would need
to time it

for the split
minute of
unlockedness,

but one then
has to run
past the door

left open
to freedom,
if only

for a brief
time moment
until some

overweight
nurse gives chase
bringing you

down like prey.
Yiska knows;
she tried it

to her cost
and bruised hip
and grazed knee

the other
depressing
escape day.

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

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

the other side
of the panel
which hid you
from view

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

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

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

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

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

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

black trousers
white coat
red tie
and white shirt

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

Benedict are you here?
no
you whispered
in undertone voice

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the annual
on the dresser
retreated back out
of the room

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

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

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

Catapult
small penknife
a few stones
handkerchief
piece of string
1/-
on the grass
by Banks House

is that it?
Janice asks

it's all there
I reply

why do boys
carry stuff
in pockets?

essentials
that is all
I tell her

she sits there
on the grass
in her green
summer dress
with that red
cloth beret
in her lap

what do girls
carry then
in pockets?

she empties
a pocket
in her dress
one hanky
one boiled sweet
her gran gave
and 3d

and that's it
she tells me

can I have
the boiled sweet?
I ask her

if you like

she unwraps
the boiled sweet
and puts it
in my mouth

we could go
to the beach
next Monday
if your mum
says you can
Janice says

I study
her blue eyes
there're white clouds
captured there

I’ll ask her
I reply

a pigeon
flies on by
flapping wings

inside me
deep inside
something sings.

Even as she sleeps
she dreams of him.

Coloured pictures,
actions, words,
senseless, changing
upon scene
upon scene.

She stirs.

Moves about
the bed.

She dreams of him
even in her sleep,
action packed,
******, kisses
given, received,
put on hold.

She sighs,
wordless,
moves hand
to her *******,
eyes closed,
head full
of dreams.

Awake
she'll know
he's dead,
but in sleep
nothing is
what it seems.

Hi come in I’ve just put on
the Mahler the 3rd Ok? she says
and before you can reply she

ushers you into the lounge where
you remove your coat and hear
the Mahlerian sounds from the hifi

and the smell of her scent and two
glasses of scotch on the small table
by the sofa take a seat she says taking

your coat off to the other room and
you look at the Picasso print on the
wall and think how long before she

tries to undress you and you sit and
she’s back and sits beside you and says
drink up and take in the Mahler and

guess who I saw today and she had
the cheek to ask how I was when she
knew she’d been gossiping about me

to the **** neighbours and you sip
the scotch and look at her plump face
and her deep blue eyes and the red

dress she has on and the overbearing
perfume and how her ******* try and
push their way out of the dress and you

try and get a word in something about
the 3rd symphony or how you like the
Picasso print but she talks on and over

you like a tank her words hard biting with
their Gaelic tones and then she puts her
hand on your thigh and rubs it up and down

all the time her words unfaltering stretching
through the air and I told the old crab to
go smell her husband’s crotch and that was

it how was your day? she asks looking into
your eyes her hand still rubbing and your
pecker rising and you say a real downer of

a day but whatever now let’s just get into
the 3rd and sip our scotch and she smiles
and makes a grab for your hidden crotch.

Evening. It is the close of day. You draw the curtains across the windows of the apartment. The red curtains you bought recently, the colour having attracted you in the shop. You stand and gaze at them; with the finger and thumb of your right hand, you feel the quality of the fabric. Leonard had not liked them when he came, said they were gaudy, made the place look like brothel. He should know, you muse, bringing the fabric to your face, rubbing it against your cheek. Leonard had this terrible habit of thinking his opinion mattered more than yours, more than any others did. As if God, if he existed, had granted him a deeper insight into things than you or anyone else. You imagine him now, that thin moustache, those pale white cheeks, that nose, and those peering eyes. People were surprised when you began going out with him; surprised that you would go out with his sort. Whatever would your parents say, people said. You did not intend to marry him, at least not yet. Maybe one day if no one else turned up, if no other man came along who was willing to take you on. You release the curtains, go to the drinks cabinet and pour yourself a scotch. You sip it, let the scotch flow slowly down your throat, feel the sensation as it reaches your stomach. A warm inner glow begins as you walk to the gramophone, put on a jazz record. You close your eyes for a moment, sip at your scotch, hear the saxophone begin a solo. Leonard hates jazz, says it for the uneducated. Snob, you think, opening your eyes, walking to the sofa where you sit and gaze around the room. He is a snob, you know, but he has other qualities, qualities that outweigh his defects. His ****** prowess for one thing, his ability to spend money on you while out somewhere are both good qualities you feel. You sigh. Sometimes you wish he wasn’t so good in bed, then you wouldn’t miss him on evenings like this, when you know he won’t be coming around. Friday evenings he has chess night. Chess of all things. Moving pieces across a board, when he could be moving you across the bed, you muse. You sip the scotch again. Let the rim of the glass rest on you lower lip. You drain the remaining scotch; get up to pour another. Evening. Night. Morning, they follow so predictably. But evenings are your favourite part of the day. You hate mornings, they are too sudden, too fresh, too expectant. Like selfish children. Waiting there with all their expectations. Nights tended to be dragged out. The time when you couldn’t sleep and would lay twisting and turning, thinking about everything under the proverbial sun. Unless Leonard stays the night, but he seldom does. Goes before that. Has his fill and off he goes leaving you to your night and sleeplessness. Evening is the best part, you muse, listening by the drinks cabinet, as a trumpet goes wild in solo. You feel like dancing wildly, feel like you want to spin and twirl, and throw out your arms and toss back your head as those dancers do you’ve seen. You put down the scotch on the arm of the sofa and kick off your shoes. You begin to dance to the music, let your body unwind, feel your body become alive to the pulse of the jazz, your arms out about you, the hands gesturing like some wild animal. If Leonard were here now he would shake his head and be tut-tuting. But you don’t care because he isn’t here. Just you and the boys in the jazz band on the record. You wish they were here in person. Over in the corner of the room playing their music, watching you dance like some crazy dame. Perhaps they’d expect you to perform, expect you do more than dance. You don’t care; you don’t give a fig. At least you’d have *** and not a boring evening sitting boozing and listening to jazz records. You stop dancing and look around the room. Evening. Just you and the record and scotch. What a combination. ***. You wish you could purchase *** in a bottle like scotch. A pint of *** please. Yes, the tall one with the biceps. You laugh weakly. You sit down on the sofa, sip the scotch. Drain it. Put down the glass on the arm of the sofa. You remember the evenings you became so frustrated with the lack of *** that you were tempted to go out and grab the nearest available man, but you didn’t; too dangerous, especially around where your apartment is. You sigh deeply. All this thinking about ***. You sip the scotch. The saxophone begins a slow solo. The sound makes you feel like *******, slowly, piece by piece, until you are down to the last item and then you would stand up naked and embrace yourself. The sound of the saxophone. The evening. The rising desire to be held, touched, kissed. Where are you Leonard, you louse? You mutter loudly over the saxophone. You begin to unbutton your blouse. Button by button, pretending it is someone else’s fingers doing it. You gaze at the fingers, lick them, imaging Leonard’s face as you lick. You remove the blouse; undo the bra. You stand and unzip the skirt, let it fall to the floor. You stand there in you underwear, letting your fingers take hold of the top and slowly as if other fingers than yours were removing them over your hips. You remove them and drop them on the sofa. Naked. Evening. No Leonard. The pianist begins his slow solo. You embrace yourself, kiss your arm, kiss it and kiss it. Imagine it is another you are kissing. You close your eyes. Evening. You walk to the light switch and turn off the lights. Darkness, you and jazz. You must make love to your self. Love in that way your parents would never understand. Evening. You. Jazz. Solo. Aloneness.

Ingrid stands
this evening
of coldness

her small hands
in pockets
of her coat

I inside
Old Neptune's
fried fish shop
getting 2
bags of chips
6d each

is that all?
the man asks

yes that's all
unless you
have any
free crackling

not tonight
he tells me

I go out
with my chips
the bags warm
in my hands

here you are
here's your chips
I tell her

taking hands
out of her
blue rain coat
she takes hold
of her bag

nice and warm
she mutters
embracing
the chip bag

we stand there
*******
the hot chips
into mouths

fanning our
mouths with hands
to cool down
the hot chips

buses pass
on the road
big red things
with people
gazing out

we walk up
the pavement
eating chips
with fingers

to the new
ABC
cinema
and gaze
at the billboards
photographs
of film stars

I could be
a film star
too one day
Ingrid says

her fingers
half way out
of her mouth
mild buck teeth
wild brown hair
and brown eyes

sure you could
I tell her

a film star
an actress
in big films
she dreams on

I eat chips
the warmness
swallowing
down my throat

bright dresses
and red shoes
she goes on

maybe kid
I tell her
you'll be that

but just now
you're a girl
eating chips
9 years old
just like me
full of dreams
full of hopes

yes guess so
she mutters
walking back
pass the shops
the bright lights
from windows
buses pass
big and red

she dreams of
big film parts
nice dresses
those red shoes

I think of
the Wild West
wild saloons
big shoot outs
with bad guys
guns smoking
Dodge City
red eye drinks
and sweet smokes

we walk home
down the dark
Meadow Row

our chips gone
fingers warm
but greasy

mine clutching
a silver
six shooter
at my side

she licking
her fingers
one by one
another night
going home
after chips
having fun.

Even in sleep,
She is beautiful.

Let her be, Sandor
Says, let’s go drink

And play cards and
Listen to some jazz.

She resembles some
Goddess lying there,

You muse, leaving
Behind Sandor,

Looking back at
Her with her eyes

Closed, her hand
On her breast, there

At rest. Wish I could
Be that hand, you

Inward say, watching
The shadows from

The moon’s shift play
On her cheek and skin.

Sandor pours white
Wine and puts down

The cards; there is cool
Jazz on the gramophone

And she is lying there
Without you, sleeping,

Dreaming, and all alone.

It's been two years
since Baruch saw Yehudit
for the first time
on the school bus

that long
since that first kiss
that Christmas
under that moon

and stars
now as she turns
from the window
she says

what time will your mother
be home?
about 50 minutes
he says

on the bus?
yes on the bus
he answers
she stands there naked

the sunlight coming
over shoulders
and lighting up
her brown hair

she looks at him
lying there on the bed
hands behind his head
he searches her eyes

the blueness of them
the heaviness
of her *******
the love bites

the peasantness
the broadness of hips
have we time for more?
she asks

maybe
he says
she moves to the bed
and climbs up beside him

and lays her head
on his chest
I would never have dreamed
of this last year

she says
she kisses his stomach
lips damp warm
he strokes her shoulder

runs a finger
along her spine
she giggles
kisses him more

what would your mother say
if she found us thus?
he asks
don't think of it

she says
she lies beside him
he kisses her breast
softly

slowly
she turns towards him
runs a finger
down his thigh

he senses her movement
she imagines her mother
coming up the stairs
the heavy stomp

the booming voice
a smacking hand
she lies on her back
senses his movement

she embraces him
her hands knotted
behind him
he hears the dog bark

downstairs
he freezes
what's up?
she asks

earlier bus
he replies
he slips from the bed
and runs to the window

his mother is walking up
the road from the bus stop
quick
he says

she's coming
who?
she says
lying there

with a vacant stare
my mother's coming
quick dress
out the back door

the space of time
the movement of bodies
his mother's slow pace
towards the house

the dog barking louder
semi clothed
Yehudit runs with items
out the back door

with Baruch behind
along the back path
by orchard and logs
out the back gate

she in front
clutching shoes
and stockings
he watching

as he runs
her peasant body
swaying
like a mighty ship

on perilous seas
and storing away
as he runs
everything he sees.

I would have placed my lips there
in Eve's dark valley
but Adam returned too soon.

I could have listened
to her heart
all day long,
but instead

I just lay
with my head
in her lap,
seeing her eyes

looking down,
the dark green
or such
as it was

or seemed,
capturing me
in the two frames.
Her pulse beating

along the nerves
of my skull,
her small *******,
hidden there

somewhere,
smelling of
motherliness
or some such,

sweet to the nose,
but out of touch.
We waited
for the school

recess bell to ring
across the field,
waited uncaring,
wanting else,

but kisses
would have to do,
lips on lips stuff,
breath mixing

with breath,
tongues invading,
mouth to mouth;
hot O boy hot,

she was,
not the weather,
staring down,
eye to eye,

my head
on her thigh,
sensing not far away,
Eve's gateway.

They what?
said Gran
they said we weren’t

to run around the rain shelter
you replied
did they now?

Well if you want to run  
around the rain shelter
my dears you run around

and up Gran got
and trotted around
to the couple

on the other side
of the circular
rain shelter

and words were said
and niceties exchanged
and the couple

got up and left
but Granddad had sat
where he was

staring out at
the grey mist
over the sea

the exchanging
of niceties was not for him
he preferred the colour

of the seaside town flowers
in a nearby bed
or the smell of the salty sea

and when you
and your sister
and Gran returned

to where he was sitting
he said
Sorted it then

and Gran said
Of course
and Granddad said

Good and looked at
the white hair
of his wife

and the grey/blue eyes
that stared fixedly at him
and her plump short stature

and added
I knew you’d see them off
you’ve got more bite

than the bleeding dog at home
and Gran laughed
and you

and your sister
went off to run around
the rain shelter

the grey mist
distorting the sea
and deserted beach

but not the sound
of gulls or sea
rushing on the shore

or of Gran standing
in front of the couple
hands on hips

a string of words
and angry sounds
coming from her lips.

She spat out
a string
of four letter
abuse words

followed by American *****
you stood at the bar
at the base camp
outside Stockholm

sipping a beer
Moira stood beside you
in grumpy mood
her Glaswegian tones

still in the air
others in the bar
gazed your way
amused

some giving
a small titter
if have to share a tent
with her one more night

I’ll suffocate her
with my sleeping bag
over her head
she said

you girls
don’t get on then?
you said
more expletives followed

after which she sipped
from her glass
of white wine
you lit a cigarette

all the time
watching her
listening to her
talking about

the American girl
the tour guide and driver
had picked up
in Hamburg

how she spent ages
in the shower
at base camps
across northern Europe

how she got her man
whom she slept with
and what she did
and leather

said Moira
her and her ****** leather
I know her sort
she added

you studied her
as she spoke
her short stature
her wild blazing eyes

her hair tight curled
her small ****
pressing against
her tee shirt

then she was silent
and leaned on the bar
sipping the wine
grimacing

staring at the mirror
behind the bar
maybe we could swap tents
you said

you share
with the Australian bore
and I with the Yank girl  
that’s a case

from the frying pan
into he fire
Moira said gruffly
I’d rather share my tent

with a shaggy dog
with fleas
she said
I guess

you thought
taking in her tight ***
some
are hard to please.

Frumpy
the other girls
called her
at school

and the boys
when they bothered
with her at all
which wasn't often

as they had
other girls
to chat up
or not at all

but play ball
or games
on field
Elaine sat in class

waiting for the bell
to ring for lunch recess
for the end
of the long morning

waiting to see John
(well 3 hours and over)
and she put her pens
and pencils away

and not hearing
what the teacher
might say
seeing only

his broad back
and raised hand
with chalk
and endless talk

over his shoulder
if only
she were bolder
she'd tell him

to ****** off
(such language
her mother
would say)

but she only
managed a cough
waiting
for the bell to ring

tense
sitting on the edge
of her chair
not wanting

to be there
the words India
and Bombay
came over

the shoulder
slinking her way
she sat and stared
at the broad back

suited in black
at least John had talked
to her before school
getting off the bus

something about a Jay
some bird he'd seen
she couldn't relate
or think where

a bird came into
the conversation
she had been so tense
her nerves on edge

her stomach churning
come on Frumpy
a girl said
at her left

bell's gone
had it?
she hadn't heard
the whole class rose

in a mass
and made
for the exit
books packing

noise making
laughter
and confidence expressing
unlike she

who sat momentarily
unsure if John
would be there
or not

she feeling cold
then hot
on life's edge
half wanting to cry

and then laugh
then cry again
she got up
with satchel

and books packed
and pencils
and pens
she made her way

out of the room
like one awaiting
execution
and dark gloom.

The sun was still warm
through her bedroom window
her sister played
the Ricky Nelson record

over and over
which came through
the wall
Elaine leaned her back

against the door
and looked at the bed
with the Teddy Bear
her parents had bought her

years before
her mother down stairs
said about bringing
down the soiled washing

she walked towards the window
and looked out
the garden was tidy
her father

had worked ******* it
the green house sparkled
in the afternoon sun
she walked to the dressing table

and stared at herself
was she a frump?
the girls in class
said she was

even some of the boys
who bothered
to talk to her at all
said she was

she pushed back
her dark hair
from her eyes
and stared hard

the boy John liked her
and after the kiss
the other day
she felt unsure

when she was with him
he seemed friendly
he seemed a little odd
when he talked

of birds and butterflies
she sighed and took off
her school blouse
and dropped it

on the bed
then unzipped
her school skirt
and let it fall

to the floor
she was frumpy
she thought
looking at herself

standing there
her reflection
in the mirror
wearing the small bra

and green underwear
she closed her eyes
the Ricky Nelson voice
echoing still

the memory of John's kiss
on the edge of her mind
she pressed
her lips together

pouted
pretended he
had kissed her again
his lips pressing

she ran her tongue
over her lower lip
back and forth
side to side

she turned away
from the mirror
her back to it
she opened her eyes

and embraced herself
her fingers visible
over one shoulder
and at the side

of her ribs
she pretended
they were his
fingers visible

his arms
holding her
she kissed
her shoulder

it was just pretence
she didn't think
she could face
the real thing

not his lips there
not his hands
embracing her
she walked to her bed

and lay down
staring at the ceiling
unsure what she felt
or what it was

her 14 year old body
was hotly feeling.

I saw her on the lower steps
of the stairway
of the flats
on my way
to buy bread rolls
for breakfast

my mother's money
warm in my palm

what are you doing here?
I asked

Enid looked at me
she licked her swollen lip
Dad told me to go out
she said

why's that?

she looked out
at the Square
he's in one of his moods
says he doesn't want
to see my face  

I sat down beside her
have you had breakfast?
I asked

she shook her head
he said I wasn’t to go back
until he'd left for work  

want to come with me
to the baker shop
to buy bread rolls?

she hugged herself
against the morning chill
grey sky above
may as well
she said

so we walked
through the Square
and down the *****
to the baker shop

she looked cold
the shop was warm inside
and she looked around
at the bread and cakes
and other items on shelves
and the smell
of warm bread
in the air

I asked for the rolls
and ordered two more
and gave the man the money
and we left
with a big white bag of rolls
warm in my hands

we walked back
up the *****
and through the Square
and walked to the entrance
to the flats
she sat down on the steps

aren't you coming for breakfast?

she looked at me
what if my dad
looks for me?

he'll look for no one then
won't he?

she looked uncertain
won't your mum mind
me being there?

of course not
she likes you
I said

she hesitated
are you sure?

yes of course I am
so she followed me
up the stairs
to my parent’s flat
on the third floor

we entered
Mum looked at Enid and me
extra for breakfast
I said
and I bought extra rolls

Mum nodded and said
come in Enid
get yourself warm
you look frozen

I gave my mother the rolls
and with Enid walked
to the sitting room

the radio was on
playing some music

I sat at the table
by the window
and Enid sat beside me

her swollen lip
getting bigger
a bluey bruise
showing on her cheek
and on a Monday
first day
of the week.

The peasant monk
walks slow
through the cloister

carrying a bucket
gripped in his
peasant hand

- red knuckles,
head bowed-
I **** the beds

around the cloister garth
-she had me
between her thighs

and the excitement
within her eyes-
Dom Leo

tall and slim
waits outside
the refectory door

to say farewell
before he leaves
for Rome

the following day
-She ****** me dry
in her bed
gazing eye to eye.

Ezra in a tent
typing out Pisan Cantos
madness saved his ****.

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

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

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

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

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

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

locker room;
stands there
gazing at herself
in the mirror

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

eye contact,
maybe looked
into his eyes
and seen all

the fabric
of a dream.

There's roundabouts
and bumper-cars
and a big wheel
and a coconut stall
Ingrid said

and a rifle range
I said
I won a goldfish
in a plastic bag
here once
on the rifle range

we were at the fairground
on the bomb site
by Meadow Row

bright lights
and noise
and laughter
and people shouting
and girls screaming
and music blaring
out of speakers

she was excited
to be there
her brown eyes
lit up
like fireworks
her brown hair
pinned back
at the sides
with hair grips

got to have a go
on the big wheel
she said

I want to go on
the coconut stall
I said
have you money?

yes
she said
2/-

your old man
give it to you?

no my uncle
gave it me

why's that?
I asked
as we gazed
around the fair

I do things for him
she said
as we approached
the big wheel
can't say what
it's out secret
my uncle said

I nodded grimly
and we climbed
on board
the big wheel together

and off it went
up in the evening sky
the Elephant and Castle
beneath us

our flats visible
because the Square lights
were on

the area was like
it had been bombed
over night
rather than
about 15 years
before

look at that
she said
pointing

and I followed her finger
and saw the horizon
of lights
and it was like
an explosion
of brightness
which brightened up
this best of all nights.

Miss Maitland went
to the fancy dress party
dressed as a nun

Benedict went clothed
as a priest(Church
of England kind)

which made her
even more inaccessible
than before he thought

seeing her enter the hall
in her black and white habit
and that face

which echoed purity
her small slim fingers
raised as if to bless

those present
which included the host
dressed as the Devil in red

Miss Maitland walked
to the bar and ordered
a lemonade and gin

is that wise?
said the barman with a grin
she laughed

and he poured anyway
Benedict nodded
and she smiled

then talked to another
clothed as a monk
and laughed

and Benedict's hopes
(whatever they
may have been)

were he concluded
sunk
he sipped his beer

and walked and sat down
gazing at her
standing there

all her best bits
covered up
her tight ****

and delightful behind
gone from sight
now the Devil

was chatting her up
his tail hanging
from behind

his fingers holding
a red wine
Benedict sipped more

of his beer
saw her wander off
to talk with some girl

dressed
as a gangster's moll
right down to the 1920s

cloth of dress
and cut of hat
Benedict didn't fancy her

and that was that
he just wanted
Miss Maitland

sans her habit
of black and white
he liked her in her

tight jeans and top
with her fair hair
flowing free

or held back
in a pony tail
walking up and down

the aisle of the shop
serving customers
wiggling her behind

as she went talking
in her middle class prose
giving Benedict

a studious stare
and he studying her
thinking of his bed

at home
with him and her
lying there.

Sonya sips
the white wine
I sip beer

we'd just seen
Das Rheingold
by Wagner

in London
she is blonde
and quite tall

and Danish
what you think?
you like it?

she asks me
yes I did
very much

I reply
I’ve seen all
of Wagner's

Ring cycle
but not in
the order

he composed
why is that?
she asks me

how over
the four years
I’ve seen them

I tell her
she sips more
of her wine

I light up
one of my
cigarettes

and inhale
you know who
Jesus Christ

really was?
she asks me
Son of God

so they say
I reply
no she says

He was God
existing
as a man

with all man's
frail limits
in body

and in mind
Son of God
I tell her

not at all
God himself
no second

close person
just himself
being man

for a short
duration
in our sad

history
of being
then why come?

I ask her
just to be
to try out

our frail case
not to judge
or redeem?

I ask her
to judge what?
redeem whom?

He came to
act out His
acting role

in His own
sad drama
she tells me

Nietzsche said
God is dead
I tell her

so He is
we killed Him
she replies

looking past
her blonde hair
at the bar

I see Christ
beard and all
sitting there

drinking wine
preparing
so it seems

to fine dine
with some dame
dressed in red

alive still
in His role
as actor

and not dead
as is said
but Sonya

doesn't see
and sips wine
and I say

nothing more
but listen
to the tide

of the sea
on a far
away shore.

Farewell my lovely,
Henderson had said,
Pushing his hat to
The back of his head,
Breaking a smile a

Mile wide, giving Jess
A touching lips kiss,
A small salute, thinking
Of war, the shedding
Of blood, a medal

Or two, all in one
Piece, if he got through,
Which he didn't, caught
His dying end in
42 and his

Drawled words lingered in
The air wherever
She went, on the porch
Sitting and looking
Out at the sky or

In bed gazing at
His photo on
The side, wishing he
Had lived long and loved,
Not fought fierce and died.

Naaman's father
frequented ******
or so his mother said.

Naaman had no idea,
as a kid, what ****** were,
but his mother's tone
of voice and look
gave the impression,
this was not good.

His father never mentioned
the said ******,
never a gave a hint
or clue, so Naaman
just accepted the fact
his father did; what more
could a Jewish kid do?  

There was the woman
who stopped his father
in the street Up West,
gave smile
and whispered words,
looked at Naaman
and walked away,
waggling her slim behind,
rattling keys
from her fingers,
looking back,
then away,
what it was about,
his father didn't say.

Maybe, thought Naaman,
that was the said *****,
but what she did or what
she was for, he wasn't sure.

His mother didn't say,
just glared and froze
her husband out,
or rowed and rowed,
and slammed things down
in the kitchen while cooking,
Naaman just played
with his toys
and pretended
he wasn't looking.

But that dame
in the street
who stopped his father,
her wiggling behind,
her red lips,
big blue eyes,
her keys
and ringed fingers,
maybe she was the *****,
maybe she was the lady
who made
her mother angry,
the one his father frequented
( whatever that might mean),
but to Naaman
she was just a painted lady
who smiled a lot
and whispered soft words
and wagged her behind.

Whatever his mother thought,
Naaman mused,
his father didn't mind.

Why did you meet me
from school?
Fay asked
as we walked along

St George’s Road
I got the bus this way
after I left school
and thought I’d stay on

and meet you
nice of you
she said
that’s me

I said
nice guy
she laughed softly
I hate school

some days
she said
only some days
I hate school all days

I said
we walked on a bit
in silence
what happened today

to make you hate school?
I asked
Sister Bridget said
that there’s no salvation

outside the Church
she quoted St Augustine
and that’s a bad day?
I said

who’s this St Augustine guy?
sounds a happy guy
he was a saint
of the Church

she said
which by definition
means you are ******
sounds pretty much

what my teachers
tell me
I said
no I’m serious

she said
she was
her eyes were tearful
I pray for you

she said
I asked Sister Luke
to pray for you
she’s my favourite nun

we went down
the subway towards
the New Kent Road
her voice echoing

as she talked on
about  this nun said this
and what nun said what
I thought of the kiss

on the cheek
she gave me
the other day
the one I said

I’d not wash away
which I did accidently
the other morning
half awake

and thought
o God
I’ve washed
her kiss away  

maybe I thought
she’ll kiss me
another cheek kiss
but she was still talking

about damnation
and about some guy
called Dante
and some fire

her soft voice
moving along
the walls
of the subway

as if it were *******
along the walls
trying to find
a way out

into the afternoon sun
she stopped
and so did I
and she kissed me

on the cheek
another one.

Fay fingers
the black beads
prayer laden

Hail Marys
Our Fathers
her father

listens near
don't forget
he suggests

to mention
your recent
sinfulness

Fay listens
to his words
but then asks

what was that
sinfulness?
you're being

with that boy
who is not
Catholic

he tells her
why sinful?
she asks him

I say so
he replies
you're too young

for a boy
you are just
eleven

so is he
Fay replies
seeing then

Benedict
walking up
past the pub

looking out
the window
of the flat

sitting room
it's a sin
anyway

her father
informs her
walking off

from the room
Benedict
has gone now

from her sight
passed the bridge
where steam trains

often pass
leaving steam
but she has

Benedict
inwardly
in a dream.

Fay showed me a book
as we sat
on the grass
outside Banks House

it was a black
covered book
with blue
and white strips

of ribbon
to keep a page
you were on
she thumbed the pages

with her small thumb
and finger
there’s a lovely prayer
in here

she said
I try to remember it
but it doesn’t stick
in my brain

my daddy said
to remembered prayers
but I find it hard
to make them stay

just make them up
as you go along
I said
don’t suppose

God cares
if you make them up
as long as you mean
what you say

she looked doubtful
Daddy says
to remember prayers
like the Pater Noster

and Ave and such
she said
what’s this
Paster Noster

when it’s at home?
sounds like
a race horse
I said

it’s the Lord’s Prayer
she said
it’s the Latin way
of saying it

I took out
my toy 6 shooter
and rubbed the barrel
on my jumper

don’t pray at all  
you don’t?
well not often
I said

I figure God
has enough people
praying to Him
without me

adding to His chores
she looked at me
her fair hair
tied prettily

with red ribbons
her blue eyes
fixed on me
do you like my gun?

I asked
my old man
got it for me
in some toy shop

as it was going cheap
she looked
at the gun
Daddy said

guns are
the Devil’s weapons
she said
real guns probably are

but this is just a toy
only kills pretend
bad cowboys
although I did shoot

Wyatt Earp
once or twice
I said
she looked back

at her book
and thumbed
more pages
Daddy said

I ought not
to see you
she said
not looking up at me

why is that?
I asked
he said
you’re a Jew boy

and a bad influence
she said softly
I see
I said

she looked at me
and smiled
but I like you
and seeing as

Daddy is away
it is safe
to talk to you
I gazed at her

lovely eyes
pale
a kind of pale
light blue.

Fay looked over
the ledge
of the balcony
of Banks House

that Sunday morning
I stood beside her
she'd just come back
from mass

with her family
and had sneaked out
to see me
the baker's cart

was over
in the Square
the horse
was stationary

eating out
of some nose bag
we watched the baker
run with his basket

to one of the flats
what did they teach you
at mass today?
I asked

taught nothing
she said
it's listening
to the priest

perform mass
and read
from the Bible
and then take

holy communion
which is when
we take Christ
into ourselves

the baker ran back
to his cart
and took out
more loaves

and ran over
to another block
of flats
I see

I said
how's He do that?
Do what?
How does Christ

get into you?
in the bread
the host
as we call it

she said
He's in the bread?
It isn't bread any more
it's His body

she said
it's called
transubstantiation
that's a mouthful

I said
so what happens?
the horse attached
to the baker's cart

moved a few paces
the baker jumped
onto his seat
and they moved

a few feet
then he jumped off
with his basket
with more loaves

and rushed
to another flat
Fay looked at me
with her pale blue eyes

I loved those eyes
I could have boxed
them up
and carried them

around with me
and have taken
quick glimpses
at them

now and then
to give me a lift
the bread changes
into the Body of Christ

she said
how?
I asked
not outwardly

of course
she added
but sacramentally
spiritually

I was none the wiser
but looked at her
fair hair
long down

passed her thin shoulders
down touching
where her hips began
you look pretty

I said
Daddy says
that personal praise
of one's looks or body

is sinful
and is also vanity
I watched her
thin fingers touch

each other
the pads of the fingers
touching the pads
of the others

why create beauty
then call it sinful
to say so
I said

am I pretty?
she asked
sure you are
I said

and if it's sinful
to say so
then tough *****
she looked away

at the departing baker
on his cart
in the Square
and I continued

to give her
my hazel eyes
and
my cool stare.

Fay meets me
in the park
by the swings

Saturday
afternoon
after lunch
(the morning
was the time
of the film
matinee)

she looks sad
wearing her
lemon dress
her blonde hair
in bunches

how are you?
I ask her

Daddy said
not to come
unless I
could name all
Jesus's
twelve disciples

and did you?
I ask her

yes I did

how did you
remember
all the names?

I have to
remember
at school too

I recall
about four
I tell her

what now then?
she asks me
that I’m here?

we can ride
on the swings
or the slide
or the fast
roundabout
or hang on
to the ropes
I suggest

she just shrugs

there's a bruise
on her arm
just above
her elbow

not the swings
or the fast
roundabout
or long slide
or see-saw
she utters

why is that?  

hurts to sit
she tells me

we walk on
through the park
to the road
to the shops

I buy us
2 ice creams
1p drinks
and we stand
watching life
us licking
our ice creams
sipping drinks

I thinking
of baked beans
on warm toast
for my tea

she thinking
of Jesus
of the twelve
disciples

and her dad's
holy rage
if she can't
get them all
in order
not reading
from the page.