Fay rubs her
rosary
between thumb

and finger
the black beads
holding prayers

but she thinks
they also
bring comfort

to her heart
usually
when her dad

loses it
and hits out
because she'd

forgotten
the Latin
of the Creed

mispronounced
Latin prayers
Baruch said

(the Jew boy
from downstairs)
your old man

doesn't know
the essence
of his faith

just the shell
of it all
Baruch said

God was one
for each and all
for the big

and the small
for the good
and the bad

for the wise
and the fool
her father

doesn't like
young Baruch
and forbids

her to talk
or see him
but she does

and meets him
secretly
for their talks

and their walks
in the park
at the old

cinema
Fay puts her
rosary

in the small
cloth pocket
of her dress

her fingers
leaving there
the small but
special prayer.

Daddy says
it's a sin
to see you

Fay tells me
as we meet
by Jail Park

she dressed in
a white skirt
and pink top

why is that?
I ask her
because you're

not Catholic
Daddy says
just seeing

me you mean
is a sin?
I ask her

or does he
mean meeting
me some place?

I don't know
she replies
he just said

seeing you
we went in
the park gates

and walk pass
the rose beds
the roses

coming out
in colours
of yellow

orange
and bright red
I thought sin

had to have
a wilful
element

I tell her
a deed done
knowingly

and with an
act of will
where did you

read all that?
she asks me
that pamphlet

you lent me
last Easter
I tell her

doesn't say
seeing me
was a sin

in the long
list of sins
I read there

we go in
sit on swings
and push off

with our feet
and ride high
so Daddy's

got it wrong?
she asks me
as she swings

past me high
yes he has
I reply

but don't tell
about that
she swings up

much higher
than I do
her white skirt

billows up
in the wind
I rise up

on the swing
pretending
my Spitfire's

blowing up
**** planes
in the sky

overhead
da-da-da
my pretend

machine gun
is sounding
in the air

Fay's skirt lifts
as she rides
showing off

underwear
but being
a good non

Catholic
kind of boy
I don't stare.

We sat on the grass in front of Banks House near the bomb shelters now unused but still there like monuments of a tragic past and the coal wharf across the way where coal lorries and horse drawn wagons waited to be loaded with coal and coke and the railway bridge over Rockingham Street where steam trains passed over noisily and behind us the windows of the flats of Banks House where nosey neighbours spied on the passing world and Fay said her father and mother had rowed that morning rowed loud enough to have the woman below in the flats to knock on her ceiling as if to say they were making too much noise with their voices and her father had stamped down on the floor as if to say mind your business and I asked her what they were arguing about and she said it was about her mothers attitude about church going and her faith being not what it was and her father had said she would end up in Hell and was it fair on her daughter to have a mother who was destined for such a place and I said it was her mothers choice about her faith if she had one still or even if she didnt any more Fay wasnt sure about it after all she said faith was a gift from God and a gift that needed nurturing and looking after not to be neglected or lost or so her father had said and even the nuns at school had said similar things at R.E. a week or so before and I said if faith was a gift from God how comes that some people never seem to have got it never got the gift of faith at all or if they had got the gift it had slipped through their fingers? she wasnt sure I could see it in her eyes and I knew she had a real fear of her father of his violence and his strictness regarding her faith and her knowledge of her faith and he didnt like her going out with me because he said I wasnt Catholic and had a lack of attitude towards faith of any kind and he-her father- didnt like me and had warned her not to go out with me and said dont you go out with that Benedict boy but she had secretly and stood the chance of punishment if she was found out being out with me and  she said she was between two people she loved her mother and her father and hoped to God they would not split up as her mother said at times when they rowed that she would and take me with her if she left that serious? I said and she said it seemed like it to her and after rows like the one today it seemed more likely than before and she said her father said that she could not leave him as they were married in the eyes of God and to leave would be to break her vows before God and be in a state of sin and a sin that could mean she was destined to go to Hell I opened the Tizer bottle I had brought with me from the off license and offered her a swig and she took the bottle in her hand and took a short swig and offered it back to me and I wiped the bottle top with my hand and took a big swig and it made my eyes water as the bubbles exploded up my nose I didnt like the thought of Fay being taken off by her mother and that I might not see her any more I couldnt bear to think of you not being around here any more I said she eyed the windows of the flats behind us  and leaned close to me and kissed my cheek I hope I don't leave here she said my friends are here and my dad and you especially she said I studied her blonde hair the smooth hair brought into a ponytail and the yellow dress she wore and white socks and the black shoes- slightly scuffed- maybe we should run away she said just us but she had said it in a romantic kind of way of thinking us being just twelve years old but it seemed quite fun in a romantic kind of way and I said sure where will we go? France she said Id like to go there and see men in berets and hear that French music and drink coffee at table on streets corners I smiled sounds good I said I offered her the Tizer bottle again and she wiped the top of the bottle with her palm and drank a big mouthful then gave it back to me where would you like to go? she asked me I said America to see Dodge City and see  where cowboys used to gunfight and maybe we could live in a log cabin and have a dog and keep cattle  and she smiled and kissed me and said you and your cowboys and such I drank from the Tizer bottle and put it on the grass beside me what about Rome? she said and see the Pope and the Vatican and the paintings and see other nuns and priests I saw her look at me and I smiled and said we could go to the seaside near by and go bathing and sit on the beach and have drink and sandwiches and just lie on the sand and look up at the sun and relax thatd be good she said looking at me but of course we will have to wait until we are older she said otherwise Daddy will come looking for us and then Id really be for it once he found us I sat looking at her trying to take in what I could of her in case her mother took her away from here and me and left a big hole in my twelve year old life and maybe I thought if we wait long enough we could marry and she could be my blonde haired blue eyed wife.

Baruch took the bus
to Kennington park
he wanted to see
a different place

away from the usual
the familiar sights
and people
he had brought

Fay along
having paid
her bus fare
and saying

they’d not be late
(she worrying
about her father
getting home from work

and finding
that she'd not
completed her
school essay

on The Ten Commandments)
and also
that she was with him
(whom her father

termed the Jew boy)
and he said it was better
if she never saw him
which was impossible

as they lived
in the same
block of flats
and went by

each other
on the stairs
but her mother knew
and said

to keep it quiet
and gave Fay a 1/-
for an ice cream
and drink of cola

they walked around
the park
she gazing
at the flowers

and butterflies
and birds
and he imagining
Injuns about

to pop out
of the bushes
or over
the small mound

(he called a hill)
on their mixed
coloured horses
and firing arrows

from their bows
or shooting
from rifles
and as he walked

he patted
the 6 shooter gun
in the holster
hanging

from the belt
of his jeans
( hidden
by his grey jacket)

she talked
of the nun at school
who slammed
a wooden ruler

on the palms
of girls
who didn't know
their catechism

all through
and the girl
who had her
legs slapped

for wearing
her school dress
too short
(she'd outgrown it

and her parents
couldn't afford another)
and he talked
of the cowboy film

he'd seen the other day
where the cowboy
wore his two guns
back to front

so that he had to
cross hands
to reach them
and still out drew

the bad guys
and which he wanted
to practice until
he had it just right

she listened to him quietly
taking in
his hazel eyes
the wavy hair

and that
bright eyed stare
and he listened to her
gazing at her

as he did so
at her fair hair
held in metal hair grips
her blue eyes

her pale complexion
that nervousness
she seemed to have
as if her father

was going to leap out
at her from a bush
and the bruise
on her upper arm

he'd seen
when she removed
her cardigan
having got hot

in the midday sun
and after walking around
for a while
and then sitting

looking at some
old guy feeding birds
with broken bread
they bought two ice creams

and bottles of cola
and she said
a grace in Latin
and he mumbled

some Hebrew prayer
and they sat licking
and eating
and drinking

and once she kissed
his cheek shyly
and said they'd
best get home

before her father did
and he saw her
with him
the upstairs Jew

(as her father
termed him)
and gave her
what for

as soon
as she went
timidly
through the front door.

Fay met Baruch
by Arch Street
off of Meadow Row
he was by

the bombed out ruins
across the way
firing his catapult
at tin cans

and empty bottles
she stood at his side
hands in the pockets
of her cardigan

fair hair held
in place by a slide
not firing at the birds
are you?

she asked
looking anxious
no just cans
and bottles

he said
she seemed relieved
and stepped closer
hate to see things hurt

or killed
she said
he tucked the catapult
into the belt

of his jeans
and wiped his hands
on the blue cloth
your old man

let you out then?
he said
she looked about her
in case her father

was near at hand
to hear
my father’s off
for the day

she said
some church things
she added
good to have you here

Baruch said
he stared at her
taking in her hair
and eyes

and her mouth ajar
lips and small teeth
the patterned dress
coming to the knees

red on yellow
going to the flicks later
you want to come?
he asked

she frowned in thought
where?
Camberwell Green
he said

the picture house
is a fleapit
but the film’s good
she blinked

wiped her nose
no money
she said
Dad said to read

Mark Chapter 9
all through
before he gets home
and he will

question me
and if I don’t know it
she became silent
and looked away

Baruch caught sight
of a bruise yellowing
on her right brow
he’d not seen

until she moved
her hair by hand
to wipe her nose
when’s he back?

Baruch asked
late tonight
she said
best not go

she looked across
the bomb site
towards the coal wharf
where horse drawn wagons

came and went
or coal lorries  
along the small road
carrying their load

got time to take in
a film
he said
be back and study then

the Bible bit
she bit her lip
still got no money
she said

looking back at him
standing there
in jeans and blue shirt  
and mucked up hair

I’ve got 2/6d
that’ll do for us to go
and ride and see
and ride on back

she hesitated
looked concerned
if I don’t know St Mark 9
there’ll be hell to pay

(strapped backside
more like he thought
but didn’t say)
we can scan the pages

once we’re back
and gulp it down
and swot it up
he said

she stared
at her plimsolls
white ankle socks
the stones

and bricks
of the bomb site ground
tempted she said
ok

wanting to go
and be with him
she weighed
the balance

in her mind
pushing possible
punishment to the back
of her mind

already he was walking
towards the bus stop
across the bombsite
in casual pace

she followed
taking his hand in hers
unaware her father
from the top

of a bus
had seen
and taking note
knowing what to say

and do
she being
with that kid again
the downstairs Jew.

Without God we cannot and without us God will not, Sister Bonaventure, the Italian  said, in R.E  at the school, where Fay sat looking at the nun's plump features and a second chin that lay on the nun's wimple. Cannot what? a girl said from beside Fay, a thin girl whose hand was raised above her head. Others stared in Fay's direction as did the nun. What do you think it means, Gloria? the nun asked, her dark eyes peering at the girl. The girl shrugged her shoulders. Salvezza, the nun said, salvation. Fay took the word and tongued it in her mouth like a boiled sweet. Salvezza. The other girls in the class sat mute; some looked at each and smiled either out of indifference or bewilderment, but Fay sat straight-faced, the words in her mouth, both Italian and English. Salvation? A girl asked, pushing her luck, seeing the nun's features harden like cement on a hot day. To be saved, the nun said, saved from damnation. The girls all Catholic and bought up from the cradle knew this, but it was a hot day and they had lost interest as soon as Sister Bonaventure had entered the class with the ease of a hippo into a muddy swamp. But Fay took the words and packed them away inside her head to **** upon in her nightly hours when she failed to sleep. After school, walking along St George's Road, she saw Benedict standing by the subway waiting for her. He stood with hands in his pockets, his school tie untied, hanging loose, his shirt collar unbuttoned. She smiled when she saw him; her stomach did a somersault; her eyes moved over him like hawks seeking prey. He smiled like Elvis, which he had mastered by studying the photograph in the paper and had cut it out and sellotaped it to his wall. Didn't know you were going to meet me, Fay said, thought you said you were busy. Benedict smiled. Wanted to surprise you, he said. Did you run home from school to get here by this time? No, got the bus, he said. She touched his arm with her thin fingers, felt the cloth of his school blazer. He looked at her; took in her fair hair, straight, but pinned at the sides with hair slides; at her eyes that were as pure as silk; at her features that he wanted to capture in his mind so he could conjure up in bed at night when he found it hard to dream about her. She looked past him, making sure her father-who didn't like Benedict- wasn't around; making sure that her father wasn't amongst the crowd across the way or in a passing bus. They walked back towards the flats together, side by side, hands not touching, but close, near touching. She told him of her day at school, about the Italian nun and the words that she had captured that day in R.E lesson. Salvation? he said, taking the word and moving it around his head and mouth like a puzzle to be solved. Sounds like something you put on if you've got a sore spot, he said. She smiled. It means saving our souls from sin and the consequences of sin, she said. They walked down the subway side by side, the words echoing along the walls. He looked at her as they walked, his hand near touching hers. Sins? What are they when they're at home? he asked, probably knowing the answer, but wanting her to say. Violation of God's will, she said. Violating our relationship with God, she added. He allowed his knuckles to brush against hers gently, letting her words float about his ears. Violate God's will? He said. She nodded. Defy, God's will, she said. Mm-mm, Benedict said, got you. Whether he had or not, Fay had no idea, she sensed his knuckles brush against hers, gentle, soft, skin on skin. They came out into the late afternoon sunlight, on to the New Kent Road, passed the Trocadero cinema, their hands brushing close. Changing the subject, before Fay could venture further into the words, he said, do you anything about periods? She stopped by the entrance to the cinema and gazed at him. Periods of what? History? Geographical times of changes? She said. No idea, a boy at school was talking about it, said his big sister was having her periods and was a dragon when she was, Benedict said, gazing past, Fay, at the photographs in the framed areas inside the cinema walls. She blushed, looked at the photographs, too. How old are you, Benny? She said. Same as you, twelve, he replied, taking in the photo of a cowboy, at how the cowboy had his guns set in his holster. And you don't know? she said, shyly, looking at him, blushing. He tried to copy the cowboy's stance ready to draw his imaginary gun from imaginary holster. No idea, he said, looking at her briefly before gazing at another photo. What do you learn in biology? she asked. O usual ******* about plants and sunlight and butterflies and bees and so on, he said. About butterflies or birds, then? he said, taking in the cowboy's stance again. Yes, she said quickly, not wanting to elaborate further.  They walked on passed the cinema and the used car area and walked over the bomb site towards Meadow Row. So what's the connection between this kid's sister and ****** birds or butterflies and periods? Benedict asked. She shrugged and smiled. Ask your mum, she said, she might know. He smiled, leaned down, picked up a few stones from the bomb site for ammunition for his catapult later, guess so, he added, taking in her blushing features. They paused half way across the bomb site and stared at the the coal wharf where a few stragglers of coal men loaded up the lorries and wagons again for last bit of business. He wanted to kiss her, but didn't want to take the liberty of just plunging his lips on her cheek as he'd seen them do in the cowboy films. She watched the coal men at work. She sensed him beside her, his closeness, his hand brushing against hers, skin on skin, flesh touching flesh, but she didn't want her father to see her touching Benedict's hand, because he'd go mad at her. I  want you to focus on your school work and what the nuns tell you about matters, not gallivanting with the likes of him, he said last time he saw her with Benedict, even though they lived in the same blocks of flats, he downstairs and she upstairs. Likes of him? What did that mean? She mused, looking away from the coal men and taking in Benedict beside her. God knows what her father would say if she kissed Benedict and he saw them. A few years ago he would have spanked her, but nowadays he just threatens her with it. Benedict turned and looked at her. Are you coming to the cinema for Saturday's matinee? Don't know; depends, she said. Depends on what? he asked. My dad and what he's up to and if he'll let me, she said. She paused, looked past Benedict to see if her father might be around. What's wrong with Saturday matinee? Benedict asked. She looked at him. Daddy thinks it's sinful to stare at those kind of films, although he did take us to see the Ten Commandments with Yul Bryner and Charlton Heston  a few years ago, she said. But you've been with me before, Benedict said. I know but only if Daddy's away on business or is away on religious retreat. Benedict raised his eyebrows and pulled a face and pouted his lips. She smiled. See what I can do, she said, looking over at Meadow Row making sure her father wasn't in sight. He wanted to kiss her, but didn't want just to plunge at her as he'd seen them do at the cinema, but what to do? She gazed at him, her body tingling for reasons she couldn't fathom. Best get home I suppose, she said, in case Daddy's there wondering where I've got to. They walked on across the bomb site slowly. Could I? He asked, pausing by the wall of  bombed out house. Could you what? Fay asked. Benedict looked at her. Kiss your cheek? She blushed and looked around her then back at Benedict. Why would you want to kiss my cheek? She asked. I've seen cowboys do it to women in films I just wondered what it was like, he said. Is that all? she said. All what? He said. That reason? She said. No, he said, looking past at the coal wharf, I like you a lot, wanted to show you how by kissing you. She felt out on a limb, beyond her comfort zone, yet something about it seemed satisfying, the gesture, the idea, the reason he wanted to kiss at all. She knew she was blushing, knew that her body was reacting in away unknown to her before. She looked across at Meadow Row, at the people passing over the way. Do I dare? She asked herself. What if Daddy sees? Not here, she said, maybe on the staircase of the flats if no one is around. He nodded, looked at her, touched her right hand, warm, silky soft. He wasn't sure of himself as he usually was; felt as if he were in bandit country and bad cowboys were at large. They walked on down Meadow Row, passed the public house with doors open and the smell of beer and a piano playing out of tune, passed houses and the crossed over by the corner leading into Rockingham Street. Their hands were apart from each other just in case. Her father in her case and other boys seeing, in his case, thinking he was breaking the schoolboy code into cissiness. They walked up the ***** and into the Square and walked towards the block of flats where they lived. She talked about Sister Bonaventure and sin and he talked about the boy's sister's period problem whatever it was. Half way up the second staircase landing they paused. Now? He asked. She looked up the stairs then down. Ok, she said softly. He kissed her cheek, damp, soft. She looked at him, then for reasons she didn't know she drew him to her and kissed his lips, then let him go. What happened to her or him they didn't understand just felt the inner glow.

After breakfast
after doing shopping
for your mother
you met Fay on the grass

in front of Banks House
and you lay there
looking up at the summer sun
and white clouds

and the sound of trains
shunting
over by the railway yard
and Fay said

my daddy says
I’m to be able to recite
the Pater Noster in Latin
by the time

he gets back
from his work travelling
what the heck’s
the Pater Noster?

You asked
looking at her sideway
her pale features
catching your eyes

her blue eyes
gazing at the sun
it’s the Our Father in English
she said

what’s the big deal?
You said
doesn’t God
understand English?

sure He does
she said
but Daddy wants me
to learn the Latin

he said all good
Catholic girls
need to know
their Latin

what’s kiss my ****
in Latin?
You asked
she looked at you

and laughed shyly
and said
I don’t know
ask your dad

You said
I wouldn’t dare
she said
looking away

back at the sky
does he know Latin
your dad?
You asked

some he does
she replied
but he wouldn’t know that
I shouldn’t think

maybe
you should learn that
and say that you him
instead of the Pater Noster

she looked anxious
I wouldn’t dream of it
she said
and as you both lay there

on the grass
she moved her leg
and you saw
a blue bruise

on her thigh
turning greeny yellow
but you said nothing
of that but talked

how your old man
had made you
a blue metal money box
to keep your pocket money in

and she listened in silence
her pale features
and blue eyes
holding your eyes

as you spoke
looking along
her lime coloured dress
at the leg showing

the bruise still there
like a fallen fruit
and she smelt of apples
freshly picked

and held to the nose
better go
she said
best learn this Latin

before his return
and off she walked
across the grass
waving to you

as she went
and you blew her a kiss
from your palm
but she had gone

but at least
You said
gazing at the sky
it’d been sent.

Fay met you
at the bus stop
on the New Kent Road
she was dressed

in the lemon coloured dress
you liked
and her hair
was pulled tight

into a ponytail
where are you going?
she asked
to the Globe

you said
what Shakespeare’s Globe?
she asked
no the fleapit cinema

at Camberwell Green
you replied
oh
she said

I’ve never been there
my daddy doesn’t like
me going to cinemas
he says they’re

dens of sin
she looked at you
as if you would confirm
her father’s words

well it’s certainly a den
you stated
but whether its
of sin I don’t know

she looked puzzled
and touched
her ponytail
with her hand

are you coming along?
you asked
she looked about
as if her father

might be behind her
should I?
she asked
do you want to?

yes
she replied
then let’s go
but I haven’t any money

she said
I have enough
you said
my Mother gave me money

for chores I did
oh I see
she muttered
and she bit her lip

what would my daddy say
if he saw me?
he won’t
how can you be so sure?

trust me
you said
fathers know little
of what their kids do

she smiled
if you think so
she said
sure I do

besides it’ll
do you good
you said
giving her a smile

and then the bus came
and you both got on
and sat next
to each other

and you paid
the bus conductor
the fare
and as the bus

moved off
you both swayed
to the motion
of the bus

her arm touching yours
the fading bruise
on her flesh
a mixture of yellow

and brown
and blue
but you said nothing
besides you thought

if her old man
beats her
what the hell
can I do?

Early summer
after school
after low tea
of bread and jam

and a glass of milk
you sat with Fay
on the roof
of the pram shed

of Banks House
and looked up
Meadow Row
watching the sun

slowly going down
on the busy horizon
she clothed
in a grey dress

with black plimsolls
and you in fading jeans
and open necked shirt
and she said

my daddy says
I’ve to learn
the Credo in Latin
by the summer holidays

or there’ll be trouble
what the heck’s the Credo?
you asked
looking at the heels

of her plimsolled feet
hitting the wall
of the pram shed
it’s the I Believe prayer

setting out the items
of our beliefs
in the Catholic Church
why Latin?

you said
noticing fading bruises
on her thighs
as the hem

of her dress moved
as she banged her heels
against the wall
because daddy said so

she said
looking
at the orangey sun
in the darkening

blue sky
I don’t know many prayers
you said
at least

not all the way through
except the ones
they teach us
at school

even then
some of the boys
put their own words in
which I couldn’t

repeat to you
she looked at you
her fair hair
adding beauty

to her pale face
and water colour blue
of eyes
best not to

she said softly
don’t your parents
insist you learn prayers?
she asked

no
you said
my old man
wouldn’t know a prayer

if it came up
and tickled his moustache
she smiled
and looked away

then after a few moments
of silence
she said
the sun looks

like a big orange
on a big blue cloth
doesn’t it?
yes

you said
looking skyward
then watched
the traffic pass by

at the end
of Meadow Row
and the bombsite outline
on the right hand side

and the shadows caused
by the lowering sun
then you lowered
your sight

to the fading bruises
on her thighs
and the watercolour blue
of her bright clear eyes.

Fay met you
on your way home
from school
standing by the entrance

of Meadow Row
she was in her school uniform
a satchel
over a shoulder

how was school?
she asked
boring and the day
too long

you replied
but at least
you can learn things
she said

like how
to make a candle
holder in woodwork?
finding some river

in India
I’ll never see?
you said
she smiled shyly

well maybe you will
she said
how are you?
you asked

ok
she replied
got told off
by Sister Bernard

for not having a ruler
what did you do
with your ruler?
you asked

lost it
she said
ah well
there you are

you said
naughty naughty
she walked on
down Meadow Row

and you walked
beside her
actually
she said quietly

my daddy took it
she stood still
and stared at you
he beat me

with it
she said
in a whisper
you looked

into her eyes
and saw your
reflection there
two yous

staring back
why?
you asked
taking in her paleness

her fair hair tied
in a ponytail
he said l hadn’t done
my jobs properly

jobs?
you asked
around the house
helping my mum

and did you? help?
yes usually
but I forgot
this time

big crime
you said
won’t he give
the ruler back?

no
she said
he said he will keep it
as a lesson to me

can’t you buy
a new one?
you asked
I haven’t any money

she said
you can have
one of mine
you said

I have plenty at home
can I borrow one?
you can have one
she smiled weakly

her eyes lit up
and she took one
of your hands
and held it

I’ll have to hide it though
she said
or he’ll take
that one too

quite a guy your dad
you said
she looked away
at the bombed out houses

on the left hand side
you saw her hurt
and sadness
some things you can’t hide.

You met Fay
by the Bricklayer’s
Arms

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

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

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

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

how was school today?
she asked

usual brainwashing
you said

she walked beside you
as you went along
the New Kent Road

how was your day?
you asked

don’t want
to talk about it
she said
I just want to talk
about other things

the traffic roared by
the fumes
in the air

how about coming
to the cinema Saturday?
you asked

I haven’t any money
she replied

I can pay
my old man
will give me
the money

best not
in case my father
finds out
she said

he needn’t know
you said

but if he did
she said
there’d be
hell to pay

you turned right
down Harper Road
she seeking out
your hand
you feeling her hand
in yours

what if I asked him?
you said

God no
that would make it worse
he would think
I put you up
to it

silence settled
between you

what about going
to South Bank
we could watched
the boats and ships
along the Thames
and have ice creams
and soda pop?

Saturday?
she asked

yes
you said
after breakfast?

she nodded
her eyes alight
a smile opening
on her lips
her warm hand
gripping yours

the childhood
love adventure
out of doors.

We looked down
at the Thames
from the Embankment

the river was dull
the day overcast

Fay peered down
at the water
people have drowned
in that water
she said
sometimes by accident
but mostly by choice
you know suicide

I peered
at the flowing water
one of Dickens' novels
begins on the Thames
I said
I think they used
to pull dead bodies
out of the water
and claim the *****
if there was any

I can't imagine
wanting to drown
in that ***** water
she said

I don't suppose
the water matters
if you're going
to ***** it
I said

Daddy says
that people
who are suicides
go to hell
Fay said

I guess people
who take their lives
think they're
in Hell already
I said

I pray for souls
in Purgatory
she said
the nuns at school
say we must
do you pray
at your school?
she asked

only for lessons
to be over quickly
I said

she frowned at me
I mean real prayers?

not real prayers
the boys repeat
what they're told to
but it don't
mean much
I said

I hope people
pray for me
if I go
to Purgatory
she said anxiously

what makes you think
you'll go to this
Purgatory place?
I asked

Daddy says I will
because I’m not good
she said

you're OK
you'll go to Heaven
if there is
a place like that
I said

of course there is
she said
gazing at me
don't you believe
there is?

I haven't thought
about it
but if you say
there is
I guess so
I said

she looked
at the river again
her fair hair moving
in the mild wind
her blue eyes fixed
on the water

if you go to Heaven
then I want
to be there too
I said
or Purgatory
or wherever you are
she looked at me

why?
she asked
why with me?

how I feel
I guess ought

you to feel like that?
we're only 12 years old
and you're
a non-Catholic
and my daddy
doesn't like me
to be with that type

you're with me now
I said

but I shouldn't be
she said

why are you?
I asked

the water looks cold
she said
and so filthy too

I nodded my head
I wanted to kiss her
but didn't
and thought
what is a boy
(Catholic or not)
to do?

Fay was waiting for me
at the top of Meadow Row

I was on my way home
from school
-I'd walked home
as I’d spent my fare money
on doughnuts that morning-

she looked agitated
her blonde hair
was in two ponytails
her eyes looked red
as if she'd been crying

thought I’d missed your bus
she said

no I walked
I said
what's up?

she took my hand
and we walked down
Meadow Row
walking past
the bomb sites
and the ruins
of other houses  

I’ve lost my rosary
she said
I can't find it

what's a rosary?
I asked

a crucifix with beads
I showed you
the other week

O that bead thing
so what's the problem?
can't you buy another?

it was my grandmother's
old one

well buy her another one
I said

I can't she died
last year

well she won't
need it then
will she
I said

she stopped
but Daddy will want
to know why I lost it
and then he'll go off
the deep end  
and I know
he'll punish me
and it wasn't my fault

she began to cry
and I didn't know
what to say or do

where do you keep it?
I asked

in my coat pocket
so it's handy
if I want to use it

and it's not there now?

she shook her head
and put her hand
in the pocket
of her coat

is that the coat
you always wear?
she nodded

what about Sundays?

she looked at me

today's Monday
maybe you left it
in your coat you
wear on Sundays
I said

she looked at me
with reddened eyes
of course I forgot
it must be in
my Sunday coat
from yesterday

let's go find out
I said

but what if Daddy's there?

so what?
I said

he doesn't like me
being with you
because you're not
a Catholic

I’ll wait outside
on the balcony
if he is
I said

so we walked up
Meadow row
and crossed over
Rockingham Street
and up the *****
and into the Square
and along to the flats
and up the concrete staircase
to her parent's flat
which was above
where I lived

she knocked and her mother
let her in
and I stood on the balcony
looking into the Square

after 5 minutes or so
she opened the door
smiling and said

it was in my Sunday coat
all the time
and she kissed my cheek

I knew then
I’d not wash
that area of my face
the whole week.

I am sitting
on the brick
and concrete
bomb shelter
with Fay;
she is looking
at the coal wharf,
I am sorting
cigarette cards
to swap at school.

Do you know
where Jesus was born?
She asks.

In a stable wasn't it;
laid him in a manger,
I think it says.

She nods.

But in St Matthew
it says the Magi
came to the house.

Who were Magi?

The three Wise Men,
although it doesn't
actually say
how many there were,
it just says they.

I put the cigarette cards
in my jacket pocket
and gaze at her.

What's it matter?
People will believe
what they want to believe.

But the nuns said
it's the truth,
Fay says.  

I like her
pale complexion,
her blue eyes
and her fair hair,
well groomed
by her mother.

When I asked Daddy
he said not
to question the nuns,
but to accept
what they said.

I look at her light
blue flowery dress,
the white ankle socks,
the black shoes.

What do you think?
she asks.

Perhaps he was born
in a stable,
but they moved him
into a house
before the Wise Guys
got there,
I say, not caring
a hoot,
but wanting
to ease her worry.

Do you think so?

Sure,
makes sense to me,
I say, seeing
a coal wagon
leave the coal wharf
drawn by a large horse.

But in pictures
in my Bible
it shows them
entering a stable
with shepherds.

I watch the coal wagon
go along
Rockingham Street
and out of sight
under the railway bridge.

What's the truth?
She asks,
looking at her hands
in her lap.

I don't know,
Sweetie, I reply,
and I couldn't
give a crap.

Fay met me
at end of the New Kent Road
after school

I told her I’d walk
not get the bus
(I'd spent the fare money
on doughnuts that morning)

she was in her uniform
the posh Catholic school
her parents said
she had to go to

how's it going?
I asked her

she pulled a face
usual stuff
had to learn
all about
the Assumption
of the Blessed ****** Mary
into Heaven
she said

sounds fascinating
I said
glad I missed it

she smiled
no it was interesting
and an item
of our faith
but it's the way
the nun kept on
about it
and pointing
her finger at us
as if we would go to Hell
if we forgot one idea
she said

I know what you mean
Mr J is the same
about science
his beady eyes search us
like some new day Cromwell
what the heck
do I care what chemical
goes with what

we crossed over the road
and down by some shops
I want to show you something
I said

what is it?

you'll see

the last time you said that
you showed me a dead rat
she said

well it was dead
I said

I know but you didn't
have to swing it
by the tail towards me

I smiled
yes crazy thing to do

we came to the shop window
and I showed her
the item

a stamp album?

yes I thought
I’d collect stamps again
I said

she gazed at me
better than firing
that catapult of yours

and it's quite cheap
only 2/-

have you got 2/-?

not yet
but if I do
a few chores
I can get it I guess

lucky you
she said
I do chores
and get nothing
except build up
my bank account
in Heaven
my father tells me
by good deeds

sounds cool
only I like to see
the money now
I said

we walked on and down
Meadow Row
she told me all about
the Assumption
of the Blessed ****** Mary
and I listened to the sound
of her voice
like some sweet melody
going round
in my brain

and when she'd finished
I said
tell me again.

Miss Cleves
(she dropped
the Mrs. when
her husband left)

stood by the doorframe
of the lounge,
dressed
in a flowery kimono,

which revealed more
than it concealed.
***** wants some milk,
she said.

Benedict looked around
at her from the sofa.
Percy will oblige
after his drink is drunk,

he said. Chopin’s
concerto no 2 oozed
from the hifi. He drained
his drink and followed her

into her bedroom.
Once Percy had obliged
and ***** been fed,
they lay abed.

She criticizing
his Marxism,
he her Scottish
conservatism;

she talked
of her husband’s betrayal
and ***
with air hostess

trollops,
Benedict half-listened
taking in
the ending

of the Chopin.
She talked of the poor
and the slums saying:
you can take

the poor out
of the slums,
but you can’t always take
the slums out

of the poor.
He raved
about the rich,
she scorned

the poor;
he talked revolution,
he pointed out Stalin
and Mao and the altars

of blood they brought.
Another drink? she asked.
He said yes
and she went off

to pour. He lay naked
on her bed wondering
what the priest would think
of him lying there

**** naked. He heard
the Chopin begin again;
she had thought of that.
Time to prepare, he thought,
once more to feed the cat.

Elaine never told
anyone at home
over the weekend

about the boy
who spoke to her
at school on the Friday

that some boy
spoke to her
without verbal abuse

or name calling
was quite a phenomenon
in itself

and if she told
her sister
she would have guffawed

and her father
would have said
who's speaking

to my squat hen?
and her mother
would have looked at her

as if to say you
and that imagination
of yours

so she kept it
to herself
tucked it into

her small *******
next to her heart
and repeated

what he had said
when no one
was around to listen

even in the bath
sitting there
breast high

in soapy suds
(borrowed
from her sister)

she went over
his words
and how

he had said them
and how
she had blushed

as he came up to her
on the sports field
as she stood

by the wire fence
away from others
hands in pockets

snuggled up
into her black coat
her head down

her black hair
center parted
untidily hanging

and said
most birds
have nested by June

but you can still see
where they've nested
she looked at him

wondering if it
was some kind of joke
and that others

may have put him
up to it
but none was there

he stood alone
his brown
brushed back hair

his hazel eyes
gazing into her
as if they saw

her soul
and were feeding there
o I suppose so

she said
her features she knew
had reddened

her words came
out of pitch
do you know much

about birds?
he asked
she gazed at him

standing there
one hand of his
on the fence

by her head
the other in his pocket
she fumbled

for more words
opening up her mind
from its exile

not really
she said
thought not

he said softly
girls don't tend to
I'm John by the way

he added
pointing to his chest
moving back

giving her room
to move
she hesitated

wondering if
she should tell him
her name

she bit her lip
then said
I'm Elaine

he smiled
nice name that
think Tennyson

wrote a poem
about a woman named that
or was it some other?

he looked distracted
for a moment
anyway that was

way back
he said bet
no one has written a poem

about you yet have they?
she looked at his forehead
there were lines there

as if he thought a lot
or maybe too much
no they haven't

she said
shame
he said

you look like
the type of girl
who needs a poem

written about them
she looked over his shoulder
a group of boys

were kicking ball
a group of girls
further over

were sitting on the grass
laughing and talking
but were not

looking her way
but seemed
other wise engaged

shouldn't think anyone
would write a poem
about me

she said
looking at her
black scuffed shoes

course they should
he said
I would

if I was that way
inclined
but I'm more a reader

than writer
she wondered why
he was speaking to her

why he was there
standing in front
of her

staring at her
with his hazel eyes
you've nice eyes

he said
chocolaty brown
and warm and deep

she felt out
of her comfort zone
as if she wandered

into someone else's head
the bell rang
from the school

lunch recess was over
and the boys
kicked the ball

into the tall grass
and the group of girls
rose up from the grass

and walked school wards
like cattle
at milking time

she looked back
at the building
through the wire fence

at the returning pupils
best get back
to being brain washed

he said
see you around
and he touched

her arm gently
as he moved away
walking in a slow

couldn't-care less
-if- I-go- there-pace
she watched him go

her feet
seemingly
rooted to the spot

and her body
was tingling
and feeling hot.

And choir practice is over
and you and the others
leave by the vestry door
and look at the night sky

few stars
bright moon
and she says
wait a while

and so you wait
while the others
move off
towards the cars

or for the long walk
down the drive
from the church
and you see her there

in the moonlight
and she is standing
by one of the graves
and you go to her

and she draws you
to her and you kiss
and the warm lips
are on yours

and she has
her arms around you
and you smell
her scent

and feel her there
her body close
to yours
her hands touching

and her lips
and you touch her
and sense her
and it's as if

time has stopped
and nothing else
is in the world
except you and she

and the moonlight
and stars
and that slight wind
you sense

and her fingers
through your hair
and your hand
feeling along

her ****
and warmth
and no thoughts
no philosophy

no music
none of that stuff
just you and she there
and the kissing

and touching
and time moving
but you both unaware
that some other guy

would have her
and marry her
and that cancer
would take her off

into its deadly grasp
and there was moonlight
and stars
and lips

and kissing
and she saying
she loved you
and you saying words

that floated there
bird-like flapping
and her lips
soft as cotton

and her tongue
touching yours
entering
and sensing

and O boy
that was hot
and love
and only

in the dark hours
when her shadow
lingers nearby
do you see

that time
and feel
the need
to cry.

Annona feigns sleep.
Marcus has bored her
With his talk of the

Campaign; droning on
About this aspect
And that and not a

Mark on his body
To show for all the
Dangers he says he’s

Been through. The flowers
He brought lie on her
Lap. Marcus gets up

To leave the room. I
Have forgotten how
Tired you must be,

He says looking at
His wife lovingly,
And me chattering

On and you wanting
Your bed and sleep, he
Adds craftily and

Smiling to himself.
Amy waits outside
The open door; she

Pretends to show her
Disinterest in
It all, holding back

A smile, knowing her
Mistress feigns well this
Tiredness and sleep.

Make sure your mistress
Gets to her chamber
Safely, Marcus tells

Amy bluntly and
Giving her his cold
Eyed stare. She nods and

Bows and watches him
Walk away with his
Usual swagger

And toss of head. If
You knew how I lay
In your wife’s soft bed,

She mutters, seeing
His figure go from
Her sight, how it was

I who kept her warm
And whom she kissed and
Made love to while you

Were away on your
Campaigns, you wouldn’t
Swagger so; would not

Seem so confident
Of your manliness
Or your wife’s fond love

And devotion. She
Smiles and gazes in
At her mistress who

Still feigns sleep, the red
Flowers lying on
Her lap like broken

Promises and frail
Tokens of lost love
After a long fought

Campaign. Amy stands
Waiting patiently
For her mistress to

Open her eyes and
Wishes her master
Were long gone; she wants

To share and sleep in
Her mistress’s bed
And that love again.

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

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

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

laughter, the Glaswegian
accent cutting through
the attempted English

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We paused
for a few hours
at Rouen
and got off the coach

and the guide said
have a look round for a while
but don't get back late
we got a long way to go yet

so I wandered off with Miriam
to see a few sights
she said she was feeling
tired and hungry

and so we took in a café
and had a coffee and cake
and then went
to Rouen Cathedral

and had look round
can't see the point
of these places
she said

no one believes any more
you know that's not true
by saying no one believes
any more

many people believe
but they don't make
a big deal of it
I said

these places
have a beauty
apart from whatever
religious attraction

they may have
she wasn't impressed
and we didn't stay long
and walking back to the coach

she said
the whole religious thing
is a hangover
from the last century

I let her have her say
I liked her blue eyes
and red tight curled hair
and her way of walking

the hips moving
the tight ****
bobbing up and down
in her yellow top

do you believe then?
she asked
believe what?
all this God

and Heaven thing?
guess so
I said
but it's more like

a comfortable tee shirt
I like the feel of it
and it keeps me sane
in a mad world

we reached the coach
and got on
and sat together
on the right hand side

half way down
I can make you
feel comfortable and sane
she said

do you believe in me?
sure I do
she took my hand
and kissed it

and the driver
put on the radio
and a Beatles song
came on

and she leaned close to me
as the coach took off
out of Rouen
and I smelt her perfume

and her closeness
warmed me
and the  world seemed
a little less mad

and her hand moved
between my thighs
and I was comfortable
and sanely glad.

Dalya couldnt even bring herself to be nice to the Yank girl anymore it was as much as she could do to even look at her with her dark hair and eyes and that ******* tight black leather two piece which made her skinnier than a runt and that accent seeming straight out of some American movie and the constant yak about the guys shed had and how that was the worse part the how of it all as if Dalya cared as if she gave a sod about the Yanks love life and that time they showered at the Oslo camp base and the Yank said *** how plump you are like a hippo bathing and she laughed and Dalya gave her a look that would have frozen another more sensitive ***** but no she laughed at Dalya and her so called humour and Dalya would have flicked her towel around the Yanks scrawny **** but another girl passing got in the way and it flicked her **** instead and O did she moan and the Yank ***** walked off swaying if one can sway a backside like hers and was gone or that time when Dalya had been out with a guy called Benny who rode the same mini bus as the Yank and Dalya had got back in the tent real late and the Yank said what time do you call this some of us need our beauty sleep and Dalya said you could sleep for thousand years and still be one heck of an ugly Yank ***** and the Yank stormed out into the night or early morning which ever it was and Dalya lay in her tent trying to sleep after shed gone when Benny creeps in and said the American girls gone in the Aussie guy and is in my sleeping bag and theyre doing things which I wont describe least not before breakfast and so he came in to the tent with Dalya and Dalya seethed and swore and Benny said did you want me to leave but Ill have to sleep in the bar area as shes in my tent with him so Dalya said ok but no funny business and he said I don t do funny business and lay there in the tent where the Yank girl used to lay and she seemed determined not to let him get too near but at the time the birds were beginning to sing and she still being awake she said to him if you want to come nearer we can keep warm against this ground frost or so it seems and he said sure why not and moved next to her and they hugged and one thing led to another and well shed not be telling her mother when she got home that aspect of her holiday and hoped to God her brother didnt see Benny come out of her tent in the morning and next morning when she showered in the base camp the ***** was there washing off her sins with the Aussie guy laughing  and acting like some latter day Joan Crawford and Dalya glared at her the way her skinny arms were wrapped about her rake thin body and love bites around her neck and tiny **** and Dalya thought God what a sight and that time on the ship from Oslo to Amsterdam and Dalya stood on the deck as the waves rose and fell and the ***** of good old USA was puking over the side and O that was good Dalya thought that was a scream and she looked green and looked as if she'd puke up her ring and Dalya smiled to  herself and later when they landed in Amsterdam Benny and Dalya sought out a cafe and sat and drank coffee and ate a couple of burgers and she said how would you rate the *** the other night in my tent? and Benny said how rate? and she said from one to ten one being utter crap to ten being ****** heaven and Benny thought as he drank his coffee and said well its as near to Heaven as Ill get is it better than having the Yank *****? she asked I dont what she humps like but Id say yes with you it was heaven and Ok she said dont let my brother know or hell tell my mother and then shell go off the deep end you know what mothers are like with their daughters and it was in Amsterdam that the good old American girl split saying she was meeting some French guy in Paris the **** ***** Dalya said she must have a ****** like a drinking hole in the Sahara and Benny said nothing but wondered why women worried about each other like that why they couldnt be more like guys who just think lucky guy wish I could be pimple on his **** while hes going it some then as the camping trip was coming to an end and they were on the last leg of the trip at the last and final base camp and she had her tent to herself she invited Benny in for a final fling but before that they went to the base camp bar and bought a good deal of the ***** and staggered back to the tent and she said you know what? and he said no and she said well lie down and Ill tell you and so Benny lay down on the tent floor next to her and she said I was ****** by my cousin once it was at a birthday party at my parents house and me and him- his name must be kept hush hush- had a little must of  my fathers punch drink and we went up to my bedroom-I slept alone- and I thought it would just be kissing but no one thing led to another and next thing I remember we were ******* away like two hounds on heat and the music was still being pumped from downstairs and singing and laughter and Benny said I wish Id been there I could have made it a ******* but Dalya said it was a bad enough him being there ******* away and she looked past him at the dull sky of their last day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

she said
stretching the truth
a little
I said

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

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

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

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

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

I replied
not always
she said
looking away

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

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

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

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

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

I picked up
from the gutters
and borrowing
cigarette papers

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

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

are fresh
I said
and besides
the burning tobacco

gets rid of that
she looked at me
and said
yuk

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

on that cold
November day.

Milka escaped
from the farmhouse
without
her mother seeing

so she said
and her brothers
were out fishing
so she persuaded

Benedict to allow her
to tag along behind
(beside) him
what about your mother?

he asked
o it will only be
chores she
wants doing

Milka said
they walked
to the place
where the peacocks

were kept
and stared
through the wire
at them

the colourful *****
but dull
as mud hens
making their calls

proudly walking
beautiful plumage
she drew up
close to Benedict

her hand hovering
near to his
but not touching
like a bird

in mid flight waiting
she talked
of the dullness
of the hens

and brightness
of the *****
he listened to her
smelling the perfume

she’d liberated
from her mother’s bag
he said he’d wanted
a job on a farm nearby

but he didn’t get it
she put her arm
under his
and squeezed

him close
she was glad
her brothers
were fishing

or they’d
be with Benedict instead
practising the judo
or karate out back

at the farm
she wanted him
to hold her tight
to draw her nearer

than she was
she’d put on
the shorter dress
when she saw him  

at the door
asking her mother
about her brothers
earlier that morning

and had rushed
to dress
to catch him
up the road

without her mother
seeing her go
they moved on
from the peacock place

and walked the road
and crossed a field
he touching her hand
the sky blue

and cloudless
he silent
she talking
of seeing

the latest
Elvis film
wanting him
to ask her out

but he didn’t
he climbed the style
and through the woods
by the small river

and his hand
holding hers
she feeling
his fingers

on her skin
his thumb rubbing
the back
of her hand

and maybe
she thought
he’ll stop
and kiss

and hold
but he didn’t
he walked on
through the woods

breathing in
the smell
of flowers
and water

and air
touched by birds
and heat
she wanting

a heaven
but having
firm earth
beneath her feet.

Your eyes
and your smile,
that was what most
attracted me
to you, Yehudit.  

We were just teens
that first time,
you looking back at me
on the school coach,
your eyes lit up
like search lights
in the dark,
your thirteen year old
(coming up fourteen)
heart and smile
could melt ice
in the Atlantic
let alone
my fourteen year old
fresh kid heart
(slightly ripped apart).

The kid I sat next to
knew nothing
of my burning heart,
no smoke visible,
no burning embers
to twitch his nose.

After came the kiss;
while others sang carols,
we kissed by the moon's light,
stars witnessing,
angels applauding;
the others too engrossed
in singing to note
our absence
in the shadows;
our meeting of lips;
our thumping hearts,
fired up, bursting
almost out.

Someone called,
we parted;
lips moist,
like small boats
on a vast ocean,
as another
gave an echoing
shout.

I don't like Flensburg
Dalya said
as we rode
in the passenger carrier

she next to me
at the back
the Polish girl
and her mother
having changed seats
for a different view

the Southend teacher prat
still in the front
with the driver and guide

I want to be out of Germany
my dad was in Germany
in the War
she said
she stared at the passing view
not sure where he was
he didn't say much about it

I looked at her sitting there
the green top
and tight blue jeans
her dark hair
pulled in a bunch
at the back

my old man was in Egypt
in the War
I said

what did he do there?
she said

fought the Desert Fox

were there foxes in Egypt?

he was a German general
in the north African fight
called Rommel

the fight was called Rommel?

I looked at the nape
of her neck
the love bite
still there
remembering her
in her tent
unclothed and bare

no the general
was called Rommel
I said

was your old man
as you term him
the general?

I remember her *******
like two small jelly moulds
shaking there

no he wasn't a general
he was an engineer
he mended tanks
somewhat lower
in the ranks

she pointed out a church
as we passed it by
my father said he prayed
in a church in Germany
I rememberer that
she said

I remembered her
laying there
unclothed completely bare
a soft aroma
of onions
hanging in the air.

Sarasota Beach.
You’d been to this place
Before, long before



You’d met Earl or his
Sour sister Pearl
Or her friend Mrs



Gillespie for this
Picnic on this stretch
Of sand. When was that



Now? A girl then. And
Not picnicking. Who
Was it with back then?



The Milton boy? Yes.
Him with the dark hair
And big blue eyes. You’d



Walked this beach hand in
Hand thinking it love,
Thinking you’d found the



Core to your being.
Didn’t of course. It
Hadn’t got too far.



You kissed, held hands, spoke
Words, laughed, caressed, but
Nothing more. Least ways



You didn’t want to,
Not then, not with him,
Just like that. You stare



Out at the sea now.
Earl says, what are you
Gazing at? Ain’t you



Seen the sea before?
Pearl sits quiet, deep
In thought. Maybe she



Had an adventure
Of love here, who knows.
Mrs Gillespie



Eats away and speaks
Small talk between large
Mouthfuls. You recall



The Milton boy for
His ardent attempt
At going further,



Trying to venture
Beneath your dress back
Then. Smacked his hand of



Course. He stopped, withdrew
His hand, frustrated
And sulked. Never got



His way though.  He boiled
Up inside, you guess.
Went with that Kelly



Girl not long after,
Maybe she gave way,
You don’t know. Smiled a



Far bit after that,
The Milton boy, her
On his arm, looking



At you with that look
Of his. You look back
At Earl and watch him



Eat, holding a dull
Conversation with
Mrs Gillespie



Between bites. The sea
And wind seem the same,
The gulls, the smell of



Sea and salt and a
Long lost age. Aren’t you
Going to eat? Earl



Says. Plenty here, he
Mutters. Pearl stares at
The sea. Maybe she



Had a lover once,
But lost it all, you
Muse, just like me.

Sitting on a field gate
looking toward the Downs
Jane talked
of butterflies

and birds
and formation
of clouds
trying to educate you

on the country ways
you sat in blue jeans
and white shirt
unbuttoned at the neck

and she wore
the simple grey dress
white socks
and brown shoes

muddied
from recent ventures
into muddy fields
London's is a doss house

compared to this
you said
although I miss
the cinema

and locality of shops
but then there's you
with your down
to earth beauty

and straight forward
country wisdom
I'm not beautiful
in any sense

she said
the only real beauty
Father says
is the sky above us

and all that lies beyond
you gazed
at her profile
the dark hair

the pale skin
the finely drawn lips
the way she tossed
her head

to remove hair
from her eyes
she jumped down
from the field gate

on to the grass
and walked on
and you followed
she looked back

and smiled
why did you look at me
in that way?
what way?

I don't know
that studying me
kind of way
as if you'd only just

seen me
for the first time
maybe I have
you said

maybe I've seen you
for the first time
in a different way
she looked away

her eyes scanning
the Downs
my mother trusts you
I am glad she does

you said
she trusts you
because you're not like
most boys around here

whom she doesn't trust
she picked cowslips
from the field
and sniffed them

and held them out
to you to sniff
beautiful aren't they?
simple yet beautiful

you sniffed them
and gave them
back to her
yes they smell good

you said
she put out a hand
and touched yours
her hand was warm

you rubbed your thumb
over the back
of her hand a
s you walked on

she holding the cowslips
in the other hand
sniffing them
now and then

what is it
you like about me?
she asked
moving off the field

onto the tree lined drive
up to the Downs
you're pretty
and quiet

and thoughtful
and I feel relaxed
with you
anything else?

I like your eyes
and your hair
and the way you smile
she laughed

and looked away
blushing
after a few minutes
she walked you into

a large hollowed out tree
and sat down inside
as if it were a large
inner room

do you love me?
she asked softly
you looked at her mouth
the way her lips

had moved so simply
yes I guess I do
you said
she leaned toward you

and kissed you
the meeting of lips
she put down the cowslips  
and embraced you

with both arms
you held her close
smelling the freshness
of new apples

and country air
then she sat back
and pushed the hair
from her face

and said
I trust you too
and then she was up
and out of the hollow tree

with her cowslips
and walked on to
the drive again
and called out

come on we've away
to walk to the top
and you came out
of the tree

and followed her
noticing how slow
she swayed as she walked
the cowslips rising

and falling in her hand
her voice calling you
to follow her
and you did

near to her side
sensing her nearness
her beauty
the way she walked

and talked
and off to one side
a woodpecker
tapped tapped

on a tree
and you'd wanted
to be no where else
neither distant climes

or lands afar
but close to her
and following her
like some

tall ship
at sea
follows
a bright star.

And we're in line
for school dinner
and the trestles
have been set up

for the purpose
and Fay
is in front of me
in the line up

and I smell
a scent flower like
fresh and rewarding
after sitting

next to Dennis
most of the morning
in class
her hair is fair

and almost blonde
and down
to her shoulders
there are two

yellow ribbons
holding the hair
in bunches
I study

I sniff gently
not loudly
not taking
a pig's sniff

but just
an intake of breath
of a sniff
and she moves

along the line
and I move
after her
and her hands

are white
and the fingers delicate
and the nails
filed and neat

and she's shy
and turns and says
can we talk
after dinner?

sure we can
I say
taking in her
blue eyes

and the lips
and God I think
how is it
that my

11 year old
brain and eyes
are feasting on
her 11year old being

as such
I don't know
no more than I know
why flowers die

then bulbs come
or why my
great grandmother
dies and that's it

and she turns back
to the dinner lady
and the woman says
two ***** of potato

or one?
peas? carrots?
she nods her head
and says

one ball please
and then moves on
with her plate
and I face

the woman and say
all that I can have
and she looks at me
with her dark eyes
and sighs.

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

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

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

Benedict never
hit a woman
but he came close
when Netanya

threw a cup
at his leg
during an argument
and it felt

as if she'd
cracked a bone
and he rose up at her
and stood almost

in mid air
and stared at her
knowing that
had it been a guy

he would have
decked him
with a right
but it was she

who stood there
in her 5'3' height
and he fumed
through his nose

and walked away
and said
if you hadn't
been a woman

I'd have put you down
and she said
didn't mean
to throw it

at your leg
I meant it
for your HEAD
and that was it

he went into the garden
to cool down
and she lit up
a cigarette

in the kitchen
and inhaled death
into her lungs  
he lit up

and inhaled
what he could
of calming juice
and after they'd

cooled down
she came out
in the garden
where he was sitting

in an old deckchair
and she kissed his head
and said
if you'd been a woman

I'd not have kissed you
like that
and he said
if you'd not been a woman

but a kissing guy
I'd have knocked you
in the eye
and she smiled

and walked away
and that was it
for another day.

His tongue
moves
wet and slow
as a snail

from the back
of her bent knee,
up her thigh,
to the place

she'd ***
if he got there
too soon.
He wants to

awake her soul;
wants to
open her up
like budding flower

in spring
and make her
being sing.
She wants to say:

more, more, more,
but all she can do
is open her mouth
and release

a groan or moan,
an utter
of in-distinctive words
fluttering out

from between
hot lips
like free,
random birds.

He goes to Rome
tomorrow,
the young monk,

tall, clothed in black.
I shake his hand
as other do

by the refectory door;
she opens herself
to me

like a forest flower
even in
my holy sleep.

The old monk
turns in his dying,
the church bells

chime him
the hour
in a steady peal.

You’re the boy
from near the farm
aren’t you?

Jane asked
standing by
the school bus

after school
had finished
for the day

yes
you replied
yes I am

and you wanted
to say more
but your tongue

dried up
as if stuck
in some desert

someone said
you’re new there
she added

looking at you
with her pale blue eyes
a few months

you said
taking in
her smooth skin  

how dark her hair
how straight
and touching over

her shoulders
you ventured words
are you

the parson’s daughter?
she nodded
rather than spoke

her reply
then looked away
as other kids

came towards
the school bus
and stood back

as they climbed aboard
their noisy voices
drowning out

the ambience
of her being there
like big guns of war

breaking through
the peacefulness
of a pre-war dawn

and you waited for her
to speak again
but she looked back

at the school
as if the audience
granted you

had ended
and you stood there
waiting to board the bus

like all the rest
come on Jane
someone called

and she turned
and climbed aboard
leaving you to stand

and watch
the lifting
of her leg

the black shiny shoes
the white socks
the way her hands

pulled her up
the next step
and you savouring

each moment
of her motion
full of a love

like one
for a work of art
full of emotion.

I think I saw her once
Walking by the bridge

With her collar turned up
Against the wind

And her hands
Stuffed in the pockets

Of her coat
To keep them warm

And breath from her lips
Rose like incense

In the chill November air.

Ingrid's words
were muffled
when she spoke to me
by Dunn's hat shop

where we said
we'd meet
the day before
her thick lip

(where he father
had backhanded her)
moved slowly
does you dad

wear hats?
she asked
looking in
the shop window

no
I said
never seen him
ever wear a hat

not even to cover
his balding head
she looked
at the passing traffic

what happened to you?
I asked
pointing to her lip
my dad didn't like

the way I brushed
my hair
he said it was
too tartish

whatever that means
she said
tapping her
recently brushed hair

I tried to get out
of his way
but he caught me
with a backhand

I’m going
to the cinema
this afternoon
I said

there's a cowboy film on
and I want to see
how the good guy
draws out his gun

he does it
by crossing over
his hands
could I come?

she asked
Mum might give me
9d for a ticket
as long as Dad

doesn't know
she added
sure
I said

come to my flat
after lunch
we walked down
the subway

to get
to St George's Road
to walk along
to Bedlam Park

to try out
the swings there
and buy an ice cream
outside the swimming pool

(money I'd been given
by my old man
for polishing
his brown brogues)

I studied her
as we walked along
she talking
of her old man's temper

and how he punched
her mother
for letting
his dinner get cold

I noticed her
faded grey dress
the flowers red
against watery green stems

grey-white
ankle socks
black scuffed shoes
her thin hands

gesturing as she talked
and the slight smell
of dampness
as I neared her

the bruise
under her left eye
fading
like the morning sun

where her old man
had thumped her
for something
she hadn't done.

From her bedroom window
Lydia could see
the grass and pigeons

and some boy
with a bow and arrow
she could hear

her mother shouting
at her father
her sister

still asleep
in the big bed behind
the tattooed arm

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

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

pointing downwards
he was mouthing words
and making gestures

with his free hand
she opened the window
letting in

the morning air
are you coming out?
Benedict asked

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

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

train stations
see the steam engines
he said

she looked back
at her sister
the blonde hair

over her face
a breast hanging
out of her nightie

which one?
she asked
he fired an arrow

at a pigeon
but it flew away
Victoria?

he said
I’ve no money
she said

he went
to pick up the arrow
stuck in the grass

he wiped mud
off the end
when are you going?

she asked
after lunch
he said

walking up
to her ground floor
window and peering in

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

sure
he said
will your mother

be ok about it?
last time
she almost

bit my head off
Lydia looked out
at the grass

and dandelions
growing
she'll be all right

she said
uncertain but trying
to convince him

ok
he said
I’ll call for you

he walked off
across the grass
holding his bow

and arrow
shut the blooming window
her sister said

turning over in bed
Lydia pulled down
the window

and watched
as Benedict
climbed the green

metal fence
and disappeared
from view

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

for something
(in the meantime)
to do.

How fragile we are;
how near the edge we get,
yet so unaware,
even in those moments
of stillness when we
sit and stare.

The show goes on,
the circus excites;
the long days,
the fun nights;
the pushing things
to the limit;
the share of the show,
the touch of the thrill;
the end is just out there,
a feel away,
a mere just out
of reach place
staring in the face.

How fragile
we've become
from the strong
we thought we were,
from the invincible
we pretended.

Soon or later
the close
of the game
and all 's packed up;
all's finally ended.

On the coach
between Paris and Tours
Mamie was seated
next to you

her head
of frizzy hair
against your shoulder
her eyes closed

her mouth ajar
fish like
the valley between
her small **** visible

as she lay there
rocking slight
to the coach’s motion
music coming through

the radio
some Mozart piece
you looked
at her hands

in her lap
small and curled
like sleeping *****
her bare arms

sans hair but freckled
and you looked at her
and sensed her head
against you

knowing some brain
buzzed beneath
her frizzy mane
thoughts exploded there  

were explored
or put aside
sleep be drugged
like some child

in fairy land maybe
you studied her knees
just visible
where her

red skirt rose
flesh on flesh
how through Paris
in the coach

she had pulled
your hand
into her lap
held it there

the pulse of her
beating through
her garden of Eden
beneath the cloth

then the Mozart
piece ended
and Beethoven began
thunderous and loud

pushing through
the speakers
stirring Mamie
beside you

her lips moving
mouthing words
her hands opening out
the palms upright

you looked beyond her
at the passing scenes
of France at night.

Francis sits down at the bench and begins his meal.
The other monks eat without thought other than
What the reading monk on his high stool reads out.
Some book on Cromwell, halfway through, the reader’s
Tone dry and at an even pace. Francis reflects on the
Preparation of the meal. The gathering of vegetables
From the garden, the preparing of the meat, the soup,
The dessert and all with little help save what Brother
Benedict brought with time and skill. Francis studies
Each monk in turn, his eyes sweeping the refectory,
The way this one holds his fork, that one shovels in
Without thought or care, another picking through his
Meal like some old hobo through a garbage heap.
The reader pauses to sip water. The sound of cutlery
On plates, the birds outside the tall windows of the
Refectory in song, the odd slurp or cough, a sneeze.
The reader reads on, Cromwell brought to life, his
Deeds both good and bad, high and low. Francis brings
His spoon to his lips, sips the soup, thick and dark.
One of the young monks pushing round the trolley
With meals for the next course, stops and stares at
The crucifix on the wall above the abbot’s head,
Thinks on the Last Supper with the sipping of blood
And wine and the breaking of both body and bread.

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

The two catholic priests sat
in the Breakfast Room
off the refectory
in the abbey.

They looked up
when you entered
then continued
their conversation
about Dante
and you poured
yourself a coffee
and a small bowl
of Cornflakes
with a little milk
and sugar.

You sat down
and sipped the coffee.

There were prints
of Michelangelo
on the walls
and a crucifix above
and between
the two doors
that led to the
refectory
where the monks ate
three times a day.

The priests conversed
but said nothing to you.

Their words were uttered
in posh well bred voices.

One said
Few believe in Hell these days
and even fewer in Paradise
and those that do
have vague ideas
gathered from odd books
you find on airport
bookshop shelves.

You listened half heartedly
as they talked.  

You wanted to ask
about the place.

Wanted one of them
to hear confession.

Maybe one
to give absolution
and perhaps offer a solution.  

You could hear
the footsteps of monks
in the other room
getting their breakfast
of bread and jam
and black French coffee.

One priest laughed.

You never heard the joke.

The other guffawed loudly
in a girlish voice.

And the woman was seen
leaving by the back door
semi dressed and in great distress
the priest continued
And Father Denton
was never the same.

Then they were silent
and stood and smiled
and went their way.

You sat alone in the room.

The Michelangelo prints
reflected the single bulb
hanging above the table.

The Crucified seemed
above it all.

You would find some other
to hear confession.

To give absolution
from your fall.

Gale shows me
a medal
in the palm
of his hand

circular
discoloured
old ribbon

my granddad’s
he tells me
he left it
in his will
it's mine now

can I hold?
I ask him

sure you can

I hold it
in my palm
it's warm now
where his skin
has warmed it

King George V
image there
an old guy
grey bearded

your granddad?
I ask him
my finger pointing
at the guy

that's the King
at the time
he tells me
though Granddad
was like that
to look at

I hand him
the medal

he holds it
in his palm

the school bell
rings loudly
the playground
then erupts
then settles
into lines

Gale pockets
the medal
in the dark
sweaty warmth
of his thigh

out of sight
of my eye.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dennis sat by me
in the playground
we'd swapped cigarette
football cards
and he was seeing
what he had

how can you talk
to that Enid girl?
she stinks
and I’m sure
she has fleas
he said

Enid had stopped
and talked to me
a short time before
she's ok
I said
home life isn't good
what with her old man
and that mother of hers

she still smells though
he said

it's an acquired taste
I said

what's an acquired taste?
he asked

Enid is
once you get to know her
and be with her
she's kind of special
I said

he laughed
you can acquire it
if you want
he said
but to me
she isn't nothing special
just smelly
he sorted through
his cards again

I looked over
the playground
where Enid stood alone
by the far wall
watching girls
play skip rope

the evening before
after tea
I met her
by the entrance
to the flats
the sky getting dark
kids still played
out in the Square

had your tea?
I asked her

my dad said
I wasn't to have any
because I'd not
made my bed properly
Enid said

you haven't eaten?

she shook her head

but I'd seen her old man
go out earlier
to the pub
won't your mother
get you some
now your old man's out?
I asked

no she's frightened of him
Enid said
she thinks he may
come home
and see me eating
and then we'd both
get it

I can get you something
back at my place
I said
my mother'll
get you something

no best not
Enid said
she looked out
at the kids playing
over by the wall

come on with me
I said

where we going?
she asked

chip shop
to get you some chips
and a 7Up
I said

she looked at me
what if he sees me?

he's in the pub
getting plastered
I said
we'll go the other way
he won't see you

she hesitated
but what if he does?

then I’ll say
I dragged you there

she looked out
at the darkening sky
I’ve no money
she said

I have 1/6d
I said
that'll get it

she fiddled
with her fingers
it's getting dark
she said

I don't care if its so dark
you can't see
you're coming
to the chip shop
with me

I took her thin hand
and we walked
through the Square
and down the *****
and along
Rockingham Street

she had her own
kind of scent
an acquired taste
but not bad
but not sweet.

The hotel
was behind
Charing Cross

some back street
in some room
up some stairs

Nima says
it will do
the bed's old
I bet some
old queen slept
in this bed

and died here
I reply
lying down
on the bed

she lay down
beside me

that old dear
who gave me
this old key
gave me the
once over
as if she
understood
the reason
we are here
I tell her

course she does
I bet she's
outside now
listening
for the bed
to begin
making noise
Nima says

I get up
and turn on
the gas fire

then undress
watching her
by the one
small window
already
without clothes

her tight ****
her slim waist
visible
to my eyes
feasting them

my pecker
preparing
for the job
that's ahead
in the old
black metal
double bed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

she leans forward
air pushing
between her thighs
as she spreads

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

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

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

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

Each evening she got
off the bus and crossed

the forecourt of the gas
station where you worked

wearing her knee length
raincoat and made her way

into the small shop inside
and you stood there open

mouthed gazing at her hot
beauty at her black hair and

dark eyes and she said I want
20 of those cigarettes and

she pointed with her thin
finger and red nail to cigarettes

behind you and you turned
around and took down the

cigarettes pack and put them
on the counter and she took

coins out of her black purse
and placed them one by one

on the counter top and said
There that’s just right and then

off she went no more words
just a wiggle of her *** and you

watched her go out of the door
and along by the forecourt of

the gas station and you sighed
and sniffed the air to capture her

perfume and held on to the sight
of her and placed it in your memory

like some rich guy putting some
precious gem in his vault and you

would sense that memory of her
wiggling *** like some fresh fish caught.

You remembered
the girl
not her name
but Ward

the kid next to you
in the science class
caught sight
of the girls

through the window
off across
the sports field
in their yellow tops

and green
short
P.E. skirts
and said

in hushed voice
look at that
all that girl flesh
and me stuck here

being brain soddened
by this science guff
when I could be out
with the girls

you saw her
out there
with skip rope
rushing after others

the sun warm
the sky hazy
the science teacher
sprouting off

about something boring
and Ward
his eyes
supping it all in

through the glass
the sports teacher
following
in her adult

blue top
and white P.E skirt
with whistle
between lips

and the girl
had been swallowed up
into the mass
of yellows

and greens
and legs
and arms
and the glass

of the classroom
like a huge
picture frame
holding for the eyes

the girls
in yellow and green
and the girl
with the lost name.

Johnny watched
the girl
in the coffee shop
with the small tattoo

on her neck
just visible
above her collar
of the blouse

she was dressed in black
like a direttore funereo
rather than a bar girl
she had dark long hair

in a ponytail
and eyes to sink ships
or raise men's *****
he watched her

while he sipped
his large latte
taking in
each aspect

of her visible being
her ****** gestures
her smiles
her tone of voice

the skin tone
of her hands and arms
-that aspect
alone visible-

she moved
with firm intention
going about her tasks
with resolve

and ambition
but she seldom
gazed at him
or if she did

when he came in
it was a small smile
of recognition
a quick glance

as she took
his order
from the menu
and all the while

he drank her in
from strand
of dark hair
to tone of pale skin.