On the way
with your father

to the building site
to put in

new windows
to new buildings

you saw this girl
on the platform

of the railway station
standing there

blonde hair  
red mini skirt

white top
small handbag

on her shoulder
nice legs

you thought
right up

to her ***
(as the guys

would say)
taking a quick glance

before the train came
and took her

from your sight forever
and a day

she turned
and gazed up

the platform
to look for the train

you couldn’t see
the colour of eyes

too far to view
but her *******

seemed small
but compact

her hands folded
in front

unringed fingers
(in with a chance

you mused)
but you guessed

she was out
of your league

she’d not give you
a second gaze

not speak
to the likes of you

in your jeans
and work jacket

and well cropped hair
standing there

giving her
the ****** stare.

Humphrey sees the dame going
by the door as he’s booking in at
the hotel, for the moment she
seems frozen there as if the gods
had wanted him to get a glimpse

of beauty before she moved on
and back into her life far from his.
He stands there gazing, his eyes
taking in each aspect of her shine:
the hat the shoes, the two piece suit,

the plenty of leg and best of all her
face and the way she was looking
at him. A posh car is waiting outside
the lobby, she stands there her eyes
drinking him in, he ignores the booking

clerk who is talking to him, what is
the **** on about when he has beauty
just outside standing and staring, maybe
waiting for him, waiting for him to go
to her and converse. It’s New York City

1920 and there she is, his Helen of Troy,
she who no doubt could sink a few ships
or break a heart or two, but what to do?
He stands and stares, his mind in a haze,
she moving off and into the car, no time

to think or wave, she’s gone, the car away
along the street, lost in the sea of traffic,
he senses a tear in his heart, an opening
up, a lost chance, beauty fled. The booking
clerk talks, his words like rainfall on a tin

roof, his gormless gaze. Humphrey looks
at the face of the clerk, his dark eyes like
small black pits, Yes, that room will do,
Humphrey says, taking the key, wanting it
over, his day kind of blessed and spoiled,

beauty come and gone, a chance not taken,
a mind messed up, a heart near broken.

You saw Christina
and a few

of her giggling
school friends

in one
of the school corridors

in between
maths and biology

she
looked at you

her eyes shy
and yet searching

and her friends
unnoticing

how feelings moved
or what

was inwardly touched  
some electric shock

pulsed through you
stood hair on end

or so it seemed
she in her green skirt

and white blouse
and ankle socks

with sight of flesh
as she moved

and you
in your dull grey

and black shoes
seeking to take

what image
of her

you could
to your dreams

to hold at night
and not a word

there was spent
or exchanged

or feelings unloaded
or spread

except whatever raced
like some runner

in your head
and she

in hers no doubt
wondering afterwards

what this love
bringing together

and separating
was all about.

Goats milk? The woman said,
yes, I think I know a man who
can get you some, he keeps
goats you see. I nodded my

head. Our daughter can't drink
cow's milk brings her out in a
rash and gives her a funny
tummy. How old's your daughter?

The woman asked. About two
years or so, I replied. Yes, goat's
milk'll be best. She walked down
the path and off and I shut the door.

My daughters were playing some
game upon the floor, my wife
upstairs with our year born son.
We're getting you some goat's milk,

I said to Chan our second daughter.
Won't the goat mind me having its milk?
She asked. No,I said, it likes to share;
some for you and some for her.

And me? Danni said, I like goat's
milk, too, as I’m only three, and
three a small number next to two.
Yes, I suppose you both can, I said.

But not baby, Ole, she said, he's too
small, he has mummy's milk all to
himself. The girls carried on with
their game. I got ready to go to work

and the long walk there at a school
for boys a few miles away. I smoked
a quick cigarette watching our girls at play.

Cows mooed. Birds bubbled in a nearby hedgerow. Butterflies fluttered by. A Gatekeeper, Jane said, pointing to a butterfly fluttering by. Benedict watched as the butterfly fluttered along ahead of them. Wasn't sure, he said. He caught her out of the corner of his eye. Dark hair, let loose, shoulder length; blue flowered dress short sleeved. I ought not to say whom you can see and whom you can't, she said, pausing by the hedgerow, looking up the narrow road leading to the small church, if you want to see that Lizbeth girl it's up to you, she added. Benedict looked at her. She comes looking for me; I don't go looking for her, he said. Her eyes looked at him: dark eyes, warm, searching, honest-to-God eyes. What does she want with you? Jane asked. A sound of a tractor in the distant field. Whatever it is she won't get it, he said, eyeing her lips, how they part slightly, her teeth, small but even. She seemed hooked on you, Jane said. She looked at Benedict's quiff of brown hair, his hazel eyes. Guess she is. He tries to push thoughts of Lizbeth ******* in her room a few months ago and how she wanted him to have *** with her and he didn't want to and didn't. Much to her annoyance. He pictures her body semi-undressed, her bed waiting for them. He couldn't. Jane frowned. I had a word with her in the girl's toilet at school, Jane said, she showed no shame in wanting to have *** with you; I couldn't believe any girl could just do that. Benedict sighed. Some can and do, he said, I didn't want to and so didn't. She seemed relieved to hear that and walked on and he walked on beside her.  Why didn't you? She asked, have *** with her? He thought before answering, didn't want to say the wrong thing. He heard the cows mooing louder as they walked up towards the church lane. I wouldn't, not just out of lust, he said. If you loved her would you? She asked. He didn't love Lizbeth, he liked her for reasons he couldn't quite fathom, but it wasn't love. Don't think so, he answered. She was quiet and they walked on up the narrow lane. A blackbird flew over their heads. The smell of flowers was strong. Cow dung from the farm was as strong. He studied Jane's hand near his: slim, fingers narrow, neat nails. Do you love her? Jane asked. No, he replied. He wanted to say he loved her, loved Jane, but it was a big statement to say and he didn't want just to blurt it out. They entered the churchyard. The small church was nearby. Lizbeth had been here with him twice or so. Once suggesting they have *** on one of the church pews. Narrow wooden pews. Would she have? He asked himself as he and Jane walked past old tombstones. He guessed she would, but he couldn't, not there, not anywhere. Jane paused by a grave. He was a tractor driver who died when his tractor fell on top of him, Jane said, pointing at the grave. It looked new: new stone, fresh dug earth, flowers. O my God, he said, how sad. Yes, it is, she said. His wife and children had to leave the tied cottage afterwards. Benedict caught her perfume as she leaned near him. He couldn't identify the flower smell. He couldn’t imagine her wanting him to have *** with her anywhere. Yet, oddly he felt he could with her, but he knew she wouldn't so it was safe to think it. But not like Lizbeth who was gagging for it-to use her expression-, but out of a love feeling, maybe. No, he couldn't imagine Jane doing such. What did you think when that Lizbeth girl brought you here? Jane asked. Thought she was just going to show me around the church; she said she was interested in the architecture, he said. She lies good, Jane said. He nodded. They walked on around the church, walked past other graves, older, moss covered stones. Were you tempted to have *** with her on one of the pews? Jane asked. Of course not, he replied, looking straight at her. Never dawned on me that she'd want such a thing. How could she even suppose you would? Jane said. Because she wanted to, she imagined I must want it, too, he said. But on a church pew? She said, her voice having tones of disbelief. He sighed. I know and when I said people might come in she said serves them right for coming in, he said, trying to recollect her words exactly, but couldn't. Jane opened the small wooden door of the church and they entered. It was cool. The walls were white painted. The windows were painted with religious figures. This is God's house, Jane said, she shouldn't have even thought of such a thing. Benedict looked at the altar end. A small crucifix stood on an altar table with a white cloth on it. He looked at the side pews. He tried to find the one he sat in with Lizbeth and she suggested having *** there. It made him go cold thinking of it. Jane walked to the altar end and sniffed. Incense from Sunday, she said. He smelt it too. He smelt her perfume more. She was close to him now. Her body was inches from his. His body tingled. He knew he loved her. He wanted to say so; wanted to say it loudly to her, but it was the wrong place. He looked at her body encased in the dress. Slim, narrow, her ******* were small, but tight. She was curved. He looked away. He knew he ought not to think of her in that way, least not here. Let's sit and pray, she said, and walked into one of the side pews and sat down. He sat next to her, pushing thoughts of Lizbeth from his mind. Keeping the image of her lifting her skirt and showing him a glimpse of her thigh from his mind. Jane had closed her eyes in prayer. She was a parson's daughter; prayer was natural to her as breathing. He closed his eyes. Smelt her perfume mingled with incense. How did one pray at a time like this? He thought, pushing Lizbeth's thigh from his inner eye.

London Zoo?
Janice's gran said
when I told her
that Janice could come
to London Zoo with us

Yes
I said
Mum said to ask you  

her gran looked at me
then at Janice

best come in Benedict
and we can talk it over
London Zoo
she said to herself
as much to Janice and me

Janice was by
the front door
her eyes bright
as the sun
on a dew leaf
her mouth
slightly ajar

take a seat
for a moment Benedict
Gran said

gosh
Janice said
that'd be good
I've not been
to London Zoo before
well I did go
to that zoo on holiday
but it was ever so small
and never had
big animals in it
did it Gran?

Her gran sat down
on an armchair
and said
no it didn't
you are right Janice
it was too small
but London Zoo
now there is
a zoo
she said

Janice sat down
next to me
her hands together
as if she was praying
that her gran
would agree
and not find
a reason for her
not to go

how much
would it cost?
her gran asked

no idea
Mum didn't say
she just said
asked Janice's gran
if she could go

I see
said her gran
looking at me
with her eyes
but they were her
kind eyes
not the eyes
she wore sometimes
if she was angry
with Janice
over something

when are you going?
she asked

Sunday week
I said

she looked at Janice
with her eyes
and Janice looked back
with her eyes
almost pleading

after church?
Gran asked

o yes after church
I said
not saying
that I didn't go
to church often
on a Sunday
certainly not
with my old man  
and now and again
if my mother
wasn't too tired

who's going
with you?
her gran asked

I told her
my mother
and sister
and brother
and maybe
my old man

she nodded her head
a strand of hair
came loose
from her bun of hair
and her eyes
looked at Janice

well if Janice
has been good
up until then
I don't see why not
her gran said

o good
Janice said

I smiled and said
I'll tell Mum
your answer

but on the provider
that Janice has been good
Gran said
with a shake
of her grey haired head.

He couldn’t believe
How many gold teeth
Had been extracted

From the cold mouths of
The dead and piled up
Before him on his

Bench or in boxes
On the floor. Whose teeth?
What victims were they?

Jews? He guessed they were,
But whether he or
She or how they smiled

Once on some summer’s
Day or how they laughed
And at what, he did

Not know, and didn’t
Let his interest
Show, at least not to

Them, the guards and such,
It wouldn’t do to
Show too much spying

On these things not then.
Sixty tons of gold
From teeth, he later

Heard, from Auschwitz camp
Alone, what came from
Elsewhere he didn’t

Want to think or know
How far mankind had
Reach the brink of some

Dark abyss and put
Their human lips to
Such an evil kiss.

Woolgar peered
through the wire mesh
at the girl’s playground
can see that girl you like

down there
he said
you walked
to the wire mesh

and stared through
see her?
he said
no can’t see her

there over by
that fat girl
with the blue
ribboned hair

you stared harder
they keep moving about
you said
she’s there

he said
poking his finger
through mesh
her with the dark hair

you peered
at where his finger poked
Jane was by the fence
playing jump rope

with two other girls
yes I see her now
you said
what’s she like?

Woolgar said
like?
you said
what do you mean like?

Woolgar sniggered
and gazed stupidly
through the mesh
you know

does she kiss
and such
and what’s it like?
that’s for me to know

and you to guess
you said
some say
girl’s lips

are like peaches
Woolgar said
or that they kiss
all wet and warm

you watched Jane
move the rope
around and around
with some other girl

while one other
jump high and laughed
does she have *******?
Woolgar asked

peering like
some peeping Tom
or is she flat as board?
Or don’t you know?

he asked
looking round at you
his eyes brown
and round

and aping dung
what’s it to you Woolgar?
you still ****
your mother’s dugs

or so I’ve heard
you said
seeing Jane
play skip rope

once again
you leave my mother
out of this
he said

rubbing his fingers
going red
walking off
muttering

and moaning
turning round
and *******
you turned

to gaze at Jane
once more
but the skipping girls
had gone away

to some other place
to skip and play.

We were sitting
on the pram sheds
by the *****
that went down
from the Square
looking towards
Meadow Row

had to sleep
in the small bed
last night
Lydia said
all because my big sister
wanted her Spiv boyfriend
to stay over night
and Dad was at work
on one of his
far away journeys
and Mum couldn't be bothered
with her and so
he was in the bed
I shared with her

what would your dad say
if he knew?
I asked

he'd be livid he would
but he isn't here
so my big sister
gets away with things

what's wrong
with the little bed?

it's uncomfortable
and the springs are broken
and I hate it

Lydia looked
at the passers-by
going along the *****

my brother gets to have
his own bed
but not me
she added bitterly

I share with my little brother
I said
he's ok
so how long is the Spiv
going to stay?

until my dad gets back
I suppose
she'd daren’t once he's back

I nodded
watching an old woman
going up Meadow Row
carrying two bags
her backside swaying
side to side
her black hat lopsided

let's give that old girl
a hand with her bags
I said

what old girl?
Lydia said

her up Meadow Row

I jumped down
and ran across the grass
over the low metal fence
and across Rockingham Street

Lydia followed me
and when we caught up
to the woman
I said
can we help you
with those bags Mrs?

she stood upright
and gawked at us both

where do you live?
Lydia asked
out of breath already

just up the top there
she said
but I would appreciate it
if you could help

so we did
took a bag each
and walked up
the top of the Row with her
she talking
about her health
(or lack of it)
and how her son
was killed in the War
and her daughter
was in Kent

Lydia said nothing
but carried the bag
with both hands
and I answered
the old dear
when I thought I ought to
carrying the bag
in one hand
giving the impression
it wasn't heavy
when it was

we stopped outside
her house
on the left hand side

thank you both
it was very kind of you
she said
here have 3d each
for your help

no no need
of your money Mrs
you keep it
just glad to help

I insist
she said
you deserve it

so she gave us both
a 3d piece
and smiled at us
and went inside
with her bags
and closed the door

we looked at the coins
in our palms
not quite enough
for a Mars Bar
but it will get us a drink
and gob-stopper
I said

Lydia put her coin
in her dress pocket
and we walked back
to the pram sheds

she said
I’ll be glad when Dad's back
then I can sleep
in my own bed

I thought of the 3d
and what to buy
going around
in my head.

The old woman
was lying

on the path
from her

ground floor flat
along Harper Road

when you and Helen
walked by

on your way
from the shop

with your penny drinks
you both ran to her

and she said she’d fallen
so Helen

ran across
to the surgery

on the other side
of the road

while you knelt
by the woman

placing your
short sleeved pullover

under her head
you’re a good boy

she said
but you’ll have blood on it now

don’t matter
you said

you stroked her head
and pushed

her grey hair
out of her white blue eyes

when Helen returned
with a doctor

he examined
the old woman

and said
he had called

an ambulance  
Helen stood

next to you
her eyes tearful

her hand
touching yours

the woman said
thank you both

I don’t know
what I’d have done

if you hadn’t come along
it’s the least we could do

Helen said
you waited

until the ambulance came
and took her away

and disappeared
off along Harper Road

look at your pullover
Helen said

it’s got blood on it
don’t matter

gives it colour
you replied

anyway Mum’ll wash it out
she gazed at you

through her thick lens
her eyes awash

with tears
her small hand

still in yours
the path

from the old lady’s flat
had a small stain

of dark red
where blood had seeped

where she’d laid her head
a bit like an abstract

pavement artist’s work
you said

the white stone canvas
with that touch of red.

Good Friday. Dark purple over
All the statues. Grimstock stares
At windows coloured glass light
Shines through. Kim Keltis on his
Right dressed in black mind in prayer
Standing there. Crucified on a brass
Crucifix a Christ hangs the eyes
Closed arms stretched out the hands
Nailed. Grimstock’s eyes lower down
To the slim waist of Kim and lets
Eyes move over firm buttocks fleshy
Thighs her dark dress caressing.
Unaware of his eyes her eyes closed
Holds to prayer talks to God confident
God is there not knowing Grimstock’s
Stare.  Grimstock’s eyes like feelers
Reach and touch **** and feed in mind’s
Eye greedily the prayer book in his hands
Clutched tightly becomes part of the girl’s
Fleshy thighs becomes this becomes that
His dark eyes moving up rest upon her
Brushed hair. Kim standing still in prayer
Not aware Grimstock’s there with finger
From forehead to her breast from shoulder
To shoulder makes soft sign of the cross
Imagines her own sweet Crucified hangs
For her in pain there Sweet Jesus she mutters
Like eased breath. Grimstock dreams she’s
Undressed beside him in his bed making
Love passionate utterings ****** soft touches.
Kim opens her dark eyes sees Grimstock’s
Greedy stare travelling over her standing
There his rough eyes like fingers touching
Her ravishing her soft flesh ****** her in his
Mind and knowing that deep down that this
Man pushes hard onto her Jesus’ thorny crown.

Mrs Squires and Benedict
at the cheap hotel
in back street
off Charing Cross station

and she said
come on in
let's share this bath
and so he undressed

and there she was
in the water
waiting for him
and he climbed in

and sat opposite her
in the big bath
her shorter legs
between his

his longer legs
outside of hers
she lay back
her *******

sleeping puppies
her hands touching
his feet
come on

she said
don't be shy
and she tickled his toes
and tried to lift them

to her lips
he laughed
I see Percy's moving
she said

he looked at his pecker
rising in the water
needs a wash
she said

and that was that
and after in the room
by the noisy gas heater
in front

of the double bed
he dried
and watched
as she lay there smoking

her hair brushed back
her nightdress
covering her
and she said

wasn't the show good?
yes it was
he said
toweling his pecker dry

the dancers were good too
she inhaled
he studied her
wondered what

her husband would say
seeing her there
what he would have thought
of her bathing

with some young dude
in some cheap hotel
once he had dried
he put on

his dressing gown
and lay on the bed
beside her
and she offered him

a cigarette and lit it for him
and they watched
as their joint smoke
rose in swirling patterns

later
when the lights
were out
(except for the on and off

neon lights
from the street outside)
they made love
in the double bed

the springs going some
the gas fire hissing
like a box of snakes
and he thinking

of her husband
lying in some
other bed alone
with the lights out

and she thinking
of the best ***
she'd had in years
and more to come

and the on and off
neon lights
and somewhere
a gunshot

or car backfiring
and he wondering
what her husband
would say

or think
her having
a young stud
and a good lay.

Skinny Kid sat
by the white metal table
on the lawn
Anne sat opposite him

her crutches
by her chair
I heard
you puked last night?

Anne said
I did
Skinny kid said
all over the blankets

and pillowcase
nice
said Anne
it was the liver

they made me eat
he said
I told them
it made me ill

but they said
it was good for me
and said
I had to eat it

serves them right
she said
Sister Bridget moaned at me
he said

O her
she's got  a face
on her
like a sufferer

of haemorrhoids
what's haemorrhoids?
he asked
painful

bulging blood vessels
hanging from the ****
she said
he tried not

to picture it
or see it
in the nun's face
feel better now though

he said
good
she replied
my mum's visiting today

he said
good for you
she said
has your mum

visited you yet?
he asked
no I think she's
making the most

of me
not being around
Anne said
it's a kind of holiday

for her
me stuck here
after my fecking leg
was chopped off

he stared
at the area
of her skirt
where no leg appeared

she saw me in the hospital
and brought me grapes
and flowers and stuff
and a bag

of odd socks
he stared
at her one leg
hanging from out

of the skirt
does it hurt?
he asked
it does at times

and I go to rub it
and it isn't there
someone's stolen
me fecking leg

Anne bellowed
to the kids
playing on the swings
and slide

on the lawn
of the nursing home
they looked over
at her

then quickly
looked away
a nun nearby
shook her head

and wagged
a finger
Skinny Kid looked
at the vacant area

of skirt again
what's the matter Kid
want to see my stump?
and she hitched up

her skirt
to reveal the stump
of her leg
and a glimpse

of blue underwear
he blushed
and looked
at his hands in his lap

never mind Kid
she said
good manners
is a load of crap.

Granddad had a front room
full of treasures

to your child’s eyes
from paintings of Madonnas

or other holies
to bowls of fruit

filling the room
with that applely smell

and vases
of all colours

and shapes
and only opened up

when Gran opened
the door on the way through

to the lounge
where your granddad sat

or when you managed
to steal a moment alone

while the elders
where busy

you opened the door
and gazed around

the room like
an Aladdin’s cave

the statues of spaniel dogs
or wiry cats

your ears listening
for the voices of the others

from the lower part
of the house

waiting in the doorway
your eyes wide

taking it all in
right down

to the smell of fruit
that filled the room

the half light
the dark shade

where another world
seemed to begin or end

until on hearing
your parent’s voice

or Granddad’s call
echoing along the hall.

There was
on the sideboard
in your granddad’s house
a small statue

of a boy and dog
and you used
to stand and stare
at it each time you visited

the house on Sunday afternoons
running your finger
over the outline
as if to make the boy move

or the dog bark
but they never did
and each time
you hoped they would

and Gran said
mind you don’t
knock it over Benedict
it’s one of your granddad’s

prized possessions
he bought it off a man
in the market
some years ago

and you stood
with your finger poised
a few inches away
eager to feel

the cold china once more
the smoothness
on the finger’s skin
your eyes searching

each aspect
of the boy
the way he had
his hands

the dog looking up
expectantly
the boy looking down
affectionately

Granddad’s dog
was not a bit like that
it was grey and old
and  was kept

in the back garden
in a kennel
where it would
bark or whine

and Gran said
shut up Major
you’ve been fed
and sometimes

you’d go out
in the garden
and stroke its fur
or pat its head

its dull eyes
looking at you
disinterestedly
but the boy

in the statue
had an exciting dog
which probably
wagged its tail

and licked
its young master
although not
when  you

were gazing
on Sunday afternoons
and your mother said
don’t knock it off

the sideboard
or there’ll be hell to pay
you said
Ok

and wandered into
the warm
but cluttered lounge
where Granddad sat

in the huge armchair
in his grey flannel trousers
grey cardigan
and thinning grey hair

and you sat still
while the parents
and grandparents talked
your eyes scanning

the photographs
on ledges and surfaces
faces you knew
and some you didn’t

small statues of dogs
or a girl with fruit
or boy playing
a silent flute

or aged paintings
of country scenes
of hills or fields
or rivers and streams

but it was the statue
of the boy and dog
that filled your head
and night time dreams.

I was 15 years old
and started
my first job.

I visited
my paternal
grandmother
in London
and we sat in
her back garden.

Is that your
new suit?

Yes I bought it out
of my own money.

Looks nice,
makes you look
like a gentleman,
she said.

Have you seen
your father
in recent years?

No not in years.

You're not like him
at all, thank God.

I'd not seen
my old man
for a few years
and that was ok.

How's your mother?

She's ok.

How's the feller
she's got now?

He 's good.
Good role model,
I said.

That's good.
Your father
was a schmuck.

Your grandfather
goes out
in the garden
when he
comes around.

I talk to him,
I’m his mother.
Mothers do that
kind of thing.

How's Grandfather?
I asked.

He's out,
gone to the shops,
needs to get out,
he hates retirement.

He taught me
how to draw,
I said.

He's good at that,
she said.

How are you?
I asked her.

She smiled,
her semi-blind
eyes twinkled.

I'm fine,
made of tough stuff,
she said.

I gazed at her,
her white hair
permed,
her eyes
half-blind,
her small
warm hands
in her lap.

And I remembered
the time
when my mother told me
that Gran chased
some woman
who tried to sell her
clothes pegs
which were dud.

I smiled.
She never saw,
but she listened
and that's what
grandmothers
are for.

You stood outside
the ABC cinema
with Helen looking
at the framed photographs

of the stills
from the film
then showing
she clutching her doll

Battered Betty
you standing there
pointing out
the main characters

my old man said
he’d take me
to see this
on Saturday

you said
Helen rocked Betty
in her arms
I hope our child

doesn’t call you
old man
she said
maybe he won’t

you replied
it might be a she
Helen said
sure it might

you said
you gave Betty a look
as she hung there
in Helen’s arms

you looked back
at the photo stills
putting your hands
in the pockets

of your jeans
maybe
you can take me
to the cinema

when we are older
Helen said
and we can sit
at the back

like those grown ups do
and kiss
you sensed her hand
touch your arm

and rub it up
and down
Betty moving
as Helen’s arm moved

sure
you said
long as I can still see
the movie

Helen handed you Betty
and you took
your hands out
of your pockets

and held her gingerly
like she might go
crap on you
and Helen put

a hand in her pocket
and pulled out
a few coins
I might have enough

here for some fries
she said
ok
you replied

and you walked
beside Helen
along the New Kent Road
to the Neptune’s fish shop

holding Battered Betty
carefully against
your cowboy shirt
the one your mother

bought you
for your birthday
the year before
Helen talked

of children’s names
and you thought
of the Wild West
and cowboy games.

Guriel said I should join
the Scout Movement
we have lots of fun
we set up our tent

go collect firewood
from the woods
light fires
with two sticks of wood

rubbed together
eat beans and sausages
cooked over
a camp-fire

drink tea or coffee
cooked in a big ***
stuck in the fire
sitting around

the camp fire
singing songs
and also how
to tie and untie knots

we crossed
St George’s Road
on the way home
from school  

what do you think?
he added
after a moment's silence
from me

do you know
the plague of London
in 1665
was probably started

by rats carrying the fleas
that brought the Plague
getting off ships
I said

Old man Fin
told us
in history today
I know

said Guriel
I was there
where in London in 1665?
I said jokingly

no in class
when Mr Fin
was telling us
we went down

the subway
our voices echoing
along the walls
so what about

joining the Scouts?
he asked
no not my scene
I said

I’d rather pick lice
from Zimra's head
but it's good
Guriel said

all boys together
no pesky girls about
spoiling our fun
O well that spoils it for me

I said
no girls no deal
Guriel frowned
they have their own group

it's called Girl Guides
or Brownies
if they're young girls
he said

maybe I’ll join the Guides
I said
you can't
it's for girls only

we came out
on the New Kent Road
O well
that's me stuffed then

I said
but it'll make a man of you
Guriel said
you can join

one of the armed services
when you leave school
no thanks
I said

my old man said
it was the worse days
of his life in the army
I’d rather work in a garage

or theatre sell ice creams
in the cinema
we stopped
at the corner

of Meadow Row
well if you change your mind
he said
it's over

by the church hall
over there
he said
and he walked off

and I walked down
Meadow Row
thinking about
my mother's meat pie

watching
a swooping
black bird
in the afternoon sky.

You managed to ***
enough money
out of your old man
to take Janice

to the cinema
in Camberwell Green
didn’t your father mind?
Janice asked

no
you said
but he had queried
why the old biddy

couldn’t afford
to give her
granddaughter money
when he was strapped

for cash himself
but you had given him
your lost puppy eyes look
and he gave you

the money and got on
his bus to work
no he didn’t mind at all
you said

as you both waited
for the bus
on the New Kent Road
she wore her green

patterned dress
and red beret
her brown sandals
and white socks

you were in jeans
and white tee shirt
Gran said to be near you
all the time

because there are
some strange men
out and about
Janice said

like that one
who touched you
in the cinema
the other week

she added
yes the creep
you said
I told the female usher

and she soon rooted
him out of there
with a flea in his ear
then the bus came

and you both got on
and sat on
the side seats
and you paid

the bus conductor
the fares
and the bus went off
and you swayed

side to side
with the motion
of the bus
and some middle aged guy

opposite you
gave Janice the eye
through his thick
lens spectacles

lowering his gaze
to her knees
the tip of his tongue
sliding across

his lower lip
Janice looked away
you stared
at the guy

giving him
your Robert Mitchum glare
and he lowered his eyes
then looked away

mumbling
under his breath
then got off
at the next stop

and you fingered him
on his way
at Camberwell Green
you both got off the bus

but she never spoke
about the guy
and his creepy gaze
but took your hand

and you both walked
to the fleapit cinema
where you paid
and went in

to the big screen
and noise
and coloured film
blazing out

at you both
as you took
your seats
her hand

still holding yours
her eyes gazing
at the screen
as if the guy on the bus

and his stare
had never been.

Who was she?
Netanya
asks Benny

who was whom?
Benny asks
sitting in

an armchair
that woman
who has just

dropped you off?
she works in
home and ware

at the store
Benny says
so why'd she

drive you home?
Netanya
enquires

moodily
I don't know
she just asked

if she could
Benny says
I bet she

fancies you
or much worse
I bet you've

been inside
her *******
Netanya says

don't be daft
she's pregnant
Benny says

is it yours?
is that why
she's friendly?

Netanya asks
are you mad?
we just work

together
at the store
Benny says

so you say
but you would
wouldn't you

Netanya says
steely faced
Benny stands

and walks off
into the
back garden

Netanya
follows him
I’m sorry

I should trust
what you say
she tells him

that's ok
he replies
he didn't

know the girl
who gave him
a lift home

a least not
in the sense
Netanya

had implied
so in that
sense Benny
hadn't lied.

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

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

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

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

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

the fingers
letting run through
the sensation
the breath held

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

that wanting
to be with
wanting
to have and kiss

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

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

are slippery as eels
and are gone
but there
allusive

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

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

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

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

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

Baruch met Yehudit
off the bus
it was her half day
off work

and they were going
to spend some time
alone together
as they used to

before they’d' left school
she still had
her work uniform on
and make up  

and her hair
was tidier
than it had ever been
can we go

to your place?
she asked
yes sure
the house is empty

until 3.20
she nodded
and they walked up
the road towards

the house
traffic rushing by
the sun warm
in the afternoon sky

hell of a day at work
she said
that manager
kept on at me

this is not how
we do it
he says
that is how

we do it
why is he
such a creep?
Baruch said

he thinks because
he's manager
he can get
girls to do things

but I always
put him straight
and he doesn't like it
that I don't let him

Yehudit said
report the  prat
Baruch said
a rook flew noiseilly

over head
she looked up
and down again
who would believe me?

I'm just a 15 year old kid
he’s a respected manager
been there
for 20 odd years

who are they
going to believe?
Baruch frowned
won't any

of the other girls
stick by you?
will they heck
most have slept

with him
they're not going
to show themselves up
as ****** are they?

she said
guess not
he said
they reached the house

and went in
the gate
and along the path
to the back door

and opened up
coffee or tea?
he asked
no

she said
let's not waste time
we only have
about 2 hours

so they went up
the stairs to his bedroom
and undressed
and got into bed

you ok with this?
he said
of course I am
she said

it's not you
I have a problem with
and besides
this is an expression

of my love
he kissed her
and she kissed
his neck

and he took in
her *******
the softness
the smoothness

as he ran his fingers
over them
and his pecker moved
and the room enclosed

and protected them
from the world outside
as they made love
the songs of birds

distant traffic
a ticking clock
her uniform
flung over

a chair
then they lay there
breathless
each moving

in a different world
breathing in
the same air
and on the bed post

hanging
her bright pink
flowered
underwear.

In Hamburg
an American girl
climbed aboard
sitting next

to the Southend teacher
with the spectacles
and loud mouth
and she looked back

at the rest of you
and said
Hi you guys
how’s it going?

murmured replies returned
Moira said
behind
her cupped mouth

a ******* Yank
is all we need
you looked
windowward

spying new buildings
post-war
the could-be-any-where
kind of set up

the driver drove off
the Polish mother
and daughter
muttered

in their tongue
Moira’s hips
pushed into yours
as the mini bus

turned sharp
down some side street
the American girl
chatted up

the driver
some long haired
hippy type
smoking and puffing

and you remembering
the night before
the tent up
the canvas tight

and you and Billy
down on your bags
he staring up
at the canvas  

green and unclean
you listening to Moira
in the next tent
sharing with some

unfortunate giving it
the rant and rave
about some misgivings
in her Glasgow tone

Billy raising his eyes
in disbelief
and you wondering
if ever she silenced

her tongue and tone
and charmed her
fearsome stare
whether you’d be happy there

lying beside her
kissing her neck
or lips or cheek
or nestling between

her small plump ****
but looking beside you
as the mini bus
moved off at a pace

you saw her sour face glare
at the American’s head
and thought you’d rather kiss
the old Polish mother instead.

You left the door
of your washing machine
wide open.

I noticed that
when we fetched
your clothes
the following day.

You never did wear them;
after your death
we took them away.

I guess you, like me,
my son, thought you'd
return that day
to close the door
and carry on
with the wash.

You never did
return to close
the door or do
your wash again;
you thought it
was an old
problem returning,
a similar pain.

Your flat is rented
by some other now;
all your worldly goods
divided like
the cloth of Christ,
but with a sadness
and hurtful feel
handling your things
after your demise:
books, clothes,
CDs, DVDs,
hats and coats.

Seeing them again,
my son, brings lumps
to ours throats.

I wish I’d stayed behind
that night, not left,
thinking all'd be
all right.

What was it like,
those last hours,
when we weren't there?

I closed the door
of your washing machine;
a scent of you
hanging in the air.

He sweeps the cloister,
the old monk,
with a wide broom,

shuffling, pushing.
I feel the morning breeze
hit me as I walk

from stairs to church
along the same cloister;
she had whispered

in my ears
****** suggestions
unfulfilled.

A cobweb hangs
in the church's
high gallery

like a thread
of a seamstresses' hair,
hanging there.

Hank’s mother lectured
Him on the objectification
Of women. Never objectify

Women as ****** objects,
She’d say emphasizing each
Word with a slap to the back

Of his head, (he hadn’t seen
Women as such up until then,
Being only ten), women, she

Added, her dark eyes boring
Into his, are not there for men
To paw over with their eyes

Or hands of any other part
Of their anatomy, poking Hank
In the chest. Yet, when he later

Considered her words, he recalled
That she and that Mrs Baldof were
Always leering over that Jack

Hynde, saying, look at those biceps,
Wouldn’t mind those arms about
Me, imagine those muscles rippling

Over you and they’d laugh and
Giggle like a couple of schoolgirls
Being tickled, and although his

Mother was dead now and his
Father brain drained in some
New York hospital ward, he did

Try not to objectify women as
****** objects, did try to see
Them just as human beings, but

It was pretty hard when a nice
*** went by or a pairs of *******,
Casually caught his eyes, going

Down the subway stairs for a train,
Bouncing there like punch bags
In a boxing gym or a slim figure

Came into view as he stood by
The window looking at the late
Afternoon sun, puffing a smoke,

Listening to jazz, a bottle of beer
In his hand, but he did try, and his
Mother’s words were still there,

The echo of them and the slap of
Flesh on flesh still vibrated inside
His head, despite the passing of time

With the clock’s tick-tock and him
Still turning his head and old eyes,
Watching a pretty woman going by,

In a tight fitting, breast hugging,
*** clinging, short shock frock.

A book lay open
on the table
by her bed
I looked

at the cover
blue
well worn
named Byron

a friend gave me it
Julie said
can't make head
or tails yet

the ward was quiet
blinds
were pulled up
sunlight came in

blue and white
over duller white
she in a flowery gown
pink flowers

small
on white cloth
tied at the waist
leg crossed over

the other
slippered feet
thin ankles
not read him

I said
died in Greece
she said
who?

I asked
Byron
she said
she pulled a cigarette

from an open packet
and lit up
I’ve read Shelley
I said

he drowned in Italy
I think
she inhaled
smoke rose

grey
white
lifting ceiling ward
thin fingers

held
fingers parted
slightly curved
as if sculptured

I sat
on her hospital bed
firm
blue blanket

white pillows
solid
Guy's in the slammer
she said

drug taking
and selling
I said nothing
looked at her lips

holding the cigarette
opened and closed
hair untidy
won't see him

in a while
the parents
will be glad
didn’t like him

have class of course
his parents that is
she said
I studied the cleavage

where the gown
lay open
small valley
darkness sinking

when I get out of here
she said
we must meet
in London again

I looked away
from her cleavage
outside
the sound

of hard
falling rain.

There's a rat on the balcony.
I see it scamper
along by the wall,
its tail following behind.

Helen screams
and rushes behind me.

It runs out of sight
down the concrete stairs
of the flat.

I hate them,
she says,
looking over
my 7 year old shoulder.

It's gone now.
She sighs.

Why are there rats
in the flats?

Forget them;
lets go
to the Penny Shop,
I say showing her
a 6d piece.

Will the rat
have gone now?
she asks.

Yes,
long gone.

We walk along
the balcony
and down the stairs
looking out for the rat,
but there's no sign.  

Where'd it go?

Hidden down the shute,
I expect.

We walk through
the Square,
walk past the bike sheds,
the milkman
and his horse-drawn cart.

My dad killed a rat
with his shoe
when it got in
our backyard,
Helen says,
horrible,
blood and guts
everywhere,
and he had
to wash his shoes clean
under the cold water tap
in the yard.  

He must
have been quick.

He cornered it
and bang bang
with his big
black shoe.

We come out
of the Square
and cross into Harper Road
and go to the Penny Shop.

I like how she stands there
with her big eyed look
through the thick lens
glasses
and brown
plaited hair.

Counting off on fingers
with other finger
taking count of days.

Hate Mondays.
Laden with memories.

Machines,
wires,
lights going
blip blip blip,
sounds of this
and that showing
something we
did not understand.

We were there watching,
seeing you,
touching hands,
arms,
whispering words.

Coma had you;
you were sleeping;
we viewed you,
hoping,
expecting your eyes
to open
and that lovely smile.  

In a minute,
we thought,
in a short while.

You never did though.
Just the rise and fall
of your heart ticking
on the machine,
***** being pumped out,
blood checked,
wires here and there.

We stood or sat waiting.
We talked of who
would take turns to stay
while others took time away.

Then it was just me,
sitting,
watching,
others gone for a break.
Then your heart faltered
the machine said.

Your mother and brother came.
We watched,
holding your hands and arms,
talking to you to hold on.
Hoping against hope,
watching you,
the machine,
the light indicated
your heart plummeted
and flat-lined
and you were gone.

Counting off fingers,
with other finger
counting off the days.
I hate Mondays.

Christine hated Saturdays
on the locked ward
the day her fiancé

jilted her at the altar
the ***** music playing
in the background

the flowers
the aisle carpeted
with that pattern

she will always remember
and as you saw her
across the way

looking out the window
you saw Eric the day kid
who was brought in

while his mother worked
was aggravating her
was poking her

in the back
and you saw red
and went and pushed him away

and that brought the male nurses over
and they stood between you both
and Eric glared at you

and the big nurse said
what’s going on here?
and Eric said

it’s him he pushed me
and Christine said
Eric was poking me

and Benedict was just
keeping him away
well calm down now

the fat nurse said
keep it cool
and so you and Christine

walked to another window
and peered out
at the snow

and she said
the creep
as if we haven’t enough

to cope with without  
that creep aggravating us
but thanks anyway

for keeping him away
and you said
that’s ok

he gets to me too
I’ll bop him
one of these days

when the nurses
aren’t looking
and she smiled

and said
let me know when
I wouldn’t want

to miss that
and you looked out
at the falling snow

that was settling
on the fields
and tree tops

and far off
you saw a tractor
moving over the ground

and seagulls were following behind
and she said
quite picturesque isn’t it?

Yes
you said
kind of Christmas cardy

yes
she said
taking your hand

I wonder if we’ll be
out of here before then?
and you felt kind of numb

as if maybe the whole world
had gone black
and the snow fell

and you squeezed
her hand sensing
the warm flesh

and her thumb rubbed
against yours
and behind you

the unlocking
and locking
of doors.

I hate Saturdays
they remind me of you
and your last
minimal texts

blood in *****
just been sick
in phone text
you said

3 days later
you were dead
that long wait
we had

you unable
to urinate
drinking bottled water
breathing heavy

looking tired
you seeing
the doctor twice
no result

no end in sight
off to another hospital
another wait
blood tests

waiting
watching
the waiting room TV
nurses coming

and going
you wore your
Family Man tee-shirt
unaware you'd wear

no other
the dark jeans
trainers
the zip up

dark jumper
you silent
like a weary bear
eyes watching

waiting
then a nurse said
you had
to stay the night

so off we went
to take the bed
the last
on the short ward

the window showing
the dark evening sky
not knowing then
unaware

here was where
you'd begin to die
I hate Saturdays
they remind me
of you

at a low ebb
the unfolding drama
the same scenes
after the other

the questions
I continue to ask
inside my head
shaping up

the scenes
trying to avoid
the end
where you are dead.

The tulips have gone over,
Here and there, their bloomless stalks
Are like decapitated
Corpses in some religious

Foreign state. The Mayflower
Is in bloom like a splendid
Bride, white blossoms, and hidden
Branches, where many birds hide,

Whose beautiful songs echo
The countryside, a chorus
Of angels in paradise.
In the house, curtains are drawn,

In the bedroom, a woman
Lies strangled over her bed,
A red cord about her neck;
Her blue eyes staring lifeless

At the pink flowered curtains,
Which seem faded in the sun.

Shamira had just left work
she was going to Florence
for the week with friends
and Baruch after seeing her go

opened up her locker door
and took out
her light blue
nursing overall

and held it to his cheek
then smelt it
tried to sense her perfume
feel her presence still there

the warmth of her body lingering
he found light brown hair
on the collar
and carefully detached it

and twiddled it around
between fingers
and held it up
to the light

then placed it
in a white tissue
and put it in his pocket
and put the nursing overall

away in the locker
and leaned
against the wall
thinking of her just gone

and not to see her again
for a week
not to hear her voice
or see her eyes

or feel her nearness
that evening he went
to the public bar
she frequented

and sat drinking alone
conjuring up
where she used to sit
and imagined

seeing her near by
or at the table
across the room
listening to the piped music

feeling the loneliness
creep in
so went home
and wrapped

the strand of hair
and put it in a small box
and let it lay there  
a small part of her

near by
a tiny particle
of what she was there
light brown hair

the following week
he wrote her
a letter every day
and posted it

to her home address
even though he knew
she was away in Florence
telling her how much

he loved her
and missed her
and when she returned
how they could go out

and where
and each day the letter
told more
and released more feelings

and when he rang her
the day she returned home
she said
I never expected

so many letters
or such feelings
and she talked of Florence
and where she'd been

and what she saw
and with whom
and what they did
and o

she said
I've got you
this postcard
and you'll love it

and so she went on
and he listening
on the phone
just wanted her

to be there
and have her all alone.

Hazel wants to put off going home, she
Loves Paris, and being with her maid Dunne
Has somehow made it seem to her that much

More enjoyable, much more than she thought
When she started out from London, but each
Day now, each moment, seems to bring her to

A closeness she has never had with a
Maid before. She watches now as Dunne sits
Beside her outside the restaurant on

The Champs Elysees, the way she holds the
Cup, the head to one side, the eyes focused,
So aware. The clothes she had bought her for

The trip to Paris fit her well, and she
Looks after them as if she were afraid
They might spoil in the noonday sun, folds them

At night so precisely, so carefully.
Hazel sips her coffee, the noon sunshine
Warms her. Dunne examines the menu, tries

To understand the French written there, her
Finger running down the list. Hazel wants
To place her hand over Dunne’s, feel it, sense

The life there in the pulse. When Dunne helped her
Bath the night before, her hands were so soft,
So gentle, her attention to detail,

Her touch. Hazel sighs. Less of a maid now,
At least she sees her less so, seems more a
Companion, yes, that’s it, she says to

Herself, companion. The word seems odd
In her mouth, like saying Doris instead
Of Dunne. A class thing, she assumes, that seems

To separate, putting people into
Different boxes. Dunne sips her coffee
And looks at Hazel. The eyes seem to drink

Her in. Hazel shyly smiles. If her friend
Margaret had not let her down at the
Last moment she would not have brought Dunne; she’d

Have made love to her Margaret in the bed
At night rather than lie there watching Dunne
And listening to her breathing. Yet she’s

Glad now that Margaret hadn’t come, the
Relationship had grown stale. Now there is
Dunne. Fresh, alive, sitting there beside her,

Just a few inches away, bringing a
New dimension to her life, and pushing
To the back of her mind, the desire

Awaking there, a want, and muttering
Silently to herself, looking into
Dunne’s eyes, help me to resist, gazing at

The lips, wanting to touch and to be kissed.

YOU'VE GOT NITS!
Helen's mum
bellowed out

who've you been
locking heads
with at school?

Helen said
a girl's name
sit elsewhere

have to sit
where we're put
Helen cried

kneeling down
as her mum
combed her hair

with a comb
her mum sighed
I'm sorry

not your fault
her mum said
kissing her

daughter's tear
dampened cheek
Helen's hair

was washed with
Derbac soap
and her mum

combed her hair
through and through
then later

rinsed it through
and combed it
and combed it

what a stink
that stuff's got
her mum said

without her
spectacles
Helen was

almost blind
just a blur
of colours

and odd shapes
but the damp
kiss on cheek

would last her
long after
the Derbac
shampoo's reek.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's snowing,
Yiska says.

She's looking out
the window
of the locked ward.

I stand
just behind her,
peering over
her shoulder,
watching the large
flakes fall
in a steady flow.

Trees opposite
are becoming covered;
they look like brides
about to get married.

The fields beyond
are white, not green.

Picturesque from in here,
I say.

She runs a finger
down the pane,
a slim finger,
white/pink skin,
the nail chewed.

What was it like
on the day
you were to marry?
I ask.

Bright, sunny,
almost cloudless.

Bet you were glad
it didn't snow.

She looks back at me.

I wouldn't have cared less
if he had turned up
and not left me there
dressed up
like a doll abandoned.

I guess not,
sorry to
have reminded you.

She sighs,
looks back
at the snow.

Not your fault
he didn't show.

I shouldn't have
reminded you.

It's always there,
anyway,
like some dark
black nightmare.

We watch
the falling snow
in a few moments
of silence.

I can smell soap
about her,
maybe shampoo;
it invades my nose.

I close my eyes.

Sense her
just before me,
as if my senses
had fingers,
but not my fingers,
but invisible fingers
reaching out to her.

Don't think
I can trust
another man
to get me
down the aisle.

I open my eyes,
see her hair,
long,
unbrushed.

I would not
have jilted you.

It wasn't you
I was going to marry.

No, I guess not.

The snow falls harder;
I can hardly see
the trees now.

She looks back at me.

Want a cigarette?
she asks.

I nod.

She takes a packet
out of her
dressing gown pocket
and takes one
for herself
and gives one
to me.

She lights them
with a yellow
plastic lighter.

How'd you managed
to keep the lighter;
thought they took  
such things away
in case you try
and set yourself alight?

I liberated it
out of the staffroom
the other night.

We stand and smoke
and watch
the heavy fall
of snow.

Behind us,
others enter the room,
their voices talking
of the snow,
how heavy it is.

We can sense
their coming near us
like invading armies
on virgins lands,
unaware
we're holding hands.

Benedict wasn’t
in school that day
Christina heard
and the whole day

to get through
without him
to see or talk with
at lunch recess

on the field
she sat through
double maths
in a daze

of boredom
catching sight
of some boys
on the sports field

warming up
for sports
in their shorts
and tops

but it was of no thrill
for her
without Benedict
being out there

running about
with his legs bare
she sat all through
biology writing down

words from the board
into her book
without interest
or care

sneaking a peak
at the photo of him
in her writing case
the one he gave her

for the one she
gave him
the other day
she mused

crossing the T’s
and dotting the i's
they’d gone
onto the sports field

after lunch
during recess
walked about
away from the boys

kicking ball
or the girls
sitting in groups
laughing

and chatting
up near the fence
beside the wood
they stood

he talking
of some actress
who'd died
or committed suicide

and she taking in
his neck
the open shirt
the tie undone

his bare skin
sensing unknown things
feelings awaking
and she listened

and stood near
his hand inches
to hers
and she talked

of her mother
and the moans
about this and that
and wanting stockings

but her mother saying
no you're too young
and how she sneaked
into her mother’s room

and tried some on
and he smiled
and took her hand
feeling her fingers

between his thumb
and finger
pressing gently
and she looked

about her
turned and kissed him
her lips on his
his words lost

his fingers pressing
along her back
but now she sat
gazing at the girl in front

whose dark brown hair
was woven neatly
in a plait
resting on her sharp

white collar
and green knitted jumper
if only Benedict
was here

she thought
hands beneath the desk
touching
fingers holding

knees pressing
against each
but that was all a dream
and he beyond reach.

Teatime done with
I went with Helen
across the bomb site
off Meadow Row

and crossed
the New Kent Road
to the ABC cinema
and along side

the dark alleys
dim lights
damp stink
she just behind me

clutching her doll
Battered Betty
by one arm
was that a rat?

she half said
and screamed
could be
I said

you see
them at night
down here
she clutched my arm

with her free hand
Battered Betty
swaying behind her
what we looking for?

she asked
cigarette ends
I said
why?

What do you
want them for?
she asked
make up a smoke

with Rizla *** papers
I said
you smoke
old tobacco?

she said
put it
in your mouth?
If I get

enough tobacco
sure
I said
looking around

the ground
yuk
she said
sometimes

I find dropped coins
I found a cuff link once
silver it was
but one

ain't much good
unless you're
a one armed man
I said

does your mum know
you smoke?
God no
I said

she has enough
to worry about
without me
adding to it

she frowned
clutched my arm tighter
well you shouldn't smoke
she said

you're only 9 like me
and I would never smoke
and our children
when we have them

won't smoke either
she said
she looked
at Battered Betty steely

I pushed her words
and images
out of my mind
for the moment

I saw a semi-smoked
Senior Service
on the ground
by the wall

and stooped
to pick it up
it's got lipstick on it
Helen said distastefully

it's has a woman's
spittle inside
I looked at her
disapproving gaze

and threw it away
yes you're right
I said
men's spittle's best

she frowned darkly
ok
I said
not really

I just jest
another time maybe
I thought
taking her deeper

into the dark
and rats
and damp stink
of drains

remembering it all
it sinking
into my
9 year brain.

There's a baby crying
from another room
a dog barking
from across the road

Helen opens her eyes
to her bedroom
her mind focuses
as much
it can
in morning's light

her younger sister
sleeps next to
her mouth open
eyes closed
hands resting on top
of the blanket

what day is it?
Helen asks herself
she calculates
Saturday yes Saturday

she smiles
no need to get up
just yet
she turns away
from her sister
and looks
at the wall
at her side
with green flowered
wall paper
torn in places
where her sister
has ripped it

she has to ask her mum
about the cinema
Benny said to go
but she wasn't sure
her mum would let her
or could afford
for her to go

I'll pay for you
Benny had said
the previous day
at school
I've got some
pocket money still

but she couldn't
just say yes
without her mum
knowing or agreeing

she sits up
and looks
at her sister sleeping
and gets up
and stands
on the cold floor
and goes to the window
and looks out

her mum is up
and in the kitchen
she can hear
saucepans being used
and her mum talking

she gets out of her bedroom
and along
to the kitchen/wash-room

what's got you out of bed
on a Saturday?
her mum asks
making porridge

Benny's going
to the cinema
and asked me to go
Helen says
pretending
lack of interest

does he now
and what
did you say?

Helen looks
at her mum's
broad beam
of backside
and tight
head of curls

said I'd ask you
Helen replies

did you now
well now you've asked

Helen waits
unsure of the answer

how much is it
to the cinema then?

Benny said
it's 6d
he did say he'd pay
but I said
I wasn't going to
accept his charity
(she hadn't
but it sounded good)

don't be too proud
of charity girl
you may need it
one day
her mum says

can I go?

her mum stirs
the saucepan of porridge

ok
but don't
make a habit of it
I'm not made
of money

Helen beams
and hugs her mum's
wide waist
and kisses her hip

get on with you
and get washed
and dressed
her mum says

and Helen
full of happiness
take off her nightgown
and washes
in the sink
of soapy water
her thoughts racing
around her head
like a cat chasing
a mouse
all over
a large
many roomed
house.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

by going
BANG BANG
she jumped away
holding Battered Betty

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

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

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

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

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

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

being shown
you can come
with me here
on Saturday

I said
they've got
a good cowboy film
showing

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

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

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

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

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

drawing my guns
everyday
she looked at Betty
but whether

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

Thought you weren't
going to come
Helen said
she stood by Baldy's

grocer shop
her thick lens glasses
were smeared
by recent rain

her plaited hair matted
had chores to do
at home
you said

you looked at the sky
guess you got caught
in the last downfall
you said

she nodded
brushing raindrops
off her green raincoat
with her small hands

then wiped
her smeary glasses
with damp fingers
where are we going?

she asked
you looked at her
standing there
her wet features

and clothes
raindrops falling
from her nose
best go back

to your place
to get out
of your wet clothes
you said

don't matter
she said
it does
you said

you'll catch a death
she looked at you
I’ll dry
she said

no
you said
best go home
your mother

will let you changed
out of the wet things
while I wait
she pulled a face

OK
she said
so you both walked back
to her place

she talked
of her mother's
chesty cough
and you talked

of the silver looking
6 shooter
your old man
picked up

at some junk shop
once you got
to her home
her mother moaned

but let her changed
out of the wet clothes  
and said to you
want a cuppa?

sure
you said
and so she poured you
a mug of tea

and a biscuit
and after while
she ironed some clothes
she asked about

your mother and her legs
and if
they were any better
no

you said
they' re just as bad
the tea was sweet
and milky

but you drank it
and nibbled the biscuit
and watched her iron
her plump hands

at work
her huge bust
swaying
to her motion

then Helen
came into the room
in dry clothes
her hair unplaited

and hanging
in long strands
you look
like a drowned rat

her mother said
I should wait here
if I were you
until the rain stops

Helen looked at you
then at her mother
ok
she said

I can show Benedict
my doll collection
you smiled
it could be worse

you thought
drinking your sweet tea
worse things
could happen to me.

Having completed various jobs
indoors and out
such as running errands

and shopping etc
your mother gave you 2 shillings
and you went through the Square

to a shop on New Kent Road
where you bought
a small penknife

you’d seen in the window
and you showed Jimmy
whose knife collection

was large
including a bayonet
his father brought back

from WW2
but he was unimpressed
showing you in turn

a **** knife his father
took from a dead soldier
from some battle

he’d fought in  
you never showed
your mother

but Helen saw it
on the way to school
next morning

and peered at it
through her thick lens spectacles
does your mother know

you bought that?
she asked
no not yet

you replied
pocketing it out of sight
maybe another day

don’t you tell
your mother everything?
she asked

no not everything
you said
I have a need to know

basis I work with
what about truth?
she asked

you gazed at her
in her dark blue raincoat
buttoned to the throat

her wavy hair
in two plaits
her eyes peering at you

through those thick lens of hers
truth is like bubble gum
you said

sometimes
you have to stretch it a bit
to get a bigger bubble

she shook her head
making her plaits move
each side of her head

I don’t want the future father
of my children to be a liar
she said

maybe he won’t
you said
you are

she replied
you looked at
the record shop window

as you went by
a picture of Elvis Presley
was in the window

smiling
don’t you like the knife?
you asked

looking back at her
as you spoke
only if you tell your mother

she said
ok I’ll show her
and tell her

after school
you said
she smiled

and her big eyes
lit up
and she pushed her arm

under yours
and squeezed you near
and all because

of the small penknife
you’d bought from the shop
through the Square

but you did love
her big bright eyes
and wavy plaited hair.

When Helen heard
that Pete Badam
had poked your guts
she said

why’d he do that?
I scored
a home goal
you replied

so? what’s that
got to do
with anything?
she said

he caught me
off guard
you said
I’ll get him back

no
she said
don’t go down
to his level

she gave her doll
Battered Betty
a hug
I don‘t want

our children
to have a father
who’s fighting
all the time

she added
gazing at you
through her
thick lens glasses

no worry
you said
Dave Walker
got Badam

in the guts afterwards
Helen looked at you
horrified
what is it with boys?

fight fight fight
she put Battered Betty
over her shoulder
and patted her back

and walked along
the pavement outside
the ABC cinema
you watched her go

back and forth
the doll moving
over her shoulder
Helen’s blue

cardigan and dress
was lit up
by the lights
from the cinema

and reflected
in her glasses
I didn’t ask Walker
to hit him

you said
he just poked him
in the guts
and walked off

Helen paused her pacing
and looked at you
the doll brought down
into her arms

I don’t want
a violent husband
she said softly
I want you

as you are
that’s fine
you said
but that’s

another time
and tomorrow
as we’re only just nine
and she walked

with you
to the chip shop
in the New Kent Road
to buy six penny’s

worth of chips
and a kiss
on your cheek
from her lips.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

she said
putting a hand
to her mouth
not a rat

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

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

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

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

you showed her
the toy gun
tucked in
the inside pocket

of your jacket
she nodded
and  she took
your hand

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

she untightened
her grip
and you both
walked on

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

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

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

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

no
you replied
if they catch you
you get into trouble

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

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

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

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

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

the bombed out factory
off Rockingham Street
sure we should

you said
but it’s got
STAY OUT signs

on the big doors
she said
you looked at her

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

come on in
you said
nothing will happen to you

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

she asked
no one cares around here
kids are always going

on bombsites
you said
she looked around

her eyes seemingly larger
than they were
are you sure?

she said
yes now come on
and you took

her small hand
and pulled her through
a small opening

in the side
where other kids
had made an entrance

she a pulled face
on the other side
of the gate

and rubbed her arm
where a line of blood showed
look

she said
I’ve scratched myself
you dabbed at it

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

the line of blood
will it be all right?
yes

you said
it’ll be fine
and you walked on

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

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

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

no one is here
you said
how do you know?

she asked
it’s too quiet
you said

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

she whispered
a rat probably
what? she said

a rat
you said
let’s go out

she said
nothing will hurt you
while I’m here

and you patted
the toy gun
in the belt

of your jeans
she looked at you
then out

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

by a wall
and she followed
her breathing

becoming louder
as you walked up
once at the top

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

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

as well as other parts
of the building
you stood

looking around
the room
where rain had rotted

what furniture remained
and on the floor
were books soaked

and rotting
Helen said
can we go now?  

you looked up
through the hole
in the roof

and there
was the afternoon sun
and a white cloud

moving slowly across
a blue sky
and she moved

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

Helen sat next to you
on the flat concrete roof
of the brick walled
bomb shelter

out the front
of Banks House
after school
she lifting

and lowering her legs
against the wall
her black battered shoes
making a dull thudding noise

and you sitting dead still
watching her white socks
go up and down
and she said

mum said
I couldn’t bring
Battered Betty
because she’d given her

a wash in the bath
you took in
her thick lens glasses
catching the late

afternoon sunlight
her hair in plaits
her hands placed flat
on either side of her legs

on the concrete roof
and as she spoke
about the doll
you thought about the boys

who said she smelt
of yesterday’s dinners
or called her four eyes
but they were dumbshites

you thought
they didn’t see
the beauty of her
the way her eyes sparkled

behind the lens
or how being next to her
kind of brightened up
the day

not that you’d
tell them that
but you knew it
and they didn’t

and she said
if you close your eyes
you can imagine
we are on a ship

at sea
the grass is the sea
and you said
we could be pirates

I have a sword
my old man made
from steel
and painted blue

and she looked at you
the sunlight blanking out
her eyes and her lips
still speaking

saying things
her words shaped
like diamonds
and she closed her eyes

and so did you
and she put her hand
on yours
and in the darkness

it seemed warm
and smooth
and she said softly
you can save me

from the bad pirates
the ones with eye patches
and black scarves
and scary faces

and you said
yes I could cut them
all down and not miss
and she said

yes and I could be saved
and could give you a kiss
and the ship sailed on
in the dark

behind the eyes
in a world made wonderful
where you could be
8 year old lovers

where no one betrays
and no one dies.

You stopped outside
this shop window
on the New Kent Road
and peered in

there were lots
of merchandise
with labels saying
To Clear on them

and you saw
this stamp album
with a packet
of stamps attached

for 1/6d
so you went in
and asked the old guy
behind the counter

for the stamp album
and stamps
and he reached in
the window

and took it out
and you gave him
the 1/6d
and he handed you

the album
and he said
ain't you the kid
who came in here

last week
and bought
the cap gun and holster?
yes I am

you said
why?
you must have
diverse tastes kid

he said
guess so
you said
and walked out

into the street
where Helen
was waiting for you
what did you buy?

she asked
a stamp album
and stamps
you replied

you showed her
what you'd bought
you don't look like
the kind of kid

who'd buy
a stamp album
or who
collected stamps

she said
what's a kid
who collects stamps
look like?

you asked
she looked at you
her head
slightly

to one side
I don't know
someone with glasses
with black plastered

down hair
with a posh voice
she said
you gazed at her

standing there
in her red
and yellow
flowered dress

and brown hair
in tied bunches
and her thick
lens glasses

you wear glasses
you said
you don't
collect stamps

but I'm not a boy
she said
only boys collect stamps
you shook your head

and smiled
anyway lets go
to my house
and drop theses off

and go to the park
and have fun
you said
ok

she said
and you walked with her
to your home
you with your stamp album

and stamps
and she with her
battered doll Betty
in her right hand

swinging it along
and you humming
some Roy Rogers
cowboy song.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

she asked
rocking Battered Betty
in her arms
nothing much

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

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

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

not to climb
you said
but you do
Helen said

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

she said
holding Betty tight
to her chest
her chin resting

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Helen looked up
at the rain drenched sky
as you both stood
under the extended roof

of the coal wharf
off of Meadow Row
she had on
her dark blue raincoat

with the hood
which was over
her head
and her thick lens glasses

enlarged her eyes
as she peered out
looks like
it’s in for the day

you said
pulling your coat
around you
to keep out

the chill
just as well
I didn’t bring my doll
Battered Betty

she said
she hates the rain
you stared out
at the downpour

it seemed endless
why does it have to rain
on a Saturday?
Why not a school day?

you said
Helen took off
her glasses
and wiped them

on a small white
handkerchief
you watched her
as she wiped them

her small hands
at work
the glasses
being cleaned

and cleared
you look pretty
when you’re wet
you said

she looked at you
do I?
she said
sure you do

you said
but not otherwise?
she asked
you looked at her

as she put on
her glasses again
well you look prettier
you added

staring once more
at the rain
no one’s said
I was pretty before

she said
they usually
call me four eyes
or horsey teeth

well you’re pretty
you said shyly
not wanting to get in
too deep

a horse drawn
coal wagon
went by
as you both stood

beneath
the extended roof
the horse trotting
along in the puddles

on the cobblestones
the driver
staring sternly
into the pouring rain

you wiped raindrops
from your nose
and flicked them
into the air

am I really?
she asked
gazing at you
the hood of her coat

framing her face
yes
you said
and your teeth

are fine
don’t worry
what others say
and she put

her arm under yours
as you looked away.