After morning matinee
and after dinner
of sausages and mash
and baked beans

you met Helen
by the post office
at the end
of Rockingham Street

she had on
the red flowered dress
you liked
and held Battered Betty
her doll
by an arm

her hair was held
in plaits
by elastic bands

and her thick lens spectacles
were smeary where
she'd touched them
but not cleaned them

where are we going?
she asked
how about London Bridge
train station?
you said
we can watch the trains
come and go
and watch the porters
rush about with luggage
and things

she gazed at you
through her thick lens
shall I tell my mum
where we're going?

sure if you think
she'll worry
you said

be best if she knows
Helen said
don't want her to worry
where I've gone

ok
you said
and so you both
walked back
to her mother's house
and she told her mother
and her mother came out
and looked at you
and said
ok so long
as you're with Benedict

and so you walked back
along Rockingham Street
and got a bus
to London Bridge
railway station

and sat on the seats
downstairs
by the conductor

and this guy with glasses
and a thin moustache
gazed at Helen
from the seat opposite
his eyes moving over her
his gaze focusing
on her knees
where her dress ended
he licked his lips
his hands on his thighs

Helen looked away
pretending she didn't
see him looking
you stared at the man
watching his eyes
dark and deep
they say it's rude to stare
you said

the man looked at you
kids should be seen
not heard
he replied

and you're seeing a lot
you said
he muttered something
and got off
at the next stop
giving you
a hard stare

Helen said nothing
but seemed relieved
after a while you got off
the bus at the railway station
and went inside

there were crowds
of people
and the smell of steam
and bodies washed
and unwashed

and the sound of trains
getting ready to leave
and voices and shouts
of porters and rushing
and going and coming
of people

and you sat
with Helen
on a seat
on the platform
she with Battered Betty

and you with your
six-shooter in your
inside pocket ready
to get any bad cowboys
who came your way

and Helen said
why was that man
staring at me
on the bus?

just a creep
wanting a peep
you said

peep at what?
she asked
I'm not beautiful

yes you are
you said
anyway it wasn't
your beauty
he was looking at
you said

what then?
she asked

oh something
he oughtn't
you said

and a loud blast of steam
echoed around
the station
and a voice called
and a whistle blew

and you all
sat watching
Helen
and Battered Betty
and six-shooter
carrying cowboy
you.

And Helens mother says as Helen climbs down the stairs of the building mind the road and dont talk to people you dont know and make sure you get the right change from Baldys you know what hes like Helen holds the stair rail and takes one step at a time as they are quite steep and she doesnt want to fall down in her small palm she holds the coins for the shopping and they are becoming damp as she holds them so tight and in her other hand she holds a bag to put the shopping in and thinking over in her mind how much change she ought to have if her sums are right and she thinks she has got it right although Baldy will get it right no doubt but she must try and get it right or her  mum will tell her off she reaches the lowest stair and stands there looking back up the stairs and waits to hear if her mother has stopped talking and its all quiet and so she moves out into the street and the sky looks grey and rainy looking and that man is on the corner in his black coat buttoned up to his neck and the black trilby hat and he looks at her as she passes and she looks away her mother had said dont talk to people you dont know and she doesnt know him but her dad said the mans a bookies runner although shes not seen him run anywhere as yet although he may run when shes not looking and she wonders as she passes him what a bookies runner is and why he stares at her so he doesn't look friendly in fact he looks like a criminal as far as she knows what a criminal looks like the man turns away and gazes up Rockingham Street and she walks quickly to Baldys shop and climbs over the steep step that leads into the shop and it is quite full and so she waits her turn behind Mrs Knight who is a tall thin lady from upstairs who has cats and she smells of cats and when she looks out of her door when at home she looks like a cat too Helen sniffs yes cat smell she thinks and looks at Mrs knights coat and sees cats hairs and she holds a purse in her thin hand and a shopping bag in the other Helen being only eight years old cant see beyond Mrs Knight but at the side she can see other people at the counter and Baldy is busy and his assistant is rushing about quite madly Helen thinks she ought to have gone to the loo before she came out shopping because now she feels like she needs to *** but she doesnt want to go back home again so she tries to think of something else to take her mind off of the *** wanting feeling then someone taps on her shoulder and as she turns she sees its Benny the boy from school who lives up the road and whom she likes and who doesnt call her four-eyes or take the mickey out of her hello Helen says looking at Benny what you doing here? shopping for Mum he says holding up a brown shopping bag got a list or ill forget I always forget he says he moves close to her and shows her the coins wrapped in a paper list in the palm of his hand you shopping too? he asks yes she says looking shy and gazing at him got to get some things I can remember what Mum says and what change I have to get afterwards he studies her as she stands there her hair in plaits with a center parting and the wire framed glasses which make her eyes look large and cow like and the faded red flower dress and green cardigan with two buttons missing what you doing after? he asks dont know she replies why where are you going? going to the herbalist he says get some liquorice sticks and a glass of sarsaparilla could I come too? she says if Mum lets me and Ive done all that she wants? sure you can he says meet me by the Duke of Wellington if you can go about ten or so if youre not there by ten past ten Ill go without you he says she nods her head and hopes she can go and looks at him standing there his brown hair and hazel eyes and a cowboy hat at the back of his head and the six shooter in the belt of his blue jeans and she feels happy for the first time since shed got up and she says can Battered Betty go too? sure he says and she smiles and senses her heart go quickly in her chest thump thump thump thump yes Helen what can I do for you? Baldy asks her as she is next in line to be served so she recites what her mother had told her so much sugar in a blue package and a certain amount of cheese and a pound of broken biscuits and a loaf of bread and o yes a dozen eggs she says offering him an empty egg box and he goes off to fulfil the recited list and Benny is served by the assistant and he hands the man the list and the man reads it and goes off to put together the items on Benny list and suddenly Helen feels the need to *** again and hopes Baldy wont be long getting the stuff she asked for and o yes Benny says my old man says hes taking me to the pictures on Sunday did you want to come? he wont mind its a U film so kids can go too she pushes her knees together hoping Baldy will hurry up Ill ask Mum Helen says feeling the sweaty coins in her palm and having to pass the bookies runner and hope she wont do her any harm.

Helen pushed
the old black doll's pram
over the bomb site
her doll Battered Betty
covered by a wool
knitted blanket

I blew my peashooter
at a tin can on the wall
of a bombed-out house

maybe we can have
our house built here
she said

the tin can fell
to the ground
a with a hollow crash
as I hit it
with a split-pea

where?
I said
looking round at her

here on this bomb site
she said
nodding to the area
around her

I didn't ask why “we”
I put another tin can
on the wall and aimed
with the peashooter

she began to wander around
leaving the doll's pram
behind her

here could be our kitchen
she said
standing in an area
of bricks and chickweed
but with no bath in it
as we have at home
but a separate bathroom
like they do
in posh houses

I blew the peashooter  
at the tin can
and it fell
with a clatter

what do you think Benny?

I looked at her standing
with hands on her hips
her brown hair parted
into two plaits
her NHS glasses
thick lens
her eyes enlarge
gazing at me

looks ok to me
I said
unable to see anything
but brick and chickweed
and old stones

and maybe a sitting room
over here
she said
walking a few paces
to her right
and a fireplace here
one of those modern ones

yes I can see it now
I said
looking at her drab
green raincoat unbuttoned

can you?
she said excitedly

and bedrooms
how many?
I asked

she looked around her
scratching her
seven year old head

how many children
will we have?
she asked

how many did you want?
I asked

loads
she replied
looking around her

I pocketed my peashooter
and small bag
of split peas

how do you get them?
I asked

she looked at me
frowning
don't know
she said
don't you know?

I shook my head
I’m a seven year old boy
how the heck
would I know

she walked a bit more
maybe four bedrooms
just to be sure
she said

I looked at her walking
further on
her Wellington boots
mud splashed

let's go
get a couple of 1d drinks
I’m thirsty
all this talk
of houses and kids
I said

ok
she replied
but we'll have to
sort things out soon

I thought of the John Wayne film
my old man
was taking me to see

she thought(no doubt)
of curtain colours
and matching stuff

I walked on
as she walked behind
with pram and Betty
I had had enough.

Helen passes me
her doll
Battered Betty
hold her
for a minute
she says

I hold the doll
between hands
away from me
in case she may
wet on me
as my old man
used to do
when my kid brother
was a babe
and he didn't want
the kid's ***
on his new suit

what's wrong with her?
I ask

she's got a temperature
Helen says

I look at the doll
who looks white
and cold and I smile

ok
I say
well take off
these clothes
and woollen jumper
no wonder she's hot
and got a temperature

we are walking along
Meadow Row
towards the fish
and chips shop
over the crossing
to get my mother's order

do you think
she's got a temperature?
Helen asks

I feel the doll's forehead
no it seems fine to me
I say

ok
she says
and take the doll back
and holds her
against her chest
rocking the doll
side to side
and patting
the doll's back

it's just she seemed
hot this morning
Helen says
when I got her
out of bed

whose bed?
I ask

mine
she says
the one I share
with my sister
with Betty between us
next to Teddy

I see
I say
seeing her rock
the doll side to side
like a good
little mother

she's lucky
I say
I sleep
with my little brother.

Helen wiped
her thick lens glasses

with the hem
of her school dress

and you watched
her finger and thumb

move around the glass
in circular motion

Can you see much
without your glasses?

you asked
she looked up at you

and said
Not much

you for instance
are like a small tree

without leaves
with thin branches

hanging down
you smiled and saw

as she lifted the hem
a glimpse of thigh

white as one kept
out of sun and light

But what do I look like
with your glasses on?

you asked
looking at her face

and eyes that squinted
quite naked

without the specs
A boy who’s cheeky

but often shy
especially around girls

and their blue eyes
and dark curls

and she giggled
and dropped

the hem of
her dress

and put her glasses on
and her eyes enlarged

and gazed at you
taking in

your unkempt hair
and school boy grin

and at that moment
as she stood stifling

her giggle with one
small hand

you sensed a love
you neither had before

nor could
in the light of day

and innocence of youth
quite understand.

Hemmingway's here now
leaning over my shoulder
reading this poem.

Can't find
your Jimi Hendrix
tee-shirt;

I liked it
when you wore it
last year;

the whole 60s image
fitted you well,
your laid back stance,

the beard, moustache,
the humour sharp,
but not unkind.

We looked
for the Hendrix
tee-shirt everywhere,

but couldn't find.
You were my Stoic
philosopher;

I thought you
immortal
to a degree,

the one
who would outlast
us all,

be the one
to arrange us
from this

mortal coil,
but you went first,
death stole you twice,

the second time
for good,
the final kiss

and goodbye,
my son,
watching you die.

Women kissing each other
on cheeks the friends
meeting for coffee kind

not the passionate
let’s get to bed
and kiss

and indulge kind
but Henry wishes
the women at the coffee bar

were of that kind
just to break the boringness
of the day

just so he can get through
the hour without
the boring chitchat

of others around
on who was doing
what to whom

and who has just had
their kids in the right
kind of school

or whose husband
has made the grade
for body climbing

back stabbing promotion
oh if only
Henry thinks

that the dames
could embrace
and undress

and get down
to the woman to woman thing
right here

in the coffee bar
and he’d promise
he’d not spill a drop

of his latte
or faint
or look away.

Henry was walking
with his wife
along the sidewalk
in the city

looking for some cafe
she knew
and wanted to go
when he saw this young dame

in a wheelchair
with long hair
and fine features
pushing the wheels

with her hands
and she had these
leather fingerless gloves
and he thought

who puts her in
and out of the chair?
who holds her close
to them and smells

the shampoo
in her hair
feels her small *******
against them as they hold?

who gets her in
and out of the tub
or in and out of bed
who washes her back

or wipes her ***?
She had wheeled herself by
but not before
he’d taken in all

that he could
the jeans she wore
the white tee-shirt
the black shoes

the pretty lips
the way she gripped
and pushed the wheels
his wife was yakking

about some dress
she’d seen
in some store
and wanted to go

and look and maybe buy
but the passing dame
had caught his eye
and he wondered how

she got to be in the chair
accident or from birth
disease or some beat up
that went wrong?

He couldn’t ask that’d
be too rude and besides
she was well on
her way now

and his wife was striding
on with determined gaze
but he couldn’t get
the dame out of his head

her sitting there
with her long flowing hair
and those eyes
and the constant questions

of who did what for her
and how did she
do this and that
and who lifted her up

and out? was it some
strong guy some
dedicated hunk?
Or maybe her mother

and father did the job
of getting her in shape
and bathed
he thought

and did she *****
like other dames
have some fond lover
who played the game?  

All the questions
and no answers
made him wonder more
even later in the cafe

sipping the his latte
while his wife yakked away
and even later that night
in bed besides his wife

who snored
he pictured the dame
beside him
a paraplegic model

or an art piece
that he adored.

It was all part of the scheme
of things Henry thought and
even when the women looked
at him with that odd curiosity
he never failed (at least not in

the beginning) to make a score
usually with one of the females
less prettier than the ones who
left before and after taking her
for the drink and meal routine

and maybe to the cinema he took
her back to his place and poured
her a drink and put on a cool jazz
record on the hifi and set her down
on the sofa and she talked and he

watched her lips move the lipstick
red the kind his mother used to wear
and her nose was kind of pointed and
lifted up at the end and her words
went over his head he wasn’t interested

in her philosophy of being or what
she had bought at the last sale he
studied her chin the way it rose and
fell as she spoke the words pouring
out and he said look Honey I know

you like to talk but how about you
and me going to bed? Oh she said I
haven’t told you about the time I
went to New York and so Henry lay
back on the sofa closed his eyes

and let her talk a jazz saxophone
filling in behind her voice the record
turning her mouth opening and closing
and he thought of time passing and
remembering his mother’s red lipstick

mouth scolding and after boredom had
set in deep he drifted off to sexless sleep.

You don’t want to go
With that kind of woman,
Henry’s mother said.
What kind of woman

is that? Henry asked.
The kind that offer
themselves to men
who are not their

husbands, his mother
replied, sitting back
in the soft chair by
the fireplace, joining

her fingers, forming
what she used to call
her church. Henry watched
her church form of finger

forming, his eyes sliding
over his mother’s dyed
hair, the grey streaks,
the nose, the thin red

painted lips. But isn’t
that kind of women
providing a service?
Henry asked, walking

to the window, watching
his father mowing the
lawn, sweat on the brow,
the eyes dead looking.

Service? His mother said,
her tone icy, Service?
She repeated, that’s not
service, Henry that’s sin.

S.I.N. Henry raised his
eyebrows, there was in
the pocket of his pants,
a pack of fives, unused

as yet. Oh, Henry said,
Duncan Smold had this
woman in the back of
his car, he called it hard

smooching or some such
word. Henry’s mother
eyed him closely, her eyes
narrowing. Then he sinned,

Henry, he sinned, she said,
pushing a hand through
her hair, her features going
red. Oh, right, Henry said,

I’ll tell Duncan next time
he’s in his car with some
woman in the back, that
he’s sinning, Henry turned

away, he didn’t want his
mother to see him grinning.

There’s an empty cottage
at the end of this lane
Jane said

and there’s a large apple tree
in the garden
and no one goes there

so maybe we can look
through the windows
and see what’s there

sounds good
you said
and she smiled at you

in her shy manner
and brushed her fingers
through her long black hair

and breathed in
the summer air
and there were birds

flying overhead
and a small brook
running along side

the lane
and you felt happy
being there with her

looking at her profile
at the way her eyes
looked about her

and her flowered summer dress
she said her mother made
and the way she swayed

her hips as she walked
and you sensed her nearness
her just being there

just a fingertip away
and when you came
to the empty cottage

she ran ahead and peered
through the windows
and you came along beside her

and looked through the glass
at the emptiness within
and she said

let’s see if the doors are locked
and she ran to the door
and pushed but it was locked

and she said
just a chance we could have gone in
and pretended it was ours

and imagined where
we could have put our furniture
and we could have gone up the stairs

and looked out and pretended
it was our bedroom
and we had just married

and then she was silent
and you stood behind her
and touched her arm

and said
let’s go pick some apples
and you can pretend

you’re going to cook
an apple-pie
for our dinner instead

and she smiled
and gently pressed her lips
on your cheek

a small wet warmness
entered you
and oh

you thought
as she ran to the tree
that she would always be here

just the summer sun
and she in her beautifulness
and 13 year old me.

The depression moves in on her
Like a dark fog. It seems to ****
All interest in life and events
From her mind so that she sits
And stares from the window like

One dying slowly over the month.
Outwardly she seems quite fine.
Little quiet perhaps. Not her usual self.
None of her unstoppable laughter and joy.
She hates it when the fog comes.

The curtains drawn in her mind.
The deep depression *******.
There is the same view from the window.
Trees and lawn and the bird table unattended.
Snow had fallen last time. She remembers

The white blanket over everything.
The bird table like a white statue
Standing still unattended. The sky grey
And ****** of all interest. Her lover
Such as he is still wanted his ***.

She performed dully. No passion.
Nothing touched her or reached in
And moved her. Her lover did his thing
And finished. He turned over and snored.
The inner darkness invades each aspect

Of her being. Even her baby’s cry
Doesn’t move or stir her. She hears it
Like one hearing a far away thunder
And possible storm. Even her beloved
Picasso print fails to move her.

Music of Mahler pushes out
From the nearby shore of the CD player
And slides over her like a chilling wave.
There are voices speaking. Someone
She feels walks on her grave.

The pale petals rest
in Yiska's palm.

She blows on them,
brings them
a shadow of life.

I smell her perfume.

My heart dances
in my chest
at her approach.

Now the petals
fold and die
in her ageing palm.

She tips them away.

My heart beats slow
at her departure.

Her eyes are closed,
her hair is grey.

Yehudit lay on her stomach,
chin propped on her hands,
staring over the pond, she
called their lake. Ducks were

there, floating like small boats
on the water’s skin. Naaman
lay beside her his head leaning
on his hand. Last time they had

laid there they had just made
love in the dense woods behind.
Early evening that had been,
moonbeams played on the

surface of the water, the night
cool. She had been concerned
of her mother’s rebuke because
of the lateness. The *** would

have been beyond her mother’s
grasp. You used to fish here, she
said, turning to look at him. I got
bored, he said. I used to swim here

as a child, she said, until one of
the gamekeepers saw me and
informed my father. What did
your mother say to that? he asked.

Father didn’t tell her, he told me
not to swim there again. I missed
that then, he said, smiling. Yes, you
did, she said. It was hot that summer,

I wanted to cool down.  Maybe it
was like a baptism? he said. In the
****? she said. Maybe it was a new
kind of baptism, he said. It nothing

like that. It was innocent fun, she said.
He touched her hand by the pond’s
edge. Her fingers squeezed his. Her eyes
smiled. The sunlight filtered through the

branches overhead, glimpses of blue sky
reflected on the water. That evening we
made love back there, you said you loved
me, she said, did you mean that? Yes, of

course, he said. It was special to me, she
said, not just the making of love of you
and me, but the evening and the moon
and the stars and the smell of you and me

and the flowery smell of it all. He watched
as a duck took off from the pond, its wings
outspread, breaking the air, and she looking
at the pond’s surface with her far away stare.

It was her half day off work
and your afternoon
between shifts
and she had come

to the house
while others were out
at school and work
and after talking

about her job
and the manager
being a pain
and the work

so different from school
you both made love
in your upstairs bed
and afterwards

as she lay there
looking out the window
on the left hand side
she said

my mother will wonder
why I'm home late
on my half day off
you looked at the grey sky

through the windowpane
sensing her beside you
feeling her arm
touching yours

what will you tell her?
you asked
well not
that I've made love to you

she said
turning and smiling at you
why not?
you said jokingly

o yes and never see you again
probably be locked up
in the tower
if we had one

she said  
she leaned over
and kissed you
and you smelt soap

and toothpaste
and her hair
brushed against
your forehead

I'll say the manager
wanted me to stay behind
and such and such
she said

laying back
her head on the pillow
you lay your hand
on her thigh

felt her smooth skin
and would he ask you
to stay behind
for such and such?

you asked
maybe to stock shelves
if any of the other girls
weren't in

but not for such and such
she added laughing
you thought back
to the first time you

had kissed her
that Christmas while out
carol singing
with the choir from church

and it seemed
as if angels sang nearby
rather than the choir
and you caught her eyes

in the moonlight
sparkling like stars
in small oceans
what time will your mother

be home from work?
she asked
you looked
at the alarm clock

on the dressing table
at the foot of the bed
about half hour
you said

God we'd best get up
and dressed
she said
or she'll be here

and what would she say
if she saw us thus?
probably hope you
made up the bed

after you
you said
o yes I'm sure she would
I know she's a lovely lady

but I don't think
she'd say that
you both got off the bed
and began to dress

and you watched her
thinking of the times
at school when you used
to gaze at her

across the classroom
wondering as she sat there
what she looked like
without her clothes

or what colour her underwear
and now you knew
(she like some latter day Eve)
and you

her long lost Adam
sans fig leaf or shame
once dressed
she helped you make the bed

and you saw her downstairs
and out into the garden
with the chilly sun
and God's pardon.

Rosina’s baby sister died.
The cot stood empty
in the darkened room.

Don’t go in there
her mother said.
Rosina opened the door

and peered through
the gap instead.
The toys were still there

by the pink pillow and cover.
Leave the room alone
said her grieving mother.

Moonlight shone upon
the place where baby sister
once turned her face

and smiled or made
her baby noise.
Quiet now the room.

Unplayed with
the idle toys.
Mother cried at night

and often in the day
and stared through
the window at the far off bay.

Father was away
in some distant war
keeping his head down

in some foreign land.
Rosina’s baby sister
was buried deep

beneath the ground
in a small white coffin
dressed in a ghostly shroud

with songs sung sadly
and tears in the crowd.
Rosina peered through

the gap of the door
at the cot
and moonlight’s glow.

She’s seen her baby sister’s
ghostly smile
but mother doesn’t know.

James Dean died that year and Mother was in the loony bin as Father termed it but he wouldn’t take you or Joey to see her because he said There’s no point kids she sits staring at walls and talking to herself or gets abusive and comes out with the most choicest of words which I wouldn’t want you to hear and besides it’s too far for you to go on a weekend and you’d only get upset especially you Lizzie you’d be in tears before they shut the **** door of the ward and all those other drooling fools there and that was it you didn’t get to see her not a peek just what he said she did or said or didn’t say or do but you wanted so much to see her and have her touch your cheek and be home again and tuck you up in bed and tell you the stories that she used to do all sat up on the end of the bed reading from some book she had or making up stories right out of her head and you remember the time she sneaked you and Joey up some supper when Father said no you’d been bad and that you had to go to bed without any supper and be careful Christ didn’t send you to Hell and damnation but Mother brought the supper anyway and listened out in case Father came up but he never did he was too busy drinking or playing cards with the Smiths from across the fields who stank of ***** and sweat and laughed too loud and swore and smoke cheap cigarettes and so Mother’d sit on the end of the bed watching you eat and having that bright eyed look about her and that small smile she had when she thought you were happy but then she became odd and out of it and talked to people who weren’t there or went for long walks and got lost and the cops had to bring her back again and again and once she sat in the bath fully clothed saying she didn’t want Christ seeing her in **** or James Dean to touch her up with his ghostly fingers and so Father took her to see some quack who examined her and talked to her as best he could until she tried to gouge out his eyes with his pen and Father had to retrain her and hold her down on the floor until some auxiliaries from down the hospital hall came bounding in and suited her up in a jacket that tied at the back and you never saw her again after that morning with her getting into Father’s car with her dark eyes staring and two of her fingers giving an up you sign to the passing neighbours who stood open mouthed and tut-tutted and you and Joey watching the car go off and over the horizon like a crazy ship going out to sea with one lone captain and a wild eyed woman as his only crew and she looking back waving her two finger in the air at Joey and you.

Her name’s Jane I think
said Jupp

standing beside you
in the school hall

as the ******* the school bus
went by with a slow walk

carrying a bag
over her shoulder

and her dark hair
flowing down her back

anyway he added
how are you getting on

with that maths work
chisel face gave us?

You watched
until she disappeared

into a crowd of other
girls and boys

like watching
the sun go down

on a fine summer’s day
and entering

a dull night
huh? Said Jupp

how you coping
with the **** maths?

All Greek to me
you said

carrying the image
of the girl off with you

as Jupp and you
made your way

along the corridor
to double metalwork

and this metalwork
Jupp moaned

it really ****** me off
what do I care

about making
a frigging tea caddy spoon?

And passing by
a print on the wall

of some Manet dame
you thought

how you’d love
to have a print

of the girl
to carry about

or have pinned
to your bedroom wall

at home
huh? Said Jupp

what’s with spoons?
I’ve no idea

you said
all part

of the brainwash
I guess

and did the girl
move you?

you asked inside
oh yes

oh yes
oh yes.

And John sees
passing trees
fields

cottages
lanes
sky

birds in sky
sees his reflection
in the bus window

going and coming
and going
the other kids

on the bus
most not all
talking and laughing

the bus radio
blaring out
some song

but he tries to focus
on the girl's name
she told him

and well it has gone
but he pictures
her still

thin wire spectacles
dark hair
a grip at the side

and that look of hers
as if she saw
into his soul

fool no such thing
but it seems so
and he sighs

can't recall
the name
her tie

was untied
loosely
dark eyes

he thinks
small ****
he kind

of recalls
but the name
even has he stares

at the passing view
her name
has gone too.

Yes she’ll tell him that
next time tell him about
it all but until then she’ll
let him stew let him think

he has it all in the bag let
him think he’s won the
battle but she knows he
knows only half the game

she knows that much more
and anyway the war’s in
her sights now the game
is almost won she draws

on her cigarette lets the
smoke hit the back of her
throat feels the air about
her hears the music from

the other room as out in
the streets others celebrate
the New Year in their fashion
she hears their voices raised


their songs sung drunkenly
but he is but a loose page in
her book a mere footnote
in her book of life as if she’d

consent to be his lover or his
wife he thinks it’s almost on
the cards almost in the bag
but she knows better knows

how the game ends then thinking
back to her childhood as she
blows out smoke her father’s
dull eyes his voice filtering into

her dreams his hand punching
or smacking or lending the black
or blue her mother dull witted
saying nothing not knowing what

to do scars of her childhood leak
and ooze their memories and aches
and pains and dark corners and fears
as she inhales the smoke again yes

she’ll tell next time maybe if the
mood takes her she’ll wait and see.

Saturday afternoon
cycling up a 1in 6 hill
then along the road
toward the farmhouse

you dismounted
and laid your bike
against the fence
and waited

to get your breath back
the farmhouse door opened
and Mrs Putt came out
and said

Jim and Pete are out I’m afraid
her daughter Monica
appeared by her side
they’ve gone out

with their older brother
Monica said
ok
you said

tell them I called
sure I will
Mrs Putt said
I can go on a bike ride

with you if you like
Monica said
Benedict won’t want to have you
to drag along with him

Mrs Putt said
Monica pulled a face
and pouted her lips
I don’t mind

you said
better than riding alone
well if you don’t mind
Mrs Putt said

mind you behave
yourself young lady
she said
and went indoors

and closed the door
just get my bike
Monica said
and went back behind

the farmhouse
you looked around
the farmhouse
and the surrounding fields

and trees and waited
after a few moments
she was back
riding her bike toward you

where we going?
she asked
lets go see the peacocks
along Sedge lane

you said
and so you got on your bike
and off you both rode
she beside you

in her summery dress
and sandals with her
brown hair tied
in bunches

you in jeans
and open neck
white shirt
the sun bright

and hot above you
the birds flying
and calling
the clouds puffy

and white
I’ve always wanted to go
bike riding with you
Monica said

but the boys don’t let me
but I am now
you nodded and smiled
wondering Jim and Pete

would say if they knew
she’d got to go
bike riding with you
she chatted on about Elvis

and the film in town
and how she’d like to go
but no one would take her
and how her brothers

teased her
and her mother
nagged her
after a while

you came to the peacocks
in a wire cage
by a large house
just off the lane

aren’t they beautiful?
she said
peering through the wire
her fingers holding on to

the cage
standing beside you
yes they are
you said

but of course
the **** bird
has the beauty
the hen

is just dull
and ordinary
odd that
she said

wonder why?
don’t know
you said
I’m not dull

and ordinary am I?
she asked
looking at you
sideways on

no
you said
you have
your own beauty

do I?
yes you do
and she blushed
and looked away

and the peacock
called out
and moved off
opening its colourfulness

and Monica did a twirl
making the patterns
move
on her twirling dress.

Ingrid climbed over
the metal fence
by Banks House

and onto the grass
her mother's shouting
in her ears

her father's hand
fresh upon the flesh
of her thigh stinging

the early morning sun
came over
the flats nearby

the grey clouds
promising rain
she climbed over

another metal fence
and crossed over
into Jail park

to ride the swings
or slide
or just sit

by the sandpit
and muse
and wait

Benedict would come soon
or so he said
the night before

as he walked her
to her door
hearing her parents

rowing
the park was almost deserted
a few kids

in the sandpit
one on the slide
she sat on one

of the swings
and pushed off
from the ground

her thigh stinging
as she moved away
reaching for the sky

her feet in the air
trying to get there
she leaned forward

then back
to get herself higher
pushing herself

up and up
feeling the air
in her face

in her hair
thinking of how
her sister got away

with things but she
did not
she was punished

for little things
while she could stay
out late

or come home drunk
and back chat and lie
but she had only

to make a mistake
or say a wrong word
or look the wrong way

and it was slap
or whack as it
was today

her feet reached up
her black battered shoes
seemingly touching

the sky
she looked around
on the ground

at the trees
or kids
feeling free

to think
and breathe
and be

but still no Benedict
in sight
no sign of him

since last night
she missed him
and needed him today

someone to listen
to what had happened
to her today

she slowed down
the swing
put her feet

as brakes
to come to a halt
and sit and stare

then she heard
his voice
Benedict had come

cowboy hat
and jeans
and 6 shooter gun

and that broad smile
and he sat on a swing
beside her

and she told him
about the morning
and the slap

and thump
and whack
he listened

and saddened
and took her hand
and said

let's go find our horses
and ride to the place
that cowboys go

in that far away land
and she nodded
and said

we can have a cabin
with curtains
and a wooden bed

and table and chairs
and land to have
as far as the eye

could see
sure
he said

where ever we are
your parents
won't be.

Sonya likes
Paris streets
dark cafés

black coffees
cigarettes
those French ones

she likes nights
with wet streets
like oil slicks

those artists
selling cheap
second hand

Picassos
or such like
but mostly

she likes ***
between sheets
in back street

hotel rooms
with windows
with shutters

listening
to a cheap
transistor

radio
some French dame
singing of

a lost love
as she feels
Benedict

kiss each inch
of her flesh
his warm lips

and wet tongue
slide along
her soft groove

the outline
shadowy
of his ****

rise and fall
as they ride
the wild waves

of hot ***
between sheets
Sonya loves

Paris streets.

You imagine
she still lies there,
still having made love
has that satisfied look,

that we did it
once more gaze.
All gone now,
all in former days.

The house has long
been sold, others
live there now;
the bed long gone,

gone for scrap
or firewood,
at least that
wooden frame.

You think on
that peasant way she had,
the lifting up
of legs and thighs,

the brightening up
of those liquid eyes,
the play of smile
upon her lips,

then love making over
and resting side by side,
that sense of
we did it again,

a little adolescent pride.
Death had her marked out
even then you guess,
cancer making plans

of conquest,
ticking time,
the clocks all set,
an all off certain bet.

And yet,
still you think her there,
laying abed,
eyes bright,

legs and thighs lifted,
the lips pursed
to kiss,
all love talent gifted.

Gone now,
some resting place
marked and squared off
for some to see,

flowers bought and laid,
attention and respect paid;
but where she's rested
you don't know,

no last farewell,
no last kiss
nor given
nor made, you're afraid.

Fay walks out
of the flat
onto the
red brick and
grey concrete
balcony

her father's
angry words
in her ears
and her head
his hand mark
on her thigh
red throbbing
making cry

it's Sunday

below her
the empty
tarmac Square

pigeons there
no one else
excepting
the milkman
with his horse
and milk cart
and bottles
rattling

flats all round
opposite
and beside
she sees it
watery
as from a
goldfish bowl

she gently
rubs her thigh
all because
she didn't
know the Creed
in Latin
all way through
of the mass

the strict nuns
at her school
had told him
of this fact

some one moves
on the Square
she watches
young Baruch
with brown hair
grey pullover
and blue jeans
walk along
holding his
catapult

she gazes
he looks up
waves to her
come on down
he beckons
mouthing words

she wonders
if she should
her father
doesn't like
the Jew boy
stay away
from the Jew
he tells her

she waves back
at Baruch
should she go?
she likes him
makes her laugh
tells her things

she goes down
the stairway
rushes down
excited

she feels safe
with Baruch
her fears leave
disappear

where are you
going to?
she asks him

any where
I want to
he replies
the whole world's
my oyster

she smiles now
the red thigh
still throbbing
can I come?
she asks him

if you like
what about
your old man
won't he mind?

she stares at
hazel eyes
and brown hair

'spect he will
she replies

she shows him
her red thigh

what's that for?
Baruch asks

not knowing
all of the
Latin Creed
she mutters

is that all?
does God care?
Baruch asks

I don't know
Fay replies
looking up
at the flat

let's go then
adventure
beckons us
he tells her

they walk off
down the *****
cross the road
then walk up
Meadow Row
quietly
to the site
of bombed out
wrecked houses
and remains

he picks up
small round stones
loads up his
catapult

flies at cans
or bottles
left behind
by drunkards

she watching
as the sound
echoes loud
in the air
breaking in
her Sabbath
smashing glass
crashing cans

your go now
he tells her
handing her
his weapon
the wooden
catapult
and a stone

she fires
at a can
BANG it echoes

a voice shouts
IT'S SUNDAY
TIME OF REST
GO AWAY

Baruch smiles
best be off

and they walk
on to the
New Kent Road
he holding
her thin hand

she thinking
about her
father's rage

Baruch thinks
of her hand
warm and soft
and looks out
for cowboys
the bad guys
ambushing
from corners
of this new
Dodge City

she feels safe
holding hands
12 years old
as is he

as they walk
their own new
London Town
Dodge City.

Her seventh suicide,
attempts failed, saved,
the last by that medic
with the beard like Christ.

Thin sharp blade
against forearm,
the fingers shaking,
the eyes focused,
the voice of some French singer
in the background,
the red line,
the spurt of blood,
the walls, the bath,
splattered.

Seventh time lucky,
the water warm,
the water reddening,
the body becoming cold,
tired
she closes
her eyes,
is this how one dies?

Mother’s demise
with the cancerous crab
******* into her brain
and ******* up to pain.

She thinks on,
the French song
on the hifi
low, darkening.

That medic
brought her back
last time,
like some Lazarus,
back from the dark,
the unknown light,
the long night.

Seventh suicide,
attempts made,
unsuccessful,
buggered up,
teetering on the edge,
that time balanced
on the high office ledge
and that cop
with the Al Pacino look,
talked her in,
failed again.

Outside another day,
sound of pitter patter,
sound of rain.

You walked back
from the shops
through the Square
having shopped

for your mother
Helen beside you
helping to carry
the heavy bags

her doll Battered Betty
in her free hand
Helen dressed
in her dark blue raincoat

and hood
her thick lens spectacles
smeared by the light rain
her brown shoes

letting in water
you in your black raincoat
buttoned up to the neck
your black shoes

treading through puddles
you climbed the stairs
to your flat
on the fourth floor

and along the balcony
and went in
through the front door
and put the shopping bags

on the kitchen floor
you look like drowned rats
your mother said
best get out

of those wet coats
or you'll catch your deaths
and so you took off
the raincoats

and she gave you
a towel each
to dry off
in front

of the living room fire
Helen took off
her spectacles
and wiped them

on the hem
of her green flowered dress
I must look a mess
she said

the boys at school
call me Dracula's sister
they can say what they like
you said

to me you're my Maid Marian
to my Robin Hood
besides they couldn't
understand beauty

if it crept up
and pinch their bums
she laughed
and wiped

her frizzy
dark brown hair
on the white towel
you dried your hair

and face
and took in
her lost girl look
her spectacles

on the dinning room table
her hair
all over the place
her squinting eyes

I can take you
to the cinema
if you like
this afternoon

you said
there's a Cavalier
and Roundheads film on
with plenty of sword fights

I'll have to ask my mum
Helen said
I expect she'll say yes
especially if I'm going

with you
I think she'd trying
to me marry me off with you
even if we're only 8

she rubbed her hair quickly
then put the towel
on the chair with yours
Battered Betty her doll

was sitting on the floor
by the fire place
looking sorry for herself
Helen picked the doll up

in her arms
and you both looked
out the window
at the coal wharf

across the road
and the lorries
and horse drawn coal carts
coming and going

when we're married
Helen said
we can live in a castle
and look out

from the battlements
over the countryside
and I can have pretty girls
and you can train our sons

to be knights
yes
you said
and ride horses

and have sword fights
with the bad knights
and you showed her
the blue bladed sword

your old man made for you
at his workplace
and you showed her
your sword fighting skills  

afterwards she said
I best get home
or mum will wonder
where I've got to

ok
you said
let me know
if you can go

to the cinema
and tell your mum
I've got the money
for tickets

and an ice cream
ok
she said
and put on her

still damp raincoat
and kissed
your cheek wetly
and went out and off

along the balcony
and down the stairs
(the rain had stopped)
and you watched her go

through the Square
and down the *****
and out of sight
she your Maid Marian

you
her shining knight.

Hers was a life of compliance.
Fulfilment of another’s wishes,
observance of another’s needs,
conformity to the rules set down
in stone. She was the rubber of
beads through fingers, touched
by thumbs; the beads of the rosary
would be sealed by prayers.

She was the self denier, who put
herself last, one who sacrificed
pleasures for a promised salvation,
whose menstruations were reminders
of babies that would never be,
children which would never be hers,
dugs that would never be ******.  

She carried the cross through cloisters,
sandaled feet trod the paved paths,
heard birdsong, saw butterflies in flight,
moths at night in the candle’s flame,
she hidden away, unknown, no fame
with a saint’s name. And each morning
rising with the bell, kissed by the early
dawn, touched by the chill of early frost,
she lived and moved, all for love of Christ.

Under the railway bridge
in Rockingham Street
where the steam trains
go by overhead

quite frequently
going to somewhere else
by Baldy's
the grocer's store

where you get merchandise
quite often
for your mother
you sat with Janice

waiting to have
your hair cut
(your mother sent her
with you

to make sure
it was done right)
she had her
red beret on

the fair hair
flowing from beneath
her bright eyes
and straight white teeth

when we marry
she said
(why do girls do that
to a kid of 8?

at 9 maybe
that's fine
why spoil his day
with wedding days

and such?)
shall I wear
cream or a white dress?
(cream would be better

than white
make her look
less pale
more quaint

make her look
less likely to faint)
cream'd be good
you said

and what about my bouquet?
what flowers
should I have?
(God knows

you mused
I know nothing
of such things
whatever

the flower guy brings)
I don't know
flower names
you choose

you said
she smiled
and nodded her head
who will be

your best man?
she asked
Carmody or Jupp​?
you said

she didn't
look impressed
or Jim?
you added

he'll do
she said
(why ask you?)
you liked the way

her eyes went wide
at the mention
of Jim
(did she fancy him?)

and the way she leaned
her head to one side
when you said
cream to the colour of dress

(to you
it was a thing
to keep from life
and head

it would seem
but to her
it was a dream)
but who

will give me away?
she said
my Daddy's dead
and mother too

would my old man do?
you said
but she shook her head
(wise kid you thought)

Gran may
if she's not too old
she added
looking straight ahead

or too ill or dead
my brother could
if he's old enough then
(many years hence

you hoped)
a boy amongst men
you said
she just smiled

and gave nod of head
and how many kids
shall we have?
she asked

(why ask me
you thought
how many there'd be?)
two or three?

you said
or more
she suggested
gazing at the barber

who was finishing off
a middle-aged man
with a comb and mirror
wearing a smile

who's next?
he asked
taking off the cape
from the man

he is
Janice said
pointing to you
and a short back

and sides
his mother said
Janice added
the barber nodded you

to the chair
and you sat there
gazing at Janice
in the mirror

imagining her
as a bride in white
or cream
on some one's arm

coming down the aisle
with her smile
but not tomorrow
or next year

or after that
but off
some where
in quite awhile.

The sun was out strong
and there were ducks
and swans on the water
in the park

and Julie
was there with you
clothed
in her hippy dress

and her hair let loose
and unbrushed
in sandaled feet
beside you

on the park bench
she had her legs
out straight
in front of her

as if she were making sure
they were still there
need a fix
she said

need it
like hell
you took in her eyes
lightless as if someone

had switched off
the bulbs in the rooms
of her head
can’t they give you stuff

back at the hospital?
you asked
they’ve no idea
they’re stuff shirts

and narrow heads
she said
that ward sister
doesn’t no ****

you sat
and looked away
some kid
was feeding ducks

at the fence
enjoying the excitement
of the feeding process
lost on the less innocent

it’s all if you do this
such and such will result
and if you take
such and such

this may go away
she said bitterly
how about an ice cream
up there on the rise

of the hill?
you said
she pushed her hands
between her legs

as if to push back
the fix hunger
as if that will solve
the fix ****

she said
didn’t say it would
but it sure tastes good
you said gently

seeing the kid
clap her hands
for more bread
Julie got up

and walked away
and you followed
watching her hips sway
unsteadily

like a ship buffeted
by rough seas
she spoke over
her shoulder

said words about
her parents
the rich
middle class

suckers
about the do-gooders
who came
to the ward

with their bright eyes
and second hand faith
you just listened
walking beside her

her hands going up
and down by her sides
as if out of control
how about that ice cream?

you said
watching her eyes
staring ahead
I know what you’re after

she bellowed
either my soul
to save
or a quickie in bed

an old woman
on a park bench
gazed at her passing by
with that

o dear me look
in her ancient eye
you asked about
maybe take

in the art gallery
look at the Moderns
you had neared
the ice cream van

and she stood there
looking with her eyes
on the menu
on the side

hands motionless
and still
what are you having?
you asked

a fix if I could
but that ice cream
with chocolate flakes
and sauce

will do for now
she said
and so you bought two
from the Italian looking guy

and gave her one
and kept one yourself
and walked on back
by the water

and bridge
she quiet
slow walking
you eating and *******

no thought of ***
or her fix
or side room
*******.

It’s hot and you don’t feel
Like sitting down to write
The postcard to the parents,

But it has to be done or they’ll
Worry and Father will have
One of his turns and Mother

Will be flapping round like
A **** hen with no head, so
You take a chair by the window

Of the Hotel Cuba and think
What to write, what to put
Down in the limited space

Allowed, and not to write
Anything that’ll stir Father’s
Christian sensibilities or

Mother’s little world of tea
And visits and afternoon naps
And speaking to the canary

Who doesn’t speak back.
You wait for Humphrey to
Come back from the bar

Hoping he’ll come up with
Things to say, but he doesn’t
Show and its getting late

And it’s been a busy day and
The night looms large and
You want Humphrey at his

Best, not too boozed, not
Distracted, and on the whole
He’s quite a fair catch, knows

How to please a girl, keep her
On her toes and back and that
Thing he does with the…Dear

Father and Mother, Cuba’s quite
A place…there was this man
Who kissed my hand and Dear

Humphrey said…the sun’s warm
And the food is out of this world
…I can dance the latest dances

Here, nothing that is suspect or
Need worry you…I will send this
Postcard in the morning, God I’m

Tired, keep on yawning, must be
The heat… You sit back and put
Down the pen and look up as

Humphrey returns doing some
Movements with his feet to some
Music playing and he smiles and

Winks and does a twirl…Sleep tight
Parents…it’s going to be one of
Those night for she's a naughty girl.

He would, between
her gentle hands,

lay his head, like one
in sleep playing dead.

He would, if possible,
lay his tired body in

her lap, for her to tend
or make well again, or

her to ease or end the
pointless pain. He would,

if he were brave, plant
kisses along her brow,

wet and sweet, given in
love, not lust, but he has

small time, for this or that,
but loves her none the

less we trust.  He would,
if time had not robbed his

chance, placed his hand
about her waist and held

her near, but time has gone
and he has left with none of

those things above, we fear.

Judy lies
on the double bed
having made love
for the second time round

that early afternoon
Benedict lies beside her
gazing out the window
at the afternoon sky

she talking about
the grocery store
and the customers
and the bottom pinching

manager
the creepy ****
she says
Benedict turns his gaze

to the profile
of her breast
knowing he shouldn't
but likes

her left one best
following the contour
of her ribs
and the pelvic sweep

the brown ***** patch
sticky
with ***** leak
she eyeing

his hazel eyes
the quiff of hair
him laying there
his sleeping pecker

resting on the leg
he eyeing her thigh
the dark bite of love
the pantyline

still there
she saying
she'll have to go
her mother will wonder

why she wasn't home
on her half day off
from work
he saying yes

his mother'd be home
from work
on the next bus
from town

they share
a deep frown
no more love making
least not that day

she laying back
her skirt hitched up
around her waist
her blouse open

all the way down
her ******* on the floor
by the bedroom door
one more kiss

before we go
she says
lips soft waiting
and meeting touch

she wanting to
but time running out
he wishing time
would stand still

to allow one more go
she noticing
the sleeping pecker
beginning to stir

their lips press
and tongues touch
soon to be going time
to stay too short

the afternoon sky
a cloudy grey
he kissing her
once more

wishing she could stay
not now
she says
another time and day

and so they rise
and dress
and she takes her leave
walking out

the back gate
and home
and he waving
her goodbye

goes back in
to make up
the double bed
carrying her image

and their love
in his afternoon head.

Bill had a lot to
Thank America
For (he didn’t think

So, that pile of ash,
That heap of broken
Promises, arms and

Hands of lethal touch,)
But he never said
As much. The good old

American Way,
His father hammered
Into him by words

And speech, not by touch
Of hand as other
Fathers may. Bill’d

Seen the ***** dark
Undergarments of
The American

Way, the hushed secret
Dealings, the dark deeds,
The unofficial

Killings, the *****
Tricks or silencing
Of witnesses of

The alternative
View; the communists,
Liberals of too

Soft a heart, those who
Poked their noses in
Too deep into the

Mire came under
Fire, disappeared
Or were loss or killed

In those accidents
Conveniently
Arranged, or so their

Close relatives feared.
Bill knew all this; smelt
***** from a great height;

The double talk and
Values; grim men in
Dark suits. The money

That could buy, silence
And distance. Bill loved
The American

Queer guys, the ones he
Could hold, kiss and ****
And softly pillow

Talk until the small
Hours sipping and
Smoking. Mother used

To tuck him up in
Bed and kiss his brow
And whisper soft words.

Both his parents were
Gone now, into the
Big sleep, where God or

The deep silence, their
U.S. souls will keep.

Listen kid, Max’s father says,
All a broad wants is babies,
The rest is incidental, have a

Good look at them, see how
They’re built, they’re built
For breeding kids, nature’s

One concern the survival of
The species. Max looks at his
Father’s cigar that wags as

He talks, the smoke going up
In short bursts. And kid, don’t
Let them fool you with all that

Love talk, it’s just their yak to
Keep you sweet, and they want
Guys to get all gooey eyed when

The babies are around and expect
The dough handing to them to
Keep the kids, to keep them on

The way to growing up. Max nods
And remembers his mother yelling
At his father not to wake the baby,

You’re too heavy footed, you talk
Too loud, and that cigar smoke it’s
Everywhere. And kid, whatever you

Do don’t settle down too soon,
Don’t get trapped in the spidery web
Of a broad’s charms, don’t get too

Serious too soon, kid, hold out a little,
Run the field, find the cheap dames,
Give the serious motherly types the

Wide berth. Max blows a huge bubble
With his gum, his father’s words take
Wing around his ears like black bats

In evening flight. And kid, don’t let
Them tame you with their words and
Ways or haul you in with lines of woe and

Love needs; hold out as long as you can,
Don’t be like the rest of the wimps, be like
Your old man. Max nods and puts on his

Steely stare as his father drives off in his car.
When Max grows up, he wants to smoke a cigar.

Moldriss studies the woman opposite,
He wants to lay his head in her lap and
Sniff her femininity, sense any sweetness
Of virginity. He can picture his head there

Lying without motion, closing the eyes,
Warming into her thighs. She sits up
And stares out of the window; her blonde
Haired head turning away, her hands

Folding in her lap. Maybe those hands
Could finger his ears as he lay in her lap,
Could lean her lips to his cheek and kiss.
He wants always to remember her there,

Her lap so inviting, just waiting there, her
Hands resting like small guards to her palace
Of joy and birth. She turns forward and
Looks at him, her eyes a pale blue, her lips

Parted slightly, her hand lifts to brush hair
From her eyes, and he wanting to lay his
Head in her lap, on thighs, imagining *******
Her nightly. She looks away shyly, watching

Trees and fields passing by the train window;
Maybe she senses his head in her lap, his
Nose sniffing out her femininity like some pig
Sniffing for truffles, his eyes closing, his ear

Waiting to be fingered by her small hand,
And he just laying there in his dream like
Some sad prophet in a once promised land.

The monk runs
his thin finger
down the spine
of the black book.

Dom Peter turns
the large key
in the old lock.

She would
have let me-
had I wished to-
run a finger
down her spine.

The sanctuary lamp
flickers in the church;
a lone light
in the ebony darkness.

Look at her
Greenfield said
he was referring
to Miss Money

a girl who sat
two desks in front
hair light brown
drawn into a woven plait

at the back
bet she’s  
got **** on her
he said

you glanced over
your finger turning
the page
of the history book

some text
on the Tudors
some boring ****
who had six wives

or so you’d read
the girl was engrossed
in writing
hand gripping a pen

head slightly down
I wouldn’t know
you said
bet she has

Greenfield uttered
the history teacher
had his back
to the class

fingers with chalk
scribbling
on the board
you noticed

the girl’s neck
between blouse collar
and light brown hair
my cousin’s got *******

he said
saw them
when she was dressing
one morning

while straying
at her house
getting ready
for a wedding

he drawled on
you followed the text
with your finger
the second wife

had her head
chopped off
poor *****
you thought

Miss Money turned
her profile captured
ear
eye maybe brown

then turned
back again
sunlight
from window’s glass

blessed her head
but Greenfield talked
of her figure
and waistline

instead
making motions
with his hands
in the air in front

history
was lost on him
Miss Money
moved him more

at least
some aspects did
not the finer things maybe
but he kind of

wrote and made
his own
dull history.

Fay stood next
to Baruch
in the Square

have a ride
if you like
on my new

blue scooter
he had said
so she did

with one foot
placed firm on
the scooter

the other
pushed away
the hard ground

moving on
the scooter
hands gripping

the rubber
handle bars
and she sensed

air in her
face and hair
moving fast

Baruch left
behind her
in the Square

he thinking
how happy
now she was

moving on
over ground
other kids

shouting out
faster Fay

and she did
as if all
pent up fears

had gone bang
and had then
disappeared

get off that
Jew's scooter
her father

shouted out
and she turned
and the fears

all returned
she got off
the scooter

handed it
to Baruch
all joy gone

happiness
had dissolved
her father

gripped her hand
hauled her off
looking back

at Baruch
hatefully
but Baruch

merely smiled
his contempt
his green eyes

or hazel
as some said
shooting off

those arrows
pretendingly
in the ****

of Fay's strict
catholic
father but

to Fay he
blew to her
from his palm

the unseen
pink kisses
of concern

then she'd gone
up the stairs
to her fate

a lecture
against Jews
murderers

of Jesus
he will say
or worst still

punishment
a beating
to enforce
his strict will.

Whatever else
her Polish accent
didn’t do
it didn't stop

her quest for ***
and Benedict
nigh on gave in
one or twice

(who was counting?)
time on his hands
(a rare event)
or caught unaware

and thinking
do I dare?
and he had to admit
even against

his better will
she was
a lovely dame
and such

well?
Sophia said
you want to?
he looked passed her

at the door closed
the bed fresh made
as if she knew
bins all emptied

of their dust
and muck
you want me?
you want to ****?

he looked
at her blue uniform
the greeny top
the tight pressing bra

the eyes ice cool
I don't know
he said
what if some one calls?

or the old guy
comes back
to his room
for some reason

or other?
Sophia stood
always the excuses
always the worry

of others coming
or going
she said
come on

she said
sitting on
the fresh made bed
have me now

make up
your mind
he gazed out
the window

the snow was settled
trees hung
white with brown
not just now

he said
as she spread
herself down
upon the bed

one leg raised
a glimpse of thigh
caught as in a mirror
of his turning eye.

His wife said, you’re too
Nice to people, too

**** nice, you ought to
Be like Rocky; he

Don’t take no **** from
People, he tells them

Where to get off and
Is down their throats far

Quicker than they can
Say, boo boo, but you,

You’re just too nice, you
Even open doors

For dames and give them
The big friendly smile,

And give them the bright
Eyed sparkle. He let

His wife’s words float on
By like butterflies,

Focussed on the art,
His word management,

Giving form to his
Notions, painting out

Scenes, putting plots to
New ideas, and for

Another thing, his
Wife added, what’s with

The dame in the ****
Photos everywhere?

Who’s she? In the frame
By the bed, on your

Cell phone, tucked away
In your pocket book?

Are you some kind of
Religious fruit? He

Looked at his wife (she
Was a looker, had

A nice face and cute
***) and watched her mouth

Move, saw her tongue, like
Some small snake go in

And out and how fine
Her eyes were in the

Morning sun, how they
Shone some, and he said,

You know, your mouth moves
Quite prettily, your

Lips, they’re like parting
Thighs and how I just

Love the way your head
Tilts slightly to one

Side just like some odd
Inquisitive bird,

And by the way, the
Dame in the photos

Is St Therese, and
She’s just there to bring

Me comfort and to
Remind me how pure

And heaven sent a
Woman can be and

That there is more to
Women than meets the

Eye, but his wife stood
And shook her head, and

Not another word
By his wife was said.

Milka wanted Benedict
to take her across
old Tom Dubbin’s bed,
(the old boy was down stairs

in the lounge
waiting for death);
she’d put aside
her mop and bucket,

unbuttoned
her light blue
overalls,
but Benedict

had refused,
said it wasn’t
the time or place.  
But still she lay,

her blouse undone,
her skirt hitched up,
pouting her lips.
They won’t miss you

for a short while,
she said, besides
who will know?
Benedict tidied

the sink, washed
away the spit
from the old boy’s mug,
straightened the towels.

I could always scream
and say you wanted
to take me here,
she said.

He pulled back
the yellow curtains,
opened up
the windows.

For everything
there’s a season,
he said,
this is not it.

What if I say
you pushed me
on the bed?
she said.

They know you,
Benedict said,
they think you’re a
***** anyway;

they know me,
know what I’m like
and will say, no way.
Milka got off the bed,

pulled down
her skirt
and buttoned up
her blouse,

tidied her
blonde hair.
One day you will,
she said,

one day.
Maybe, he said,
one day, yet in
his mind or in sleep

at night, he often had,
taken her,
as she called it,
across some

old boy’s bed,
but so far not
for real, just inside
his young man’s head.

We'd got half way up
the Downs she talking
of certain flowers and
butterflies that had

passed us fluttering by
and we rested by the
large hollow tree and
she said shall we go

inside it's large enough
for us and more? I said
ok and we did we climbed
inside the big hollow

tree and it was like a
largish room a hole in
the side of the tree acted
as  a door and a small hole

acted as a window nature's
little lodgings she said and  
we sat back on the inner
parts of the tree and there

was a little ledge like a seat
for  two and we sat there
and she said I think it's
lovely this yes it is I said

-and was glad Lizbeth never
knew of this or she'd have
drawn me in and wanted
somehow to have said

about having ***- Jane
was content to just be there
sharing a bit of nature and
being with me and she said

Daddy showed me this
when I was little and I was
amazed and thought fairies
came here and hollowed it

out I smiled and thought
Lizbeth would never have
thought that and I doubted
her father would have bothered

to show her anything makes
it so homely Jane said fancy
living here and coming back
here after a day's work and

having no place to wash or
bath and she laughed and I
loved that aspect of her that
innocence that being part of

what was natural and I wanted
to kiss her and hug her but I
didn't we just sat there sharing
the hollow tree just Jane and me.

Geraldine
riding home

on the bus
after work

sitting there
in the crowd

thinking of
her lover

sweet Holly
lying there

in the ****
all the night

her small globes
kiss ready

legs parted
hotly moist

waiting for
Geraldine's

snake like tongue
spider like

*******
between thighs

watery
sea blue eyes

uttering words
I love you

between the
oohs and ahs

whispered sighs
of just there

gets me hot
just that spot

she sways slow
to bus's swerve

a bell's pressed
at the front

but all that
Geraldine

can think of
is Holly

and Holly's
moistful ****.

Holy Saturday. Lulu softly rubs her
Black rosary held between fingers.
The church cold and dark. Waiting
For the light. The candle brought by
The priest and others of his ilk to bring
Light to the darkness. Rudandoff stands
Still silent in shadows watching her
Outline in candlelight’s glow. Lulu feels
Smooth wood on fingers and thumb
Mutters her pure prayers watching
The candle light up the darkness.
Rudandoff smells her the scent
Touching him the shine of her hair
Caught by passing light her profile
Moves him her moving fingers stirs
His dark embers stiffen his manhood.
The holy candle brings light to the
Church. The priest and others chant
Out the long prayers. Lulu’s soft lips
Kiss the crucified Christ on her crucifix
Warm lips on smooth wood. Rudandoff
Wishes those were his kisses his manhood
Between her moving fingers her tender
Body beneath his hot frame. Lulu closes
Eyes imagines her Christ blue bruised
And beaten hammered and battered
Gazing through eye slits bringing her true
Love never forsaken. Rudanoff’s hot lust
Swells in the darkness his sausage fingers
Want to reach and touch to squeeze and
****** to greedily **** her female juices.
Holy Saturday. She finds her love’s light.
He loses lust’s kiss and burns in darkness.

He kisses
her hip;
lips on skin
and feels bone.

She moves
in intimacy,
hones in
on his lips
in the moist moment.

She curves
about him
like a serpent,
her legs
about his waist,
bringing him in
to harbour
like a pilot
brings in
a large ship
to home port.

Hip to lips,
lips to skin;
sense now
the hot dips.

Hornbridge likes to see girls undress.
But slowly. Their thin fingers and thumbs
Holding the cloth and taking off. Especially
The black negligee held just so. He fully
Dressed waits until the final article of
Clothing is removed and she stands gazing
At him with her bright expectant eyes.
He likes to have music in the background
Playing. Jazz or classic. Gerry Mulligan for
Some types or Mozart for others depending
On their breeding or class. Occasionally a Rock
Chick makes it through his defences and he
Puts on the Stones or something of their ilk.
He likes it when the girls place their hands on
Their hips as they wait for him to undress.
Yet there is always some disappointment.
Some flaw in either ******* or waist or legs
Or ***. Gloria spoilt him. Hard act to follow.
Those eyes. How he could swim there in that
Blue liquid of the two eyes. Those *******.
How could he ever forget them? His dear friends.
The way they would be waiting. Her hands soft
And warm and gentle touching him. And how
She loved to disrobe to the tones of a turned
Down Vivaldi from the hifi. Sad she left. Final
Curtain. Big cancer. No fond slow goodbye.

He was in hospital
for a short op
a one day event
and then home

the nurse said
if you could undress
Mr Hawkins

and put on that gown
on the bed
and so he looked around
and got to the bed

and she drew
the green curtains
around him

and he stood there
and began to undress
and folded his clothes
and put them on a chair

and put on the blue gown
which did up
at the back

and stood there
wondering what
to do next
how long would

he have to wait?
he lay on the bed
and opened the book

he'd brought to read
his back ached
his hips too
how long would he be?

a nurse drew back
the curtains
and said

I need to take
your temperature?
can you tell me
your name please?

he looked at her
in her blue two piece
like a motor mechanic

rather than a nurse
what happened to those
neat uniforms?

he wondered
name?
she asked again
Mr Benedict Hawkins

he said
she ticked her list
date of birth?

he told her
how much
do you weigh?
she asked

he told her
she ticked her list again
she put a thermometer

in his mouth
and took his wrist
and looked
at her watch

he looked at her hand
her fingers
holding his wrist

the thin white fingers
the pink nails
he looked
at her ears

not too small
or large
no earrings

no small holes
where they might
have been
he studied her lips

wondered who
kissed them
if any

she took out
the thermometer  
and shook it
with a lovely

wrist action
and gazed at it
then she put it

in her top pocket
just above
her left ***
or impression of such

and she looked at him
you're 3rd on the list
she said

OK
he said
and off she walked
her swaying behind

like some gay mechanic guy
going back
to the pits

no lovely
neat uniform
or black stockings
encasing cool legs

or black
sensible shoes
or tidy white

headdress
to set it all off
just a trained
nursing mechanic

in the blue two piece
nothing to inspire
another look

so he opened
the pages
of his child
psychology book.

Christina met you
on the playing field
after lunch in recess
the sun was warm

butterflies went by
clouds white puffs
moved over head
I saw you playing cricket

this morning
from the classroom window
during domestic science
Christina said

standing there
in your whites
your hands behind your back
looking bored

if I had known you were watching
I’d have waved
you said
you were not long batting

she said
after sitting down on the grass
pulling you down beside her
by the hand

no not my best performance
you said smiling
how good
is your best performance?

depends what I’m doing
you said
but not batting?
she asked

no not batting
you replied
looking at her hair
dark and well kempt

her lips parted just so
her white teeth showing
you kiss well
she said suddenly

do I?
you said
yes you do
but you could always do

with practice
yes I suppose so
you said watching Rolland
kicking ball with other boys

across the way
your sister said
you keep my photo
on the bedside cabinet

by your bed
Christina said
yes I do
not my best photo

but it’s the only one
I could sneak out
of the house
without the parents

noticing
Rolland scored a goal
passing the ball
by a kid between

two coats
do you kiss it at night?
she asked
kiss what?

the photo my photo?
only if my brother’s not looking
you said
but otherwise you do?

yes long as wet
you said
and she laughed
and crossed her legs

and you caught a glimpse
of her thigh
I’d like to take you home
for lunch again soon

if I can get my mother
in a good mood
not when she’s depressed
she said

that’d be good
you said
she leaned forward
and took your hand

and drew you near her
and kissed you
on the lips
girls nearby giggled

and you looked over at them
feeling shy but warmed
don’t mind them
she said

they’re just green
with envy
you looked away
from the girls

and saw Rolland
score another goal
and a cheer went up
but they were lost

from view
when Christina
with feverishly hot lips
kissed you.