Breakfast time
a school day
Lizbeth sits

poking at
her breakfast
scrambled egg

and sausage
tomato
her parents

sit there too
her mother
looks at her

what is up
with you now?
the mother

asks Lizbeth
nothing's up
Lizbeth says

poking egg
with a fork
I know you

my young girl
you're moody
and poking

at your food
Lizbeth stares
at the lips

moving of
her mother
more moaning

she muses
it's a boy
I expect

her father
interjects
what's a boy?

Mother asks
her bad moods
Father says-

unless he
muses it's
genetics

and she's got
her mother's
moody genes-

what boy's this
Lizbeth dear?
Mother asks

-Lizbeth thinks
of the boy
Benedict

and how she's
attempted
to have hot

*** with him
umpteenth times
without one

successful
episode-
not a boy

Lizbeth says
forking in
scrambled egg

just Monday
and the blues
and I'm on

on what Liz?
Father asks
looking out

over his
newspaper-
on the rag

Auntie's come
periods
bleeding lots

she muses-
Lizbeth stares
at Father

in that way
that she has
and he says

o I see
and looks back
at the big

newspaper
something more
Mother says

more than that
you've not got
pregnant

with a boy
have you Liz?
No I've not

Lizbeth storms
spitting egg
throwing down

her steel fork
on the plate
I've just said

that I'm on
and would I
just have ***

just like that
without you
knowing all

before me?
what about
that Benny

you talk of
he's a boy?
Mother says

Lizbeth sighs
I am still
a ******

innocent
of all crimes
she utters

just moody
Father says
like most girls

Lizbeth picks
up her fork
and eats more

scrambled egg
and thinks of
Benedict

and how she
tried to get
him to have

*** with her
on her bed
some weeks back

but he said
not like this
not just now

we're too young
but Mother
knows there's more

than just moods
and studies
the young girl

as she eats
wondering
if Liz has

with that boy
signs are there
she muses

but deep down
the mother
refuses

to accept
such could be
and sips tea

Lizbeth stares
at her plate
thinks of ***

with Benny
when it comes
if it comes

and what place
it might be
lifts her cup

and sips tea.

Lizbeth sits
in the bath
sponges down

and under
her thin arms
over small

but full *******
soapy suds
hot water

pretending
Benedict
is washing

between thighs
(here she sighs)
wiggles her

two big toes
she wonders
if he would

do such things
she doubts it
not the type

but she's tried
to get him
to have ***

even once
in her room
but mother

came back too
soon and spoilt
her chances

and that time
in his room
with his tank

of old bones
skeletons
and bird's eggs

and model
Spitfire
hanging down

but no ***
frustrated
she sponges

along thighs
imagining
it is he

rubbing her
his warm lips
planting hot

wet kisses
on the back
of her hand

touch on touch
O too much
if was such.

Feel right here
Lizbeth says
pointing her

sensual
finger there
and she dreams

she's lying
on a beach
and he's there

Benedict
beside her
and she takes

his finger
and lets it
feel the place

she wants felt
like spreading
special cheese

and watching
it warming
slowly melt.

Lizbeth had hoped that getting Benedict to the small church on a week day during the holidays might be the moment of truth or sexuality which to her was the same thing the thing she had wanted ever since she'd read the book given to her by a girl in a higher form all about *** and the whole aspect it involved and with pictures and since she first saw Benedict that day at school getting off a school bus and passing her by but getting him to the church was one thing she still had to persuade him to make love there on one of the side pews not too wide and not particularly comfortable and to do that was another thing and having got him there riding on their bikes and entering the church she had pretended architectural interests he walked just ahead of her looking around running a hand over the top of the pews as he went then he paused and said it's quite small and looked at her she looked at the pew she thought might be best for the love making she crept in and sat down he came and sat next to her she patted the pew and said we could do it here? do what? make love he frowned at her looked back at the door at the back then at the altar end we can't why not? some one may come in no one comes in here weekdays they might she looked at him putting on her sad gaze we could do it no one will know he shifted away from her along the pew no I can't can't or won't? she pulled up the hem of her red dress to reveal a sight of her thigh to catch his eye can't do it here some old dear may come in and see us and have a heart attack so? what a way to go having witnessed that he stood up and walked along the aisle she pulled the hem of her dress down and sat gazing at him you disappoint me I never said I would I never even thought about it I never think about it she shifted along the pew I always think about it I dream about it even in class during a boring maths lesson I think about it he walked to the altar end and peered at the brass cross on an altar this is God's house we can't do that kind of thing why not? it's only an empty church a sepulchre of a dead God she said he stared at her sitting in the pew in her red dress her hair pulled tight in a ponytail that look of sulkiness about her he knew she was determined but this was not the place if any place was with her and he didn't want to not yet best go he said she looked at him pouting her lips not yet just stay awhile he shook his head and walked down the aisle towards the back door and turned to look at her coming? she sighed the effort had failed the scheme had not worked she felt empty as if it had been a waste of her time and effort where then? where can we go? he went out of the church door and was gone from sight she swore and got up and out of the pew and out the door to follow him he was standing by a gravestone by the side of the church and she stood beside him gazing at the gravestone the writing was almost worn away the name and dates illegible that's how we all end up she said buried and dead we'd best get back to the farm I’m helping with the milk weighing later he said and he walked down the narrow pathway to get to their bikes and she followed staring at his back at his blue shirt and jeans and wished they had done it even if only a quickie and so they got on their bikes and rode back towards the farm along narrow lanes with high hedges each side she sensing disappointment and thinking of *** with an empty feeling inside.

Lizbeth walked home from school in a mood passed shops without looking in the windows as she usually did walked past Mrs Hooley without her usual chat about her cat up the pathway to the cottage into the back door passed her mother in the kitchen who was preparing dinner barely taking note of her mother's words of welcome and criticism about her bedroom and the mess there and up the stairs to her room where she opened the door and closed it behind almost in one motion and throwing her school satchel to the floor lay down on her double bed and stared at the ceiling crossing her legs at the ankles how could he tell her the ****** queen about us in the church and the pew and wanting to have ***? What was he thinking wait until I see him next how could he? She fumed and uncrossed her legs and looked at the curtains moving in the slight wind that came through the open window bringing to mind the girl Jane confronting her in the girl's toilets at school at afternoon break and saying how could you tempt Benedict in a church of all places? Tempt him with what? Lizbeth had asked *** Jane had said blushing as she said the word as if it was too hot for her mouth to stay there too long what do you mean ***? Lizbeth had asked looking at the girl with her brown eyes peering and he dark hair tied back in a ponytail he said you tricked him into going to the church and tempted him with having *** on a pew Jane said standing stiff and if the words had temporarily frozen her Lizbeth had gazed past the girl hoping another girl would enter and end the conversation what's it to you? Lizbeth said did you want him first then? The girl Jane blushed more and looked away then walked out of the toilets tearful Lizbeth put her hands behind her head and looked at the room at the picture of Elvis pinned to the wall-much to her parents' disapproval- at the mirror of the tall boy where she could see herself laying there like another self in parallel world he'd seek out Benedict and have a word with him how could he let that ***** Jane know all the details about them and that day in the church and about the *** bit that was a bit low and what a waste of time it had been anyway all that way on their bikes and he wasn't a bit interested in the idea and she had been so wanting to so warmed up for it and wore her short skirt especially and o how she fumed that day on the way home on her bike it wasn't as if she slept with other boys in fact she hadn't had *** with anyone yet in fact she didn't want *** with just anyone she wanted to have *** the first time with him with Benedict and she was till a ****** still untouched still boiling over especially when she saw him at school or when she cycled to his parent's cottage in the hamlet a few miles away and all he wanted was to show her bird's eggs or nests or butterflies or dead animals bones she sat up on her bed and sighed she'd read the book on *** that the girl at school had lent her with its long words and vivid diagrams and photos she'd read it cover to cover and absorbed the diagrams and photos so well that she could bring them to mind when she felt the time was ripe she moved to the side of her bed and remembered the day she'd managed to get him into her room when her parents were out and still he wouldn't agree to *** even though her bed was there and ready and she had begun to undress before him and still he refused leaving her at boiling point and then her mother had returned early from the shops and well that was it the chance blown and having to pretend to her mother that she was just showing Benedict her record collection-not that she believed- she stood up and took off her school uniform before dinner standing in front of the mirror pretending Benedict was watching her from the bed behind her egging her saying get them off get them off but she knew he never would he'd look out the window or close his eyes and momentarily she stood there gazing at herself standing there in her small bar and underwear wishing he was there behind her on the bed and watching but he wasn't there just her teddy bear laying there disinterestedly gazing into space she took out a blouse from her chest of drawers and a skirt and put them on kicking her school uniform into a corner in a mood hoping he mother wasn't going moan at he rover dinner or her father yak on about his day at work and who he met and who did what and to whom she stood there and gazed at her red hair and few freckles and her eyes staring at her how could he say that to her of all people? That ****** queen? I could have slapped her one I should have done slapped her innocent stare off her ****** face but she liked him liked his hazel eyes that quiff of hair that stare that smile so Elvis like o to have him here to have him in my bed o to have it with him her mother called her for dinner her mother's voice breaking into her thoughts breaking up her desires and wishes like a brick through a window she sighed blew kiss to herself in the mirror and walked down the stairs in her mood wanting *** and Benedict not her mother's company or food.

It was raining
and we were in
the school assembly hall
waiting
for the school buses
to take us home

Lizbeth put her hands
around my waist
and said
guess who?

Mrs G
with the stutter?
I said

she released her hands
and I turned around
no it's me
she said

I guess as much
I said

why did you say
Mrs G?

the first name
that came
into my head
I said

she frowned
then looked around
the hall

how long
before your bus comes?
she asked

shouldn't be long

I wish
there was a room
in this **** school
we could go

why's that?
I asked

she looked at me
seriously
and drew me
away
from other kids nearby

so we could
she said

could what?

you know

play cards?

no
you know
her voice
was a whisper
but a heavy loaded one

play strip poker?

she spelt out the words
with her lips
S-E-X

O I see
I said

I tried hard
to imagine
any room
for such a purpose
but she looked
around the hall
as if a magic room
would appear

can't have it all
I guess
I said

hey Benny
a voice called
the bus is coming

sorry got to go
I said to Lizbeth
try not
to carry on
without me

and I went through
the crowd of kids
and prefects
to the exit
and out through the rain
to the bus
that was waiting

I thinking of Lizbeth
and her need
for *** and mating.

She crosses fields to find him,
passing cows, over low fences,
along dust tracks. He's probably
at the farm, his mother said, he

works there after school some
days and at week ends if he has
time to spare, so she goes there,
her bike parked by the cottage

wall, on foot, treading her way,
warm morning, Saturday. He
sees her coming through the farm,
dressed in jeans, blouse and boots,

her red hair tied in a bunch, hands
in her pockets, mouth chewing gum.
Farm hands view her a she passes,
their eyes feeding on her swaying

behind, her tiny ****, not knowing
13 years had scarcely gone, then
turn away, back to their work of
milking cows or weighing milk

or cleaning cow sheds of **** and
straw. Your mother said I'd find
you here, Lizbeth says, eyeing
him, his face and eyes and the

way he stands. He views her,
sensing her non-countryside ways,
a towny, others'd say. Just doing
a bit, he says, got hay bales to

stack, tidy and lay. Can I help?
she says, I’ve nothing much to do?
If you like, he says, and walks
along to the barn and she follows,

swaying her hips, holding her
head to one side. He shows her
the hay bales, where they need
to be and how to stack. It smells

in here, she says, heat of hay,
he says, gets stuffy. She runs a hand
over the nearest bales. Soft enough,
she says, looking at him, her eyes

focusing, sniffing the air. Soft enough
for what? He says. To lay on, cuddle
on, she say softly. Best not, he says,
others may come. Not up there, she

says, pointing to a higher place above
their heads, there we'd not been seen.
Best not, he says, they want me for
work not to laze or shirk. She pouts

her lips, walks about the barn, touching
with her fingers, running palms over
the bales. Just a little while, she says,
unbuttoning her blouse, needn't be long,

fingers slowly working the buttons.
There's mice and rats about, he says,
could be anywhere in here. She pauses,
her fingers still, her eyes enlarging.

Here? she asks. He nods, seen them
about, a few hours ago. She buttons
up her blouse, gazing around. Shame,
she says, wanted to, you know, here

in the quiet, us alone. He stands and
gazes, takes in her slim frame, her eyes,
her hands holding each other and
squeezing. Another time maybe, she

says, some other place, somewhere
that's quiet, where we'd not be disturbed.
He nods, viewing her small *******
tidied away, at least for the day, like

small babes put to bed, and tucked
up safe and sound. She kisses his cheek,
touches his arm, see you, she says softly,
see you around, and she walks way,

her swaying behind, tight in her jeans,
walking through dust and hay, see you,
she says, blowing a kiss, another day.

Lizbeth's hand
is on the metal ring handle
to the church door.
The hand twists.

Hard to move,
jerks, pushes.
The door gives
and they are in.

Smell of oldness
and damp.
He closes the door
behind them, his

hand giving gentle push.
It clicks, holds firm.
Small and old,
the walls a fading white.

Old beams, pews,
altar table clothed
in white a cloth.
She looks around,

eyes scanning,
hands by her side,
fingers of one hand
holding her blue dress.

He follows, footsteps
after hers, scans her
before him, the walls,
the old wood pews.

They stop and turn
and look back
at the smallness
of the church.

Here will do,
she says,
pointing to a pew.
He shakes his head,

we can't, not here,
people may come.
No one comes here,
except on the monthly

Sunday or the odd
visitor or tourist.
He scans the pew,
old wood, wood knots.

Who's to know?
She asks. He walks
down the aisle
touching pew tops.

She watches him,
his reluctance,
his hesitation.
Some boys would

jump at the chance,
she says. But not
here, he says, turning
to face her, not in

a church, on a pew.
Some might, she says,
running a hand
over the pew top.

They had parked
their cycles outside,
at the back
of the church wall.

The sun shines through
the glass windows.
What if someone
comes and finds us?

She smiles. Moves
towards him.
Touches his face.
Imagine their faces,

she says. No, I can't,
he says, not here.
He stares at her,
her smile, her eyes

focusing on him,
her red hair loose,
about her shoulders,
her blue dress,

knee length,
white ankle socks,
brown sandals.
We're only 13,

he says, shouldn't
even be thinking
of such things,
let alone doing them.

His body language
tells the same.
She gazes at him,
his short hair,

his eyes wide
with anxiety,
his grey shirt,
jeans, old shoes.

We'd always
remember it,
she says, here
on a pew, me

and you, this
small church.
We could come back
years later

and view
our love scene.
No, he says,
not here, not

anywhere.
He looks at
the walls,
the roof,

the pews,
the altar table,
white cloth,
brass crucifix.

She sighs, looks
at the pew,
imagines the place,
the area of pew.

He and she.
But it is just
imagination,
mere thought,

she has not so far,
nor he, just an
impulse on her part,
an urge, a hot

compulsion to
experience,
experiment.
Let's go, he says.

Wait, she says,
let's just sit
in the pew,
just sit.

He studies her,
her eyes lowered,
her smile gone.
Ok, he says,

and they enter
a pew and sit.
The sunlight
warms them.

He looks at
the high windows,
at sunlight.
She sits and looks

at the brass crucifix,
the distorted Christ,
the head to one side.
She wonders how

they would have done it,
he and she, here,
on this pew.
She is unfocused.

She feels the sun
on her. Blessed,
she thinks, maybe.
He feels a sense

of gain and loss.
He has stepped
to an edge,
stepped back,

gazed into
a dark abyss.
She turns to him,
leans to him,

thank you,
she says.
They close eyes,
lips kiss.

Lizbeth *****
her finger
imagines

it belongs
to the boy
Benedict

with eyes closed
savouring
each flavour

part salty
vinegar
(having ate

fish and chips
earlier)
tomato

of ketchup
the red thrills
***** deeper

whole mouthfuls
of finger
thinking on

that church pew
old dark wood
where they could

but didn't
have made love
she ***** slow

finger length
the painted
finger nail

salty still
each flavour
so distinct

even in
her chosen
warm darkness

of closed eyes
she passes
over both

her knuckles
warm wet skin
imagines

so hotly
between thighs
him within.

Lizbeth cycled in from the town
and set her bike
against a fence
and asked your mother

where you were
out somewhere
your mother told her
bird watching

or digging up old bones
in the woods
oh ok
Lizbeth said

and walked back out
on the dusty road
and walked down
the small lane

by the cottages
birds calling
mostly rooks
high up

in the trees
or the flutter of wings
as birds flew
from hedgerows

at her approach
she trod carefully
between the cow pats
on the lane down

her black Wellingtons
touching the hem
of her black skirt
the green top

short sleeved
showing
her thin arms
a steam ran slowly

on her right
over pebbles
and stones
and weeds

and then she saw you
by a tree
looking up
through binoculars

unaware
of her approach
didn't know
you bird watched

she said
breaking
into your world
of birds and nature

with her words
you gazed at her
her red hair
drawn tightly

into a ponytail
at the back
of her head
her freckled skin

the greeny eyes
not much else
to do
you said

us London boys
have a lot to learn
in this
off the beaten track

of a place
she nodded
and stared
her eyes focusing in

at the bird book
in your hand
and binoculars
around your neck

what's London like?
she asked
like Dante's Inferno
you replied

whose?
she said
who the heck is he
when he's at home?

you walked towards her
tucking the bird book
in the back pocket
of your jeans

Italian poet
you said
wrote the Divine Comedy
you added

she raised her eyebrows
and gave you
that I'm none the wiser stare
thought I'd come

and see you
out of school
she said
remembered

your address
nice of you to come
you said
unsure why she'd come

to this neck
of nowhere land
I saw your mother
Lizbeth said

she told me
you'd be bird watching
or digging up bones
in the woods

she had that
I'm getting bored look
the way she stood
don't get the chance

to talk with you
at school
what with
the separate playgrounds

and nosey kids in class
thinking there's
a big romance
if you talk

to a member
of the opposite ***
she looked older
than her 13 years

much older than you
being the same age
and the boys
are pretty much

dumb arses in class
except for you
she added
looking at you

with her green eyes
want to see
my collection
of bird eggs

and old bones?
you said
where are they?
she asked

in my bedroom
you replied
oh
she said

odd place
to keep old bones
nowhere else
to keep them

you said
ok
she said
and walked with you

up the country lane
and in the gate
and along the path
to the cottage door

will your mother mind?
she asked
why should she?
you asked

no reason
just that my mother
would give you
the third degree

under a bright light
she said
you took her
in the back door

taking off
the muddy boots
and so did she
standing there

in her white socks
just taking Lizbeth
to see the old bones
and bird eggs

you told your mother
ok
she said giving Lizbeth
a quick glance

don't let him bore you
to death
your mother added
with a smile

Lizbeth smiled too
and followed you up
the narrow stairs
to your small bedroom

she looked around
the room
at the wooden
chest of drawers

and double bed
who sleeps
in the bed with you?
she asked

my younger brother
you said
oh
she said

staring
at the small window
that gave view
of the garden below

and the fields beyond
you showed her
the bird eggs
you'd collected

and the old bones
from the woods
kept in a glass tank
you handed her

a blackbird egg
it lay in the palm
of her hand
it looked good

and blended well
with her soft skin
and lifeline
and headlines

across the hand
fragile isn't it?
she said
bit like my heart

she added softly
she handed back the egg
and wiped her hand
on her skirt

removing invisible
or imaginary dirt
what do you do
when not watching birds

or digging for bones?
she asked
get the cows in
from the fields

or help weigh
the milk
or help my father
in the garden

or go for walks
on the Downs
you said
you certainly know

how to live
on the wild side
she said
oh not always

you said
sometimes
it can get
quite boring

and I have to read books
or watch TV
she smiled
do you think

about girls?
she asked
not much
you said

why's that?
she asked
what's to think about?
you said

seldom see them
out here in the wilds
and at school
there's little time

or opportunity
or too many
complications
or too many

ears and noses
and eyes
what about now?
here now?

she said
gazing at you
and the double bed
what about now

and here?
you asked
putting away the egg
in the tank

and closing
the lid
to keep out air
or dust

she frowned
and sighed
as if a moment
had burned out

or an old world
had died.

Lizbeth stood in front
of the tall mirror
inside her mother's wardrobe  

she was wearing
a short black dress
her hair was tied
in a bun at the back

I stood watching her
uncertain why
we were in her parents' bedroom
and why she was *******
her mother’s clothes
hanging on hangers inside

I looked around the room
a big bed made tidily
a chest of drawers  
a built in cupboard
a picture on the wall
opposite the bed
of some country scene
and above the bed
a huge crucifix
made from wood
with a plaster Christ

look at this one
Lizbeth said

I looked at her hand
taking out a long red dress
she held it up
then put in front of herself
and turned to face me

what do you think?

it's a bit gaudy
I said

shall I try it on?

no I can see
what it would
look like on you
I said

she sniffed it
she must bathe
in **** scent
Lizbeth said

she did a spin
holding the dress
against her
how do I look in it?

she's taller than you
it'll fit her better
I said

not so sure
Lizbeth said
hold this

I held the dress in my hand
she unzipped her black dress
at the back
and pulled the black dress
over her head
and stood there
in a white bra and *******

give it here
she said
and taking the dress
she put it on
her own black dress
was on the floor
here zip me up
at the back
she said

I zipped her up
at the back
watching the straps
of the white bra disappear
as I zipped her up

she turned on the spot
and looked at herself
in the tall mirror

well? how do I look now?

well at least
it's longer
than your own black dress
I said

it came to her ankles
she looked down at it
yes too ****** long
she said
unzip me Benny
she said

I unzipped her
seeing the strap
of the white bra
come back into view

she pulled the dress
over her head
and put it back
on the hanger

she stood there
in bra and *******
how do I look now?

undressed
I said

do you like me
like this?

I feel kind of
uncomfortable
you standing like that
I said

why do you feel
uncomfortable?

what if your parents
come home now
and see you like this
and me here with you
and you in your underclothes?

she smiled
guess they'll feel
uncomfortable then
she said

I picked up her black dress
best out it on
I said

now?

yes now

my parent's bed is over there
all made up and fresh
and waiting for us
she said sexily

I stood holding
the black dress in my hand
where are your parents?

out some place

when will they be back?

don't know

best get your dress on
and out of their room
I said

what about my room?
the bed's smaller
and unmade
and the room's untidy
but we can still
do it there?

I heard voices from downstairs
is that them back?
I said in a low voice

Lizbeth pulled a face
**** me yes
let's get to my room
and so she put
the red dress back
in the wardrobe
and shut it up

and we rushed across
the landing to her room
and shut the door
behind us

I looked around her room
it was as she said
untidy
the bed unmade
books
LPs
soiled washing
over the floor
and the curtains unopened

that was kind of close
she said

yes
I said

downstairs the voices
were loud
and a row seemed
to be going on
but Lizbeth seemed unconcerned
standing there
in her white *******
and bra
holding the black dress
gazing towards
the unmade bed

but I had other problems
swimming around
inside my teenage head.

Nima doesnt see why she held be in a psychiatric ward when shes not psychiatric in any form whatsoever shes a drug addict for ***** sake pure and simple and she ought to be elsewhere but not here with these other people who do have problems but even to say the word to her parents drug addict sends them to panic and a form of denial better to have mental issues and tucked in here rather than have her their daughter labelled as a drug addict once her father- a doctor- when she was young would smack her if she crossed any boundaries he made for her but when she had grown that didnt work any more especially after the last time when he tried it and she bit his thumb and he slapped her face and she kicked his shins sending hoping around the room like loony dancer since then he had given up on any form of outer control and her mother also a doctor never knew how to control her daughter once she was out of nappies they had her put here not quite sectioned but as near as they could and visited hardly ever although her mother did come a few times out of curiosity but stayed only to see how Nima was doing or not as the case was and left Nima sits in the lawn area beyond the French windows in one of the white metal chairs around a circular metal white table smoking staring at the buildings glass and bricks and concrete and at a man sitting on the grass staring at his hands she looks away just in case he looks at her last time she saw him outside he had his ***** in his hands but not this time just his hands this time she feels like fix but there is no way to have one and the difficulties she has had getting though her days without a fix is like being emptied out and squeezed and left to dry and she wants and wants and a nurse comes out dressed in blue her hair tied in a ponytail and walks towards her in swagger have you taken your pills? pills? your medication the nurse says no I dropped them down the loo Nima says youve got to take your medication why didnt you take your medication? the nurse says irritably I just need a fix Nima says not medication youre here to get you off those drugs and the medication is there to help the nurse says I dont want drugs to get me off drugs I want the fix I like Nima says those are illegal drugs its against the law the nurse states standing hands on hips staring at Nima there is moment of silence Nima looks back at the man staring at his hands holding his ***** I want whatever medication he's on Nima says pointing to the man on the grass  the nurse follows Nimas finger and says no no Eric not here and runs towards Eric waving her hands in the air Nima looks away and smiles and takes a hug intake of smoke from the cigarette and wishes Benedict would come he would break the monotony of her life bring her cigarettes and chocolates and maybe a kiss or so and she lies back in the chair and closes her eyes and dismisses the voice of the nurse and Eric cursing at her and being taken back indoors much against his will she tries to bring to mind the time Benedict came and she sneaked him along to the small broom cupboard along by the corridor-unused on Sundays- and there they had a ****** quickie amongst brooms and mops and buckets and just enough room to lay and **** and she in a nightie lifted up and ******* tossed aside on a broom handle and he there unsure but at her in the short space and time allowed she opens her eyes and stares at the trees planted here and there on the green lawn no one knew but she guessed the nurses suspected when the cleaner on the Monday found a pair of her ******* on a broom handle-she hadnt missed them until later and forgot where shed left them- now they watch her and the cupboard and Benedict when he comes especially the head nurse who Nima suspects is a *** starved woman and is jealous that a patient gets it when she cant she stubs the cigarette end out on the white table top and lets it fall on the grass she sits and stares clothed in the blue nightgown they have given her over her white nightdress-in case she should attempt to escape without permission- some nights she lies in her bed in the ward in the semi-dark and wants a fix and *** and as the fix is out of the question she thinks of Benedict and pretends hes there beside her in her bed- ignoring the snores and mutters of other girls and women- and attempts a rather poor organism imaging it is Benedict there and not her fingers bringing her to a climate of sorts the nurse is there again swaggering over the grass towards her you have to take your medication again doctors orders the nurse says are you sure you discarded them? what? my *******? Nima says smiling no your medication have you really discarded them? Nima shrugs and says cant remember may have done she says looking at the nurses face the nurse inhales breath and stands hands on hips if you were my daughter Id...Words were lost...the sun was hot over head...white clouds...Benedict where you? well make sure you take the next medication I shall watch you like a hawk the nurse says walking away Nima raises her middle digit in a gesture at the departing back the same digit that brought her to a higher plane maybe to night she muses itll do it again.

She crosses her legs,
one leg over the other,
dividing the dressing gown,
her foot dangling,
the pink slipper,
half hanging there.

The ward light
has no shade,
the light is naked
and bare and bright.

She gazes
at her reflection
in the window pane;
outside the darkness
of late evening.

I sit beside her;
we are both
in the frame
of the window pane.

I heard of your
latest drama,
she says,
had the nurses
rushing around
like headless hens.  

You know
how it gets you.

There's always
a different door,
the quack told me.

What's he know,
except what he's ******
from books?

These
are my dumb medals.

She shows me
her scars;
they are like bracelets
around her wrists
and along her arm.

Where'd you get
the cord?
she asks.

Framer had one
on his dressing gown;
they never
checked him.

Heads will roll.

Almost did it,
I say,
looking at the guy
looking at me.

So I thought
when I sliced
into my flesh
last time;
matter of time
I told the quack;
he wasn’t impressed.

I take her hand
and run a finger
along the scars.

Smooth, soft,
pinkie-white,
whiter than the rest.

She uncrosses her legs,
then crosses them again,
different leg over,
foot dangling,
slipper stained by blood
hanging half off.

Who are they?
Yiska asks
pointing to
the two reflected images
gazing back at us,
male and female.

Poor sods,
like Dante's souls
in the Second Circle,
I say.

She turns her head;
the female image
before us
turns away.

Will it always be thus?
Grief pain stabs, unguts,
turns and turns;
all ifs and buts.

I sleep in the hope
to see you; have to be
drugged to sleep
and I can't remember,
my son, if I have seen
you or caressed or not;
enough to make my soul rot.

Dawn does not excite;
evening stretches before me
with its orange tang
and mellow
sickening glow.  

What was it like
those final hours
of wakefulness?
Should have been there,
if I’d known, I’d have stayed.

Human mistake
I’m afraid,
at least on my part,
wounded soul,
broken heart.

Your Stoic soul
sails on,
no doubt;
you'd have made
old Seneca proud;
me, too,
the way you coped
with all and more.

You are out
on that eternal sea,
my son,
I’m here
stuck
on this
lonesome shore.

The show's not over
till the fat lady snores,
I should know,
I was there, 1973  
or 74 and Mahler
still playing
on her Hi-Fi,
the last movement
of the Ist symphony.

We liked that, made
love to it, wondering
what Gustav
would have made
of that, the fat dame
and me, empty
whiskey glasses
on the table, curtains
drawn against
the night sky and moon.

The first time
she snored,
her soft whiskey breath,
her globes caught
in moon's glow,
her closed eyes
like upturned shells.

Her Scottish tongue
soft but sharp, her
flab sufficient
to keep warm
if needed,
but it was along ago,
she's gone now,
so I heard, my fat
dame lover, my ***
making love bird.

Mr Bedlows
showed you around
the old folk’s home
the day had begun

at the new job
the smell of *****
and old age
drifted by the nostrils

the dimly lit passageway
he opened a door
morning Mr Grigg
morning Mr Mash

he said
to the old men
sitting on beds
then off

you both went again
more doors opened
other old men
welcomed

downstairs and up
the passageways
like circles
of Dante’s Hell

the old men gazed
at you as you entered
their aged eyes
followed you

about their room
you the young guy
the wet-behind- the-ears
young thing

they’d seen wars
fought in trenches
seen men killed
blown apart

mind damaged
body’s crippled
soul’s laid bare
smoke and death

in the air
I’ll leave you with Sidney
Mr Bedlows said
and went closing the door

trapping you
with smell and age
and Sidney’s stare
half hour later

having cleaned him up
and washed and dried
and clothed him neat
you set him on his way

with walking frame
and slow pace
for him
another dreary day

for you the beginning
the other men
to coax
or dress

or wash
or comb the hair
or set them
on their walk

with old timers
chatter
or idle
long ago talk.

Someone special Della’s
mother told her. A Downs
with a lovely smile and
bright, slightly narrow eyes.

She had waited outside
the school grounds when
her mother drove up.

Sorry I’m late, her mother
said, got caught in the traffic.

Della frowned, her tongue
sitting on her lower lip.

Man said you sent him,
Della said. What man?
Man in a car. What man
in a car? Della looked at
her mother, puzzled.

Man in the car. What did
he say? Said you sent him
to pick me up. Called me
Dearie. But I’m Della.

Her mother got out of the
car and went and knelt
down beside her daughter.

You didn’t get in the car did you?
No he drove off fast when
Mrs Penbridge came over.

He said I was Dearie, but
I’m Della. Yes, you are. Not
Dearie. No not Dearie.

He smiled at me. You mustn’t
get in to a stranger’s car
unless I tell you it’s all right.

I didn’t get in. Good. He
drove off, Della said, lowering
her eyes to her new shoes.

He smiled. Yes, but that
doesn’t mean he was nice.

He seemed nice. Yes, but
men like that aren’t. Why?
Della looked at her mother.

Because he may have hurt you.
Why would he hurt me, I’m
special. Yes, you are special.

You are angry with me. No,
not with you. You’ve got
your angry voice. Not with
you. Seems angry with me.

Not you, the man. Why are
you angry with the man?
Because he may have taken
you away from me. Della
looked at her mother’s hair,
newly done. Where? Where
would he have taken me?

Away from me. Why?
Because he’s bad. Her
mother held Della to her
tightly. He didn’t look bad,
he had a nice smile. Nice
car, too. Blue. Nice blue.
Like a summer sky blue.

Never get in a stranger’s car.
Never. You are angry. Not
with you. Sounds angry.

But not with you. Not
with me? No, you are
special. Special. Yes.

Very special? Yes, very
special. Not to get in a
stranger’s car? No. Not in
a stranger’s car. I got in
your friend’s car the other day.

What friend? The man who
brings your groceries and
you and he talk and he makes
you laugh. Her mother stared.

When did you get in his car?
The other day. Why did you
get in his car? He said, you said.
Did he drive off with you? Yes.
The mother held Della out in
front of her. Where to? We
went to look at the ducks in
the pond. Why did you get
in the car? He said, you said.

But I didn’t tell him that.
He said, you said. Did he
touch you? Touch me? Did
he touch you anywhere?

He held my hand to go to
the ducks. Anywhere else?
He said I was special. You
are. Did he touch you anywhere?  
My hand. Anywhere else?

No. Just my hand to feed
the ducks. What happened
after you saw the ducks?

He said I was special. Where
did he drive you? I thought
Mrs Rice was going to pick
you up that day? I went
with your friend. Did he
touch you? He held my hand.

Anywhere else? Della shook
her head. He said I was pretty
and had nice legs. Her mother’s
heart thumped. Am I pretty?
Yes you are, but he shouldn’t
have said so. Why not? He
didn’t mean it nicely. Why?

Because he shouldn’t tell
you that. Why? Because he’s
no right to say you’re pretty.

You say I’m pretty. I love you.
He said I was pretty and had
nice legs. Did he touch your legs?
No he just looked at them.
Nice legs he said and nice eyes.

Have I got nice legs and eyes?
Yes you have but he shouldn’t
say so. You’re angry again.
Not with you. Seems like me.

It’s not. Seems like. I’m not.
Seems like. Never get in his
car again. Della looked at
the sky. I won’t. It looked like rain.

It looked like rain.

Sky dark and dim.

Yiska stood
in the playground
waiting to see Benedict
get off the school bus.

She needed to see him
before lessons began
or there would be
little chance if it rained.

She had prayed
-at least in mind-
for dry weather
and clear skies,
but it didn't
seem promising.

Kids passed on
their way into
school playgrounds:
boys into theirs,
girls into theirs.

Why couldn't
they mix?
She mused.

One school bus
came in,
but not his,
his was a different bus
than that which arrived.

More kids walked past.

She sighed.

Scratched a thigh,
brushed fingers
through her hair.

Then it came in
around the bend.

She searched
the windows,
hoping he
was coming,
hoping he'd
be first off
not last as he
was sometimes.

He was last,
head down,
hand in pockets,
looking at the ground
in deep thought.

She hoped he'd
looked up as
he went by.

She hoped.

She wondered.

Benedict,
she called,
peering through
the wire fence.

He looked up
and smiled.

Can we talk?
She asked.

Yes, sure,
he said
and he followed her
along the fence
as she looked
for space where
it was free of girls.

Looks like rain,
she said,
looking at the sky,
then at him.

Yes, it does,
he said,
peering at her
through the fence,
wishing it wasn't there.

Won't see you much
if it rains, if at all,
she said.

He leaned near
as he could,
poked a finger
through a hole
and she touched
his finger with hers.

No, unless we
arrange to meet
some place
in the school
at lunchtime.

Yes, but where?
She said,
getting her lips
as close to the fence
as was possible.

He leaned in closer
their lips touched
between the small gap
in the wire fence.

Gym?
He suggested.

Too busy,
she replied,
always keep-fit freaks
in there lunchtimes.

He mused feeling
her lips again.

Warm, wet.

A bell rang.

They parted
and she said,
look out for me.

He nodded
and the girls lined up
in classes.

He walked
off quickly
into the boys playground
around the school building,
thinking of her,
sensing the dampness
of her lips on his,
taking one last glimpse
of her as he passed,
the bell
was still ringing,
but he couldn't
be arsed.

Looking back
at that time
everything

falls in place,
but drawn out,
slow motion,

nightmare like
in its depth,
in your death.

You, my son,
so passive,
so Stoic

when we spoke
that last time,
no panic

in your face
or your eyes.
I panicked,

seeing you
so bloated
that I rowed

with the nurse.
You, my son,
sitting there

sipping juice
out of breath,
said little,

felt tired,
eyes closing,
I thought you

were dozing,
but unknown
to us there,

death was near,
close at hand
in the air.

He folds the newspaper,
puts it down, lights up
a cigarette.  The papers

still feed the usual crap,
withhold the truth, Joe
Public never gets to see

the real, the underlying
**** beyond the print.
Wars, big or small, have

the same underlying truth,
not seen or known except
those at the front or on

the ground, or those, like
him, who’ve seen the crap
the big boys at the top relay.

Bill inhales, as the young
guy in the bed beyond sleeps.
One of the perks, a good ****,

no shortage when you know
who to call and who is in
the know.  His father had

the U.S. flag framed neat on
the wall, spouted proudly
the American Way, dreamed

of things improving, sky’s
the limit, he used to say, in
that slow John Wayne way.

Bill exhales, flicks ash, thinks
on the young guy asleep,
the naked arm on the cover,

eyes shut, tight ****. He thinks
on that young guy in East Berlin
he rubbed out, spy or such,

never ask, do the job, keep it
short and clean. He inhales deep,
the latest involvement overseas,

waste of time and lives, he muses,
take out the top guys let the ****
sheep fall after. He closes his eyes.  

He recalls the time JFK smiled at
him in passing, just before the hit,
the week after. All hush hush, lips

sealed, none spoke, rumours spread.
Men dead. A ***** game it all is, he
sighs, opens his eyes, all *******, all lies.

Yehudit paused
momentarily
on her way
to the store

her husband
at her side

she looked over
it was him
by the fountain
sitting there

older now like she
but still he
Benny

she tried to take in
what she could

the Elvis quiff of hair
had gone
and what was left
was greying close

he had a stick
holding it
against him

her husband
looked around
but didn't comprehend
the rush of blood
to her head
her quickening
of pulse

she walked on
Benny had seen
and smiled
and she smiled back

almost within
that school girl again
seeing him
and that first kiss
that Christmas
many decades before
moonlight
clouds
grey

some were singing carols
but he and she
ah yes
that was something else
she recalled

but no more
and she
and her husband
entered the store.

Elaine dreamed of John;
she twisted and turned
in her sleep,
enfolded in the sheets
and blankets,
embracing her pillow.

But now
sitting on the school bus,
she knows
she won’t tell him,
won’t mention
any aspects
of the dream to him.

He's there
a few seats away
on her right;
sitting and talking
to the Goldfinch boy.

She watches him,
safe in her distant seat,
unseen by him;
his eyes on something
Goldfinch shows him.

In the dream
he had kissed her
and she had liked it,
and still senses it
on her lips,
brushing her lips
with the back
of her hand,
trying to relive
the dream.

Later as they get off
the bus
he turns to her
and looks at her.

I dreamed of you
last night.

She blushes,
looks beyond him,
sees her sister walk on,
chatting to another girl;
she looks back at him.

Did you?

He nods.

Colourful dream.

Was it?

Yes, we were alone together
and not at school;
some other place.

She tries to control
her blushing,
but finds it difficult;
her dream of him
seeming so real.

Where was it?

Never saw it before.

What happened?

He looks behind him,
then back at her.

I kissed you.

Did you?

Her words are so fragile
they barely make it
to the air.

Yes, and you liked it,
and didn't make
a fuss or walk off.

She looks at her
battered black shoes.

Was I expecting
to be kissed?

Hard to say
with dreams,
they are
kind of surreal.

Suppose they are.

She looks up at him,
takes in his
hazel eyes
and quiff
of brown hair.

Then what?  

Saw this unusual bird;
kind of like a swan,
but smaller,
less white.

She sighs
under her breath.

Bird?

Yes, odd bird.

And us?
What did we do
after the kiss?
She asks softly,
waiting for the answer,
but unsure
if she wants
to hear it.

We walked some place.

Where?

Don't know the place.

He looks at his watch.

Have to go soon,
but see you in recess?

I had a dream
about you, too.

He looks at her.
Did you?

She nods.

We kissed
in mine, too.

Was there
an odd bird
in your dream?

No, no bird;
just us and a kiss.

He looks
at his watch again.

Best be gone;
look at those clouds;
looks like rain.

Nima stares at the ward.
Nima wants to cause a scene.
She wants to raise hell.

The few nurses on duty
are not busy.
They're stuck in

an office yakking.
If she'd been sick
in the body and not

in the head or wasn't
a druggie they'd
be all over her

like sick of a baby.
Since she's backslided
and got a hit

from some idiot
she's on watch now
and not allowed out

except in the grounds.
She ***** on a cigarette
and inhales on it.

Watches the laughing nurses
in the office.
If she was able

she'd lock
the ******* in.
She walks along

the small area of grass
outside peering in.
She's no one to talk to.

The other patients
**** her off.
Talk nonsense.

She's one of the few
druggies on the ward
the others are mental cases.

Jewel's ok.
She's a manic depressive.
Gives her cigarettes.

Talks to her
in a deepness
she can almost drown in.

On a bad day
Jewel'll not talk at all
but sit staring at a wall

or lay in bed
with a blanket
over her head.

Jewel talks of ECTs.
She sees them take her off
sometimes and then

she's gone sometime
and comes back
dreary eyed and moody.

Nima wants a hit or ***
or something to break
the monotony.

Benedict said he'd come.
She waits for him.
She watches for him

at visitors time.
The few visitors that come
could fill a telephone box.

She wants him to come.
Wants him.
They had a quickie once

in a small room off
the side corridor.
Uncomfortable but good.

She peers in the ward.
A few visitors arrive
and stroll in

and some bring flowers
or chocs or nothing.
Benedict arrives

and sees her outside
and comes out to her.
Wasn't sure if you'd come

she says.
Said I would
he says.

He hands her a packet
of cigarettes
and a Mars bar.

She stuffs them
in the pocket
of her dressing gown.

They talk.
Walk on and around
the small area.

The nurses watch them.
She knows they're
being watched.

It makes her feel
wanted in an odd way.
She kisses him.

They kiss.
Her hand around
his waist her

the other hand
holding a cigarette.
He hugs her close

one hand
touching her behind.
They kiss again.

Clouds darken. Sky fills.
Looks miserable.
Looks like rain.

Dennis watched
as Miss Richie
slapped your face
and then stormed off

what was that for?
Dennis said
you rubbed your cheek
fire hot

I guess she didn't like
what I said
you replied
what did you say?

he asked
I asked her
if it was her face
or was she breaking it in

for an ape
you said
Dennis laughed
his green/blue eyes lit up

like pinball lights
what made you say that?
he said
because she would me up

and said I had a discarded look
you said
maybe you have
he said

maybe I have
but that's my face
not hers
you said

the bell rang
for morning break
and so you went down
the back stairs with him

and into the playground
and took out
your football player cards
and set down

by the far wall
and joined in the game
of flicking cards
nearest the wall

but Derek won
the first lot
and you lost
your favourite

and watched
as he handed them
into his winning pack
over in the other corner

plump Miss Richie was standing
arms folded
glaring at you
any more

for any more?
Derek said
count me in
you said

taking more cards
out of your jacket pocket
and along with Dennis
and Derek and Richard

you flicked your cards
and the game
was in play once more
Dennis's card won

and he collected the cards
on the ground
by the wall
that's me out of cards

you said
and wandered off
to where Ingrid
sat alone

by the playground steps
hair pinned back
with metal grips
her grey skirt stained

her cardigan holey
with missing buttons
her eyes brightened
when she saw you

saw you lost cards
she said
yes not my day
you said

not mine either
she said
what's up?
you said

I lost my dinner money
she said
and dad will **** me
when he finds out

where'd you lose it?
you said
don't know
I went to get it

from my bag
and it was gone
she said tearfully
you put your hand

in your trouser pocket
and took out a 2/6d coin
here have mine
you said

I can't
she said
what will you do
about your dinners?

I'll tell my mum
I lost it
you said
but she'll get angry

with you
Ingrid said
yes but she'll not **** me
or harm me

unlike your old man
you said
she took the coin
and put it

in her cardigan pocket
thank you
she said
no other boy

would do that for me
they don't like me
and call me names
she said

I like you
you said
and walked up
the stairs

to the boys' toilets
wondering how to tell
your mother
you'd lost your coin

on that Monday morning
on your way to school
as you opened the door
and entered the stall.

Lizbeth prepares for bed;
undresses, washes,
brushes teeth,
gets into bed
and turns off
the bedside lamp.

The moon light
coming through the window
makes an eerie feel
to her room.

What a waste of a day;
all dressed up
and out on her bike
to see Benedict
at the cottage.

He's gone out
with his father
to his father's work
in the woods,
his mother said,
I expect he''ll be collecting
bones and bird's eggs
and fossils in chalk.

Was he expecting you?
His mother asked.

No, Lizbeth had replied,
hiding her frustration
and anger, just came
on the off chance.

His mother said
she could come in
for a cup of tea and cake,
but Lizbeth declined
and rode back home again
in a foul four letter mood.

Then her own mother
had a go at her
about the state
of her room
and the leaving
of soiled linen everywhere
and last night's plate
and cutlery were
under your bed ,
she had moaned.

Lizbeth pulls the blanket
over her shoulder
and looks at the wall
by her bed.

She pretends he's there
beside her now;
imagines him
laying there
**** naked,
hand on her back,
his thingamajig
(she forgets
the name of it
in the book)
poking her belly;
him staring at her,
his hazel eyes
wide and ****.

She closes her eyes;
pretends he's kissing her;
his hand along her thigh;
his lips hot and wet.

What would he say?
She asks herself,
imagining him
parting her legs
(she'd read that bit
in the book)
and her father's voice
says(on the landing
outside her room)
to her mother
(moody cow)
have you put out
the cat and locked
the back door?

The imagined Benny
has gone;
the space beside her
in bed now vacant.

Her eyes are open;
the moonlight
making patterns
on the wall
and now she can't
make love to him
at all.

I never saw you today
in the playground
through the playground fence
you said as you boarded

the school bus
I was at the other end
Jane said with other girls
playing skip rope

o I wondered
where you were
you said
she sat

by the window
and you sat
next to her
well they asked me

to play and I didn't
want to say no
she said
who were you with?

West mostly
he came back  
from lunch early
and we played cards

by the metalwork rooms
not betting were you?
she asked
no

you said
if we had been
I'd have lost
as it was

I only lost cards
not money
o I see
she said

there was a fine quality
to her voice
and her words
were like a kind of music

you noticed her hands
in her lap
one laying on top
of the other

the fingernails
cut neat and pink
you wanted to hold them
but didn't want

the other kids
in the bus
to see
so you just looked

at the hands and fingers
as she talked
of some butterfly
she'd seen

in her garden
and her father
had told her
what it was

and how beautiful
it was
the colours
and the way it flew

and how it was all
a part of God's plan
and creation
but you were only

half listening
you noticed
gazing at her profile
how fine her lips were

when she spoke
how they moved
how her tongue
moved like some dancer

how her eyes
opened wide
at certain words
as if some inner explosion

had brought them to life
and they blazed
like a new world
being born

and you lost
the meaning
of her words
they were as music playing

in another sphere
you sitting there
gazing like a soul
lost at sea

at a far off ship
going a different way
and any S.O.S
you may send

was lost
in the air of the day.

All that Yakety yak,
Won’t bring the dead men back
Or cease the widow’s tears
Or the young girl’s sad fears,

Said Baldbrush, but that’s what
Happens after a while,
Once a war reaches a
Certain peak or enough’s

Been done and sufficient
Killed to make any peace
A viable option
And the primed pens be held

And the peace papers signed.
It’s that way in all wars,
Whatever the men of
History say or their

Pens write, it was that way
In Nam, and as before,
People dying, maimed, things
Done darkly as if

Insanity had held
All in its frightening
Hold, the weak and the young,
The elderly with their

Brittle frail frames and the
Brave with their forgotten
Names, sunk in the dark fields
Of battles and lost wars.

Jimmy opened his suitcase in the room
at Lourdes and said Oh no there’s molasses
all over the clothes and shoes and I’ve got

a whole week here and he sat down in a chair
his head in his hands saying What have I done?
What am I going to do for clothes now? you

went over and looked in and sure enough
the molasses were over his clothes and shoes.
What am I going to do? he said and you said

Leave it to me Jim I'll sort it and you went through
the clothes taking out the items untouched
by the molasses and set them aside on the bed

and then carried the suitcase of black sticky items
Into the washroom and there one by one you carefully
washed them through with soap and water until

they were clean and smelt of soap and fresh air
and all the while 94 year old Jim sat in a chair
watching with his eyes watery and jaw hung loose

seeing the black water run down the wide plughole
and once it was done you wrung the clothes out
like your mother used to do when you were a kid

and hung them out on the balcony on the small
clothesline and placed the washed out black shoes
by the outside wall to dry out in the hot afternoon

sun and Jimmy came over and stood on the balcony
with one hand on the rail and the other on his stick
looking over at the Pyrenees in the distance and he

said That was real good of you. I owe you big time
and you stood next to him feeling the hot afternoon
sun on your face and arms and felt good and you

said You owe me nothing Jim I just did what some
good guy would and his watery eyes swept over you
matching the French sky’s watery afternoon blue.

Hard to put into words
the extent of grief.

No cavalry of relief in sight
coming over the hill.

You, my son, those
last days, so ill.

Unlike you,
you soldier like
in life's fight.

Death took you unaware
that night
and again
the day after.

No present mirth,
no laughter,
no Shakespearean drama
set in tow,
no Chekhov way
with words,
no Ibsen dark talk,

just this, these words,
and a blown from palm kiss.

Silent words:
we love and miss.

Enid takes
a Love Heart
from the pack
I offer

she looks at
the coloured
lettering
on the sweet

what's it say?
I ask her

I love you
she replies

(not something
that a 9
old year boy

wants to hear
from a girl)

I take out
a Love Heart
from the pack

what's yours say?
she asks me

Kiss Me Quick
I read out

her dark eyes
gaze at me
shall I then?
she utters

I wouldn't
you don't know
where I’ve been
I tell her

her lips pout
then we mouth
our Love Hearts
and **** them
in silence

no one's said
I love you
about me
or to me
Enid says
seen it said
in the films
at the flicks
but one one
has said it
to my face

(I knew that
her old man
wouldn't have
said those words
her mother
couldn't form
that sentence
of warm words
for all tea
in China
I think that
but don't say
as we sit
on the top
of the brick
and concrete
bomb shelter
on the grass
of Banks House)
we swallow
the Love Hearts

have you said
kiss me quick
to a girl?
she asks me

not ever
while awake
I tell her

(what 9 year
old boy would
say such thing?)

she looks at
the black steel
railway bridge
across from
where we sit

but would you
say it now?
she utters

don't think so
I reply
another
sweet Love Heart?

I offer
from the pack
she takes one
and reads it

what's it say?
I ask her

broken heart
she tells me

I take one
from the pack

what's yours say?
she inquires

take a kiss
I reply

her dark eyes
feed on me

can I then?

(O my God
what to say
I’m thinking)

I guess so
I utter

preparing
for the worse
her 2 wet
9 year old
little lips
kiss my cheek
the wetness
seems to stay
even when
she has moved
her 2 wet
lips away

was that good?
she asks me

it was fine
I reply

I then put
the Love Hearts
pack away
in my coat
as we ****
on our sweets
the flavours
sickly sweet

she gazes
at me with
affection

I look down
at my feet.

You never expected
your mother to die
although the hospital
hinted at such

all lost
in their
language trap
all in all

it was a double blow
as dementia took her
piece by piece
years ago

then the final punch
the knock out blow
remembering
someone saying

that’s how
some loved ones
tend to go
and the relationship

between mother and child
is never simple
travelling as it does
through high hills

and valleys sometimes
dark and often deep
and remembering
all that

the need to weep
you reflect on all that
the final sight
of your mother

in that bed
the closed eyes
the small smile
remain in your head

and you know
after all such
you loved her overmuch
and always will

indeed
you love her still.

I see Fay's old man
arguing with the baker
in the Square

the baker's horse
eats from a nose bag
unconcerned
about the raised voices

what's up
with your old man?
I ask her

she stands next to me
on the balcony
looking down

he thinks
the baker's a Jew
and says she doesn’t
want no Jesus killer
handling his bread

but it's the same baker
we've always had

I know but you know
my dad once he gets
an idea he follows it
through to the end

I watch
as the two men argue

the horse eats away
a crowd gathers

why take it out
on the baker
he didn't even
know Jesus?
I say

Fay looks embarrassed
and bites
her finger nails

he's like that
if he thinks anyone
had anything to do
with the Crucifixion
he's on their case

we watch
as the baker
shrugs his shoulders
and strokes
his horse's neck

Fay's old man
walks away
pointing his finger

best hide
she says
if he sees me
talking to you
and thinks I’ve
been watching him
he'll have ago
at me and you

so we move along
the balcony
and crouch low
down by the wall

we hear her old man
coming up
the concrete stairs
moaning still
his voice echoing
along the balcony

but Jesus was a Jew
I whisper
and so was his mother

she puts a finger
to my lips
and says

I know
(in a low whisper)
but Dad doesn't think
that way

I look at her
crouching there
her blue eyes
and lovely fair hair.

Lovely Tours
Miriam
says to me
maybe we
can look round
you and me

sure
I say

and so when
the coach stops
we get out
and wander
keeping close
to others
from our coach

the hippie
couple there
out in front
he bearded
with a band
round his head
and his girl
with long hair
hanging loose
both smoking

Miriam
takes my hand
her own hand
small and warm
pulse going
her red hair
all tight curls
her bright eyes
over me

isn't it
exciting?

I don't do
exciting
I just look
and take in
and enjoy
I tell her

we walk on
through the streets
look in shops
look at stuff

she holds things
in her hands
handles them
values them

like last night
in the coach
in Paris

lying down
in our seats
us kissing
her fingers
exploring
my hot crotch

my fingers
spidering
up her thigh
as music
on the coach
radio
eases out
Beethoven’s
piano piece
concerto
number 5
or such like

and she's there
holding me

my fingers
spidering
to her nest

lights dim low
music flows
down the rows
of coach seats

some sleeping
some talking
some of us
making out
best we can
in dim light
in Paris
over night.

What's it like?
she asks me
my new friend
Abela

what's what like?

confessions
at the church
where you go

don't go now
lost my way
in limbo
I reply

but back then
when you went?
she asks me

went along
to the church
saw the priest
and confess

confess what?
she insists

any sins
that I had
committed

what's a sin?
she goes on

an offence
against God

involving
what actions?

Too many
to repeat

example
give me some

she lies there
in the bed
**** naked
hands behind
her dark brown
hair and head

having ***
outside of
a marriage
coveting
another's
**** wife
or husband
and so on
I tell her

so you are
committing
a sin thing
being here
with me now?

both of us
are sinning
in God's eyes

but I don't
believe in
God at all
she answers

God don't care
about that
He doesn't
considered
that matters
sin's a sin
in His book
I reply

that's not fair
why should I
be judged so?
she utters

pulling up
the white sheet
to cover
her two ****
from my sight

forgetting
that God saw
what we did
all last night

I kiss her
on the head
on the cheek
on the lips
on the chin
hoping she'll
relent and
let me in
to her bed
and her arms
between thighs
to make love
and not sin.

Sheila stares
at the wall
of her room

on her bed
thoughts on John
what he said

his soft touch
of her hand
as he got

on the bus
leaving her
standing there

at the school
tomorrow
we will talk

he had said
she lies there
on her bed

on her side
staring hard
other thoughts

pushed aside
her mother
is downstairs

finishing
the washing
the dinner

is cooking
her brother's
in his room

listening
to Elvis
she can hear

the LP
being played
too loudly

she moves on
to her back
staring at

the ceiling
trying to
cope with this

inner love
sick feeling.

Claudia
masturbates.

That tall girl
in high school
over night
showed her ways.

She watches
the full moon
drift between
clouds and stars.

Her father,
in her youth,
crossed her palm
with silver
(don’t ask why
or for what),
he was cold,
she was hot.

That teacher
with the lisp
the blonde one
she of maths
and science,
kept her in
after school
talked of books
she had read
and music  
she had heard,
then kissed her,
promising
higher grades,
extra help
in subjects
of her choice.

Claudia,
between French
and Russian,
sees Pedro
making out
with the short
ugly *****
in the gym
spying them
on tiptoes
peering through
high windows,
saliva
on her lips,
capturing
memories
to take home
for her nights,
the lone games,
pretending
Pedro’s lance
pierces her
and not that
ugly *****
in the gym.

Claudia
dreams of love,
embraces
her body,
puts kisses
on her arms
and her thighs,
waiting for
that true love,
she’s been told,
never dies.

Jane and I walked
to the nearest village
to get some shopping
for the parents
and get fresh air
and talk

what do you think
of the countryside now
after living in London
for so long?
she asked me

I’ve got used to it now
no street lights
no traffic noise
no noisy neighbours
or drunks as there was
in our part of London
I said

or the sound of trains
going over
the railway bridge opposite
or the trucks being shunted
all night
in the coal wharf

now its so quiet
so peaceful
and no pavements
on the side
of the roads here

she smiled
I’ve lived here
all my life
it's as I know it

I looked at her
sideways on
she was wearing
a grey dress and boots
and an open green coat

I wore my jeans
and shirt and jacket

I liked her dark hair
her deep eyes

why do you look at me
like that?
she said

a cat can look at a queen
I said

I’m no queen

I’m no cat
it's just a saying
people have

your mother
seems to like me
I said

she trusts you
unlike some
of the boys around here
Jane said

I nodded

and Daddy said
he can see
you have a honest eye

I looked away
the hedgerows
were high
a blue sky
a bright sun
birds flew
from hedgerows

we came near the village
and I hoped
we could buy a drink
from the grocery shop
and maybe get
to be nearer to her

her hand just inches away
the fingers slim
with unpainted nails
and her lips parted
just enough to see
the gleam of teeth

I felt undone
in love
unsure
just to be there
watching the flow
and slight wind
in her dark hair.

Netanya
threw a cup
threw a shoe

hitting you
stormed and swore
jabbering

about this
about that
how this dame

at your work
was somehow
having you

(sexually)
then she threw
someone's coat

missing you
ran up stairs
calling names

looking round
for objects
to throw down

you went up
(cautiously)
step by step

trying to
calm her down
what's all this?

you asked her
unaware
of the cause

of the wild
eruption
you know what

seen her name
in your book
(your work book)

you've ticked it
ticked her name
she went in

the bedroom
you followed
she threw things

scent bottles
her hair brush
slapped her hand

round you face
you grabbed her
held her down

on the bed
to calm her
who is this?

what's her name?
she told you
laying there

on the bed
you don't think
she and I

are *******?
yes I do
just like you

Netanya
informed you
well you're wrong

about that
the reason
that her name's

in my book
is because
I caught her

shop-lifting
yesterday
at the store

wrote her name
for records
in future

Netanya
stared at you
is that it?

you nodded
just a girl
stupid *****

stealing shoes
she sat up
on the bed

calming down
got it wrong
about you

she muttered
have we time
for some ***?

In what's left
of my own
lunch hour?

she nodded
looking sad
OK then

I muttered
my left cheek
still stinging

and my head
bell ringing.

Greenfield lights up a cigarette
behind the metal work room
during recess

want a drag?
he asks

no I don't
I say

I can hear the other kids
in the play area
over the building
voices loud
laughter
girl's screaming
and shouting
from the their area
a fair bit away

where did you get
the ciggie?
I ask

I liberated it
from my mother's bag
he says with a smile
she won't miss it

he's shorter than I
plump with brown eyes
like conkers
he puffs away frantically

hate school
he says
all the ****** lessons
and teachers

Miss D isn't bad
I suggest
young with nice legs

not that young
he says
holding his cigarette
between *******
old enough
to be your mother
he says

only if she had me
very young
I say

what's it matter?
he says
she's still a brain teaser
he puffs away again

P.E. next
I remind him
football
or maybe hockey

sweat buckets either way
he says
puffing at me
who's the bit of skirt
who hangs about for you
by the school van?
he asks

just a girl
I say

that's it isn't it
just a girl
he says

the cigarette stuck
between lips

they're all the same
all thinking about
who to pick to marry
and have ****** kids by
and O god
I feel sick thinking
about it
best avoid them
he says

the cigarette hangs limp
from his lips

now ****** P.E.
he says
I'll tell Friggit
I’ve got gut ache

he presses the cigarette
against the wall
of the metal work room

best go then
I say

and as we go
I think of Jane
across the roof of building
in the girls' area
her dark eyes and hair
driving me to distraction
but not despair.

The walk
from Peckham Rye
train station
to my aunt's
is quite a trek,
but Lydia and I
set off along
Rye lane.

Never been here before,
Lydia says.

I been here tons of times;
I was born up the road.

What this road?

No, at the hospital
nearby.

She has a thinness
about her,
her lank hair is caught
by the sunshine.

We pass by shops
and cross side streets;
pass people shopping.

Dad hates shopping,
Lydia says,
he says it's a ****
of a game,
worse than kissing
his boss's backside.

She laughs;
a link of light
brightens up
her eyes;
there's a hint
of beauty
about her.

Your mum
wasn't too keen
on you going with me,
I say.

Anything that hints
of spending money
and she's up in arms;
she wouldn't care
if I went
with the milkman
as long as he paid.

We walk on
and down a street
that leads
to my aunt's place;
the shops have gone now,
just houses and flats.

I heard your old man
singing in the Square
the other night,
I say,
drunk as a lord.

I know, I heard him, too,
Mum wasn't none
too pleased;
she dragged him in
and gave him her tongue;
I couldn't marry
a man like that;
does your father drink?

No, only the odd pint
or port at special times.

We pass a dog peeing
against a wall;
it wags its tail
as it runs off
down the road
leaving a pyramid shape
of wetness behind.

My brother Hem does that,
Lydia says,
***** ***.

There is an aspect
of light
when she's angry,
like a birth
of a new world.

Is your dad Irish?
he seemed to be singing
an Irish song
the other night?

No, he always sounds Irish
when he's drunk,
like he sounds Welsh
when he's sober.

She holds my hand
as we cross a busy road;
it's thin and bony;
I feel it
with my thumb
as we walk along,
her bony knuckles;
I squeeze it gently
and she softly
chuckles.

How long does it take
by train to Edinburgh?
Lydia said
her father held in

a smile-he was sober
so playful-
about 6 hours or so
he replied

why are you
going to Scotland?
and with whom?
Lydia said

not yet
I'm just 9 years old
but maybe when I'm older
she hesitated

looking at her father
at his sober blue eyes
and said
Benny probably

go with Benny
her father still held
back the smile
o Benny

the kid from upstairs
in the flats?
she nodded
the kid who you go

to the train stations with?
she nodded
she had her thin hands
behind her back

her fingers crossed
we went
to Kings Cross
station today

she said quietly
Kings Cross?
that's quite a journey
her father said

you two going to elope?
she frowned
elope?
what does that mean?

she asked
means you're going
to run off
and secretly marry

her mother said tiredly
from the sink
where she was
washing clothes

her father smiled
I can't marry anyone
I'm just 9 years old
she said

but when you're ready Lydia
you can get maybe
a free ride
as I am a railway worker

her father said
grinning
leaning back
in his chair

she liked it
when her dad
was sober
he was more fun

and kind
her father
laughed loudly
but she didn't mind.

You want to go to where?
Victoria rail station
Lydia said
her mother

as she dried the plate
a cigarette hanging
from her lower lip
asked

who with?
Benny the boy upstairs
in the flats
over there

Lydia said
her mother wiped
another plate
why there?

and why with him?
Lydia played
with her fingers
nervously

trains
steam trains
she said
we like to see them

and I like Benny
he's funny
her mother
stared at her

don't seem funny to me
but his mother's
a good sort
so he can't be

too bad I suppose
Lydia looked
at her mother's
red wet hands

how are you
getting there?
bus I guess
Lydia said

and I suppose
you want money
for the fare?
Lydia stared

Benny said
he'd pay
did he now
her mother said

think I can't
afford the fare?
she put the plates
in a cupboard

and stared
at her daughter
thin
weedy looking

she got her black purse
and took out
some coins
don't make a habit

of going out to
faraway places
her mother said
she put the coins

into her daughter's
thin white hands
and walked off
to tidy

the sitting room
Lydia looked
at the coins
in the palm

of her hand
she pocketed them
in her fading red dress
and opened

the front door
to see
if Benny was coming
the baker

was going by
on his horse drawn cart
the horse looked tired
and trotted slow

then she saw Benny
coming across
the Square towards her
riding his

imaginary horse
with his 6 shooter gun
and holster
of course.

Lydia was glad
to be out
of the flat
her big sister

was rowing
with her mother
her father sleeping off
the night before

her brother Hem
teasing her
beyond tolerance
she crossed

the Square
going by the milkman
and his horse
drawn cart

the horse
with its feeding bag
over its nose
the morning sun weak

but coming
through above
she walked up
and through

heading towards the top
to go to the shops
for her mother
with the scribbled

list of wares
and a handful of coins
she crossed
Rockingham Street

and along by the shops
I was behind her
going to the same shops
(my mother's list

neatly scribed
in my hand)
Lydia seemed
in deep thought

her head down
I tried to catch up
but she was going
too fast

like a gazelle
but once she stopped
by a shop window
I said

you're up early?
she looked
back at me
Mum wanted me

to get these
she said
showing me
the list

plus the flat
is in turmoil
what with my big sister
rowing and Hem

teasing me
I showed her
my list
how about going

to Jail Park after?
I said
see who can swing
highest?

she looked uncertain
if I'm allowed
she said
or maybe

get a bus
to Westminster Bridge
and see
the Houses of Parliament?

I suggested
haven’t got
the fare money
she said

I’ll get some
I said
my old man
is always ok

for a few coins
she nodded
I'll try
she said

we walked to the shops
we needed
and bought the items
on our lists

and I treated her
to a penny drink
at Penny Shop
and as we stood outside

the morning sun
got warmer
and bright
and she said

she would come to Westminster
if she could
or if her mother
said she might.

I saw this black
and white
photograph once
of a Deep South lynching

of two African Americans
(or black guys
as they were termed then)
hanging from a tree

by their necks
eyes closed
(as if they dozed)
dressed in rag clothes

one with his head
to one side
hands untied
a crowd looking on

one white guy pointing
the rest looking
with acute interest
what the two guys did

or why
they were lynched
I had no idea
or why the need

to photograph
a sense of justice?
or threat?
or for a laugh?

I had no clue
but looking at them
hanging there
surrounded by a crowd

I thought
of the Crucified
the Christ
and wondered

if He'd been hanged
by the neck
from some gallows
instead of being

nailed to a cross
and His followers
wore small gallows
instead of a cross

it was alter
His sacrifice
or lessen
the sense of loss?

Madison Square was
Different back then,
Your grandmother said.

She spoke of long dark
Dresses and the heat
And hats and always

Having to be so
Aware of men’s stare.
She and her friend walked

Along by the horse
Drawn cabs, wondering
Where and how far you

Could go for the price
Of a big smile. You
Remember her

Sitting in her old
Rocking chair, her long
Grey hair, pinned up, a

Cigarette between
Lips gazing at you
Through the smoke, her eyes

Fading to a light
Blue, gazing at you,
Wondering if you

Was the kind of girl
She once was. Never
Told my parents where

We went, Grandmother
Confided; it’d
Give them grey hairs and

Haemorrhoids if they
Knew. She chuckled; coughed
And spat phlegm. That’s the

Difference, she said,
Between your mother
And me and me and

Them. Being just that
Little bit over
The edge, daring the

Reach beyond others.
You recall her last
Days, laid up in bed,

Staring out the large
Window, at the blue
Of sky, waiting for

Death to come for her,
The slow wait to die.

Magdalene watched Mary
bend down to put on the LP.
The Beatles. They’d saved

up and bought it together.
She took in Mary’s stockinged
thigh showing through the slit

in the side of the school skirt.
Mary placed the LP carefully
onto the turntable, with her finger

put the needle arm down onto
the vinyl. The music started up,
Mary stood up and sat next to

Magdalene on the single bed.
Magdalene sensed her there,
her thigh next to hers, her

warmth, their knees almost
touching. What did your Ma
say when you said you bought

the Beatles? Magdalene asked.
She said nowt, Mary replied,
but Da said it was a load of

***** and where did I get
the money from to buy it?
John Lennon's voice sang

over the twanging guitars.
Magdalene said, did you
tell him we bought it together?

Mary nodded. Her hands
pushed between her thighs,
her young face lit up by

the room's light. Don't you
think Paul's a dish? Mary asked.
Magdalene shrugged her

shoulders, studied Mary’s
knee where a spot of flesh
showed through a hole in

the black school stockings.
She wanted to move closer,
kiss the cheek, place her

lips on the skin. She breathed
in the borrowed scent that
Mary wore. Said she'd liberated

it from her Ma's room. Mary
talked of the boy they'd met
in the woods above the school.

Tried it on so he did, she said,
over the guitars and Lennon's
loud voice. Magdalene wished

she could put her hands where
the boy had tried. I put him
straight, Mary said, kneed him

where his fatherhood might flow.
Mary moved up and down on
the bed in response to the music.

The bedsprings complained.
Magdalene sensed the movement,
took in Mary’s behind going up

and down on the bed cover.
Glory be. She wanted to kiss.
Needed the hand to touch Mary’s,

the skin to join up with hers.
Downstairs a voice bellowed
to keep the ****** noise down.

Mary sighed and bent down
to turn the **** the thigh
revealed in the skirt's slit,

the spot of flesh through
the hole in the bended knee.
Magdalene captured the image.

Hid it in her memory bank for
later, for bedtime, for the cosy
pretend hold, maybe more if in
her dream she was lucky and bold.

Magdalene looks from the window
into the dark. Things have been
promised, secrets kept, lies maintained.
Hands washed, dried, open curtains,

hold the cloth, the patterned flowers.
She sees no stars or moon, no galaxies
beyond, just the deep dark. If she steps
back she can see her reflection, the pink

dress, the pale face, black fringe of hair,
blackberry eyes. She can mouth words,
utter silent swear words, lips motion
them, but none hear. All is forbidden,

or so it seems, the parents marking the
boundaries, punishing trespassing, both
in unison, he scornful and hard of hand,
the mother sharp of tongue can cut her

through, telling her where she can go
and what to do. Magdalene can drink in
the deep dark; can swallow mouthfuls
of emptiness like a greedy child, silent,

staring, becoming slowly rebellious,
becoming wild. She can pull odd faces in
the dark reflecting glass, poke out a tongue,
say silently all the words that they forbid,

outlaw that she is in her pink dress and white
pull up socks. He has his ways, his finger
against his lips, swearing her to secrecy,
things done, not told about or spoke of,

kept between the four walls of her room
and confines of her bed. The deep dark
stares back, the starless skies, lost moon.
They’ll come back soon, the mother to their

bedroom, giggling and laughter, he calling
for Magdalene, his voice shallow, his growing
along the walls, shadow. She sighs, waits, wonders
if, beyond the deep dark, some other life exists

for her, some other plan in later years will come
to pass, when he doesn’t enter her or beat her ***.

I had a bow
over my shoulder
and threes arrows
tucked in

a mother-made quiver
and was walking over
Meadow Row bomb site
with Janice beside me

-my Maid Marian-
what are you going
to shoot?
she asked

isn't it dangerous?
gran would say
it was dangerous
no the arrows

have got suckers
on the end
they're meant to stick
onto a surface

not enter into it
I said
so what are you going
to hit Benny?

a target on a wall
I tell her
she form an O
with her mouth

what target on a wall?
she said
as we came
to a brick wall

of a bombed out house
here will be the target
I said
she stood and watched

as I drew the outline
of a man with chalk
-a kid always has
a piece of chalk

in his pocket
as well as string
and marbles-
who is it meant to be?

she asked
doesn't look like
anyone I know
it's just a target

an outline of a man
I drew in eyes
nose and mouth
and a heart

and stand back
there is the target
I said
what now?

she said
I stand back a pace or so
and try hit the heart
with an arrow

I said
she nodded her head
so that her fair hair moved
and the red beret shifted

on her head
we walked back
a few paces
over the stones

and rubble
of the bomb site
until we reached
a distant I could hit

the drawn target
I removed the bow
from my shoulder
and took an arrow

from the quiver
and licked the sucker end
of the arrow
then placed the arrow

onto the string
and drew the arrow back
with my fingers
holding the **** firmly

will you hit his heart?
Janice said
I eyed along my arm
and arrow sucker

and at the drawn heart
and released the ****
and the arrow whizzed
through the air

and hit and stuck
to the wall
just on the edge
of the drawn heart

almost got it
Janice said
almost killed him
I walked to the target

and pulled off the arrow
it would have
killed him anyway
I said

can I have ago?
she asked
what if your gran
sees you?

I thought you said
she said it was dangerous?
she did
Janice said

but I won't tell her
I had ago
and she won't see me
what if she did?

I asked
she hesitated
taking the bow
from my hand

and she looked around
the bomb site
and over at the road
over the way

then back along
Meadow Row
satisfied her gran
was not around

she took the bow
from my hand
and the arrow
and attempted to put

the **** end
onto the string
how's it go?
she asked

I showed her
and her thin fingers
held the arrow in place
and the other thin fingers

held the bow
she closed an eye
and looked down
her thin arm

at her other hand
and the sucker end
of the arrow
got it?

I asked
got what?
she asked
the heart in view

I said
no I can't see it
you have
the wrong eye closed

I tell her
o
she said
and closed

the other eye instead
o yes now I see it
she said
as she drew back

the **** end
of the arrow
then she released it
and the arrow shot

through the air
and bounced off
the target
by the drawn head

it didn't stick
she said
you didn't licked
the sucker end

with spit
I said
yuk
she said

and handed me back
the bow
wiping her small hands
on her flowery dress

if gran had seen me
do that
I'd be in
for a good hiding

she said
I walked off
over the rubble
to get my arrow

and she stood watching
with the noon day sun
over her
fair haired head

you'd have killed
maybe
I called over
and said.

Makemkov had a sudden
Thought while sitting on his bed,
Having a smoke, gazing out
Of the window at the new

Apartments across the way,
Where some young dame was slipping
Into something light and cool,
Unknowing that he gazed like this

On other days, the thought he
Had disturbed the **** sight,
The image becoming blurred
Into another lustful

Smudge, he was going to be
Dead one day, the thought revealed,
Unclean or not so, he did
Not know, but die he would, he

Neither grand nor good, his death
Would come as all deaths came, each
With its owner’s borrowed name.

Makemkov had a sudden
Thought while sitting on his bed,
Having a smoke, gazing out
Of the window at the new

Apartments across the way,
Where some young dame was slipping
Into something light and cool,
Unknowing that he gazed like this

On other days, the thought he
Had disturbed the **** sight,
The image becoming blurred
Into another lustful

Smudge, he was going to be
Dead one day, the thought revealed,
Unclean or not so, he did
Not know, but die he would, he

Neither grand nor good, his death
Would come as all deaths came, each
With its owner’s borrowed name.