Yiska feels as if
she's about to
split open
and her mind

pour out
all her thoughts
and feels like
she's about to *****

but she doesn't
now she feels
as if she's constipated
and the thoughts

and words
won't budge
and the mind quack
(psychiatrist)

sits opposite her
at his desk
and she sits
cross legged

staring at him
and out
of the window
behind him

she can see snow
falling
drifting slow
then fast

as if it can't
make up its mind
what to do
and on his desk

is a photograph
of a family group
of smiling faces
and she hates it

the smiling
that we are ok
and living well
kind of look

she says nothing
the words
have become
bunged up

in her head
and he talks
about ECT
about how it helps

depressives
and others
with mental
health issues

and all she wants
is to go back
to the locked ward
and sit

in the arm chair
by the window
and radiator
in her night gown

and think of nothing
just good old nothing
and wait until
Benny arrives

and sits beside her
and they both sit
and think of nothing
and nothingness

enfolds them
like a warm
fat mother
and they just

like to be
close to each other.

Limoges
the driver said
you can get out
and stretch
your legs
for awhile

so we got off
the coach
and walked
about the place

Miriam beside me
her red hair
in a mess
her tight fitting
blouse about
to explode

you hear
about these places
then you're there
and it all seems
so ordinary
like you have
waited to see
something
and it just seems
so flat
she said

I don't get excited
about anything
I take it
as it comes
sights
views
music
*****
girls
I said

am I
just a girl?
nothing special?
she asked

there's only
one you
only one
red head
with your
lovely eyes
and smile
I said

O yes
of course
what are you
after?

beer and burger
I said

and me
what about me?

you can have
a beer and burger
too

no I meant
what do you
think of me?
you were all
over me last night
in the coach
with the lights low
and that Mozart music
on the radio
flowing out  

I recalled
I had been
and not only
because of her
and the Mozart
and her lovely eyes
and her perfume

but all together
all that and me
and her and life
and her softness

we can
have it here
she said
pointing to a bar

ok
I said

so we entered
the bar
and ordered
beer and burger
and she sat there
opposite
her tight blouse
still waiting
to explode

and a radio played  
some French music
and Miriam smiled
and I wanted
to kiss her

but I didn't
I just sat
and waited
for the beer and burger
and watched
and enjoyed her.

It's Paris
Miriam
says to me

looking out
the window
of the coach

her perfume
tending to
overwhelm

my senses
beside her
her finger

pointing
at the sights
as we pass

the Eiffel
Tower thing
lit up loud

isn't it
wonderful?
she exclaims

just to think
of artists
who once lived

and worked here
Picasso
and Van Gogh

and writers
like Miller
Hemingway

Marcel Proust
she pauses
looks at me

and who else?
what perfume
do you use?

I ask her
just some stuff
of my Mum's

she gave me
she answers
well not quite

gave to me
I kind of
borrowed it

the other day
while Mum was
out shopping

I study
her profile
her snub nose

rosy cheeks
rose bud lips
the slim neck

small tight ****
she has tons
of perfume

she wouldn't
miss any
Miriam

rattles on
is it good?
enticing

I tell her
she smiles wide
looks at me

parts her lips
moves her tongue
over them

Ezra Pound
was here too
I tell her

the poet?
she asks me
that's the guy

wasn't he
a fascist?
I guess so

but he wrote
The Cantos
her lips close

she turns round
Paris’s so
romantic

she utters
I lean close
breath her in

the perfume
inviting me
to drink in.

Inside Burgos Cathedral
Miriam was in shorts
and tee-shirt
and I nearby

and a woman
next to her
said casa de Dios
Miriam said something

back in Spanish
and the woman
scowled at her
and moved away

muttering in Spanish
under her breath
what did she say?
I asked

Miriam said
the old bat
said this
was the house of God

and that I
was not dressed
correctly
I looked

at the woman
who was glaring
at Miriam
what did you

say to her?
I asked
I told her
go wash her *****

I nodded
and looked
at the glaring
Spanish dame

I spoke no Spanish
but whatever
the dame was muttering
didn't sound

like a blessing
I tried to focus
on the mass
the words(now

in Spanish not Latin)
Miriam folded
her arms
her eyes sharp

as pencils
her red hair
tight curls
smelling of sun oil

and scent
a guy in front
had his eyes closed
muttering a prayer

in Spanish
the priest
at the altar
was colourful

like a beetle
arms out stretched
Miriam whispered
I'll need a drink

after this
and something more
later in the tent
she smiled at me

her eyes bright
and alive
and mischievous
I had lost my way

in the mass
but the beetle priest
was lifting the host
Christ was present

and I bet
the old Spanish dame
was giving Him
the low down

on Miriam
but I knew
He'd understand
His love

was wide and deep
and Miriam and her promises
would have to wait
and keep.

Shish kebabs
shish kebabs
that's all they have
Miriam said
as she sat
at the bar
of the base camp
in Morocco

I sat smoking
and drinking a Bacardi
they do salads
I said
in long French loaves
I have those
they’re healthier
and quite filling

she looked down
her nose
can't just have salad
she said
must have meat
of some kind

well don't look at me
I’m too skinny
for a decent meal

she laughed
and sat  
closer to me
at the bar
can you get me a drink?

sure what you having?

same as you

ok
Bacardi and coke it is
so I asked
the bar keep
for her drink  
and he went off
to get it
a cigarette hanging
from his lower lip
what did you think
of the belly dancer
last night?
I asked

not my thing
she said
but I see you liked it

yes it was a good experience
heard about them
but never
seen one before
last night
I said
the bar keep
brought her drink
and I paid him
he went off
and I said
how did you sleep?

not good
I had Moaning Minnie
with me
and she moaned
because I came in
the tent at 3am
what time
do you call this?
she moaned
some of us
are trying to sleep
she moaned on
for ages after
I think she was moaning still
in her dreams
I suppose you slept?
she said

yes I crept in my tent
and fell asleep over
my suitcase
I was too **** tired
to move it
and the ex-army guy
was zeroed

lucky you

not really
I would rather
have had you there
than him
snoring like some bear  

what makes you think
I’d sleep with you?

you did the other night
after the beach party

she sipped her drink
and looked
at the menu card
that was different
she said

yes it was
I said
we went in your tent
and Moaning Minnie
came in
and turfed me out

Miriam smiled
if she'd come
five minutes earlier
she'd have got
an eyeful

yes that
would have been
a bundle of laughs

Miriam ordered
a salad roll
and sipped
her Bacardi and coke  

I sipped mine
and enjoyed my smoke.

At the clubhouse‭
in Malaga‭
in the base camp‭

I danced and drank‭
in turn‭
sometimes‭
at the same time‭
sometimes I sat it out‭
at the bar‭
and smoked and drank‭
with Miriam‭

you dance good‭
she said‭

you reckon so‭
I said‭

yes you dance ok‭
she said‭
she sipped‭
her gin and tonic‭
and looked‭
around the club house‭

the disco music‭
is a bit old hat‭
she said‭

it's ok‭
at least‭
you can‭ ‬dance to it‭
I said‭

we sipped more‭
of our drink‭s
and sat in silence‭
for a few moments‭

Picasso was born here‭
she said‭

what here‭
in this club house‭?
I said smiling‭

no here in Malaga‭
she said‭
read it some place‭
I don't like his art‭
she said‭
makes me want‭
to throw up‭

you sure it's not‭
the *****‭?
I said‭

no I mean‭
when I see it‭
she said‭

I love his art‭
it speaks volumes to me‭
I said‭

poor you‭
she said‭
I see nothing in it‭

each to their own‭
view of things‭
I said‭
Picasso touches me‭

don't I touch you‭?
she said‭
wouldn't you rather‭
be touched by me‭
than Picasso‭?

depends on the touching‭
I said‭
he touches my soul‭
where would you touch‭?

she giggled‭
and sipped her drink‭
be telling wouldn't it‭?
you didn't complain‭
the last time‭
I touched or rather‭
we touched‭

she looked back‭
at the dance floor‭
and at people dancing‭
not my fault‭
if the tent‭
was too small‭
for much action‭
she added‭
looking back at me‭

small is beautiful‭
sometimes‭
I said

she gazed at me‭
with her bluey green eyes‭
her hair in tight curls‭
I’d let you come‭
to my tent tonight‭
she said‭
but that fussy cat girl‭
is sharing with me‭
always yakking‭
about her cats at home‭
as if I cared‭
what she calls‭
her **** cats‭
and what she does‭
with them‭
what about your tent‭?
she asked‭

no I got the ex-army guy‭
in with me‭
and he talks on and on‭
about his family‭
and how they don't‭
understand him‭
and how he got‭
chucked out the army‭
and so on‭

a‭ ‬Beatles song‭
was playing‭
I got up to go dance again‭

and she said‭
go dance Benny‭
go show them‭
how its done‭
she leaned on the bar‭
her eyes closing‭

I danced‭
drinking the dregs‭
thinking of the last time‭
I lay‭
between her legs.‭

The sun was strong
and Miriam and I
lay in the sun
at the base camp

side by side
she in her red bikini
and I in tee-shirt
and jeans

(not wanting
to get too sunburnt)
who is that hag
who complains

all the time?
she asked
no idea
I said

not much on names
only faces
even the ex army guy
who sleeps

in my tent
(one has to share
a tent
with the same ***

unfortunately)
I keep forgetting
his name
she looked skyward

in her sunglasses
(large things
like insect eyes)
I like Madrid

she said
I could live here
if I didn't have
a job back home

yes
we could set up here  
I said
get jobs

get a place together
bed together
visit the museums
and art galleries

together
sit in bars together
she added
do you speak

any Spanish?
I said
no
she said

apart from my
schoolgirl attempts
which get me
no where

have to make
our way here
without it
I said

as long
as we can
get a beer
and bread

and bed
she laughed
and put out
a hand to touch

mine
thin fingers
small hand
I gazed at the trees

above my head
touching the sky
birds in flight
thinking of her

and the love
made last night.

Miriam likes the sun.

Miriam wears her
skimpy bikini on
the Moroccan beach.

Benedict prefers
the shade.

Benedict likes
the skimpy bikini
that Miriam wears
he watches her
as they walk the sand
hand in hand.

She has her sunglasses
pushed to the top
of her red-headed hair
and her freckled face
absorbs the sun
making her
blush looking
in skin and flesh.

He has his sunglasses
over his eyes
from which
he secretly spies
other girls
apart from her
in skimpier bikinis
or fuller filled
or taller than she
or such may be...

Cooler last night
she says eyeing him...

Cool indeed
says he and how
was she who
shares your tent?...

Miserable as sin
with her mouthful
of moans
Miriam says
taking in his brown
quiffed hair
and his far off stare...

I have the ex-army guy
Benedict says
and his tales of woe
and depressive thoughts
eyeing a passing girl
in tight pink shorts...

If only you
were in my tent
with me
she says
it would be time
well spent
not have her moans
and groans to hear...

That time I did
after the nightclubs
of Tangier till dawn
says he
you had your moans
and groans
to fill the air...

Mmm
she says smiling
if only you were
still there making love
with your hands
in my hair...

Too true
says he studying
with shaded eyes
Miriam's assets
bikinied or not
as best he dare.

Miriam stands
by the camel

an Arab stands nearby
unimpressed
he holds a rope
tied to the camel

she smiles at me
with my camera

her red bikini
showing more legs
and arms
than the Arab guy
feels comfortable with

I aim
to get her central
her explosion
of red hair
matching that
of the bikini

she fiddles
with her shoulder strap

I wait
eyeing her
through the viewer
focusing
on her *******
as the centrepiece
everything else
to match around

avoiding to get
the Arab in the picture
but it's hard
as he seems to move
closer to her
as I aim once more
he says something
in Arabic
nods to her

I shrug my shoulders

she smiles at him

he moves in closer
his head leaning
to one side
as if someone
has broken his neck

she adjusts the bra
of the bikini
gets it comfortable

I look away from her
hold the camera
by my chest

when you're ready
I say

she does a twirl
in the sand
and back again
facing me

the sands hot
she says
burning my feet

well wear your slip-ons
I say

she goes to her bag
by the camel's back
and takes out
her slip-ons
and puts them on
the Arab watches her
with a dull eyed stare

she comes to the spot
on the sand
where she had been standing
and poses again

the camel seems bored
and looks
at the Arab
then at Miriam
then out to sea

I focus on her again
through the viewer
of the camera
she pouts her lips
puts her hands
on her hips  

I put the camera
by my chest

need to focus
no silly faces
or whorish gestures
I say

another Arab
a companion
to the other
passes by
gawking at Miriam
then stands by
the other Arab
then they both
look towards me

hope these to guys
don't want paying
she says

they usually do
I say
now settle
and pose

she poses her face
a weak smile
her eyes gazing
straight at me

where shall I put
my hands?
she asks

that's what you asked
last night
I say

she giggles
and stands
on one leg
the other trying
to balance her

pose now
I say

she puts both feet
on the sand
and becomes still
her hands in front
of her groin
as if she were praying

the Arab guys
were jabbering away
God knows what
they were saying.

Miriam
*******
in the tent

out of wet
underclothes
where the dim

hippy guy
spilt his drink
on purpose

by design
or by sheer
clumsiness

was unclear
the short skirt
a bright red

was now stained
Benedict
had not seen

he was off
in Tangier
sight-seeing

she tosses
the wet stuff
in a bag

and pulls out
dry clean clothes
from the white

new suitcase
her parents
had bought her

for the trip
she dresses
and goes out

of the tent
avoiding
the hippy

in the bar
with red beard
and guitar

and goes sit
on the beach
wondering

what it was
Benedict
was doing

she wishes
he was there
making love

hot with her
his fingers
in her hair.

O yes
this is love
this is what Miriam knows
as love

not the maybe
kind of love
or what her mother
would have called

courting love
but the real thing
the thing that hits you
in the guts

that makes you not want
to eat or drink
but want to dream
yourself silly

over the kind of
love feeling
that drives you mad
with the thinking

of the thing
and yes
as the ordinary people
walk by

she feels sorry for them
not knowing
this love she feels
not understanding

that there's more to life
than the next meal
or pay rise
or promotion

if that was anything at all
at least not now
she feels like shouting
to the world not now

and o if only
he were here
if only he could see her now
sitting in her blue

short skirt
and pink jumper
and those underwear
he bought her

with the soft feel
on that stall
he said sit on
and o

she could squeeze herself
could hug her body
in a frenzy of excitement
and o to be in his arms

and feel his warmth
and to feel his cheek
on hers
and his hand

holding her hand
and giving it
that little tug
of here we go Honey

let’s show the world
where it can get off
because this is love
she says

this is the big one
and she can sense
her body glow
and her pulse rocket

through her *******
and arms and feet
and thighs
and o a thousand

other places
the world will never see
or know about
and yes this is it

this is the kind of
wake me
in the morning at 2 am
and kiss me

and rock me
and this is love
her mother never knew
not in all her

big American life
not in New York
or Chicago or no place
her mother knew

this kind of love pinch
this sort of electric buzz
of a feel
especially when he holds her

and blows
those small breaths
into her ears
and sometimes

between her thighs
o my God what to do?
where to go?
o this is the big one

this the time
to live life
to the full love
to stand on the ledge

of a tall building
and scream out
kind of love feel
and if he will show

right now in this room
and come in and say
love you Honey
love the woman you are

and she wants him
and wants his feel
his lips
his everything

is that him?
was that
the door bell ring?
no just the mailman

with a letter from him
saying in his neat pen
saying he can’t make tonight Honey
but maybe when.

I look over
my shoulder

into the mirror
in the hall

and see
this old guy

staring at me
reminding me

of someone
I once knew.

Miryam meets you at the bar
of the base camp in Madrid.
She has an orange juice
and cereals
and a coffee chaser.

Did you sleep o.k?
you ask, sitting beside her,
with a coffee
and toast and cigarette.

Sure,
she says,
afterwards.  

Her eyes light up
like lights
on a pinball machine
when it's played well.

You? she asks,
you sleep all right?
Sure, but the ex-army guy
wasn't too pleased,
me getting back in the tent
at that hour,
you say.

**** him,
she says.
No thanks,
you reply.

She sips the juice,
her lips hold the glass
as she drinks,
her mouth is fish-like
as she swallows.

You talk about
the ex-army guy's moans
about his mother's boyfriend,
how they don't
get along(he
and the boyfriend),
and how he feels
left out and how
he got thrown out
the army because
he was suicidal.

She sips,
and you watched
her eyes feasting on you
as they did
the night before,
and you recall her
******* in
the small space
of her tent,
the girl she shared with
off ******* some guy
she'd met on the coach,
the tall guy
with an Australian accent.

You watched her,
as you disrobed yourself,
the space throwing
you together,
each touching each,
kissing and *******
and kissing.

He still feel suicidal?
she asks.
Guess so,
you say,
tried to talk him
through it all,
laying there
in my sleeping bag,
half asleep,
listening
and talking to him,
eyes closing,
and his voice
becoming a drone.

Anyway,
he seemed happier after,
snoring not long after,
as I was laying there
thinking of you.

She eats the cereal,
talks about the girl
coming back
just after you left,
well ******
and happy,
glassy eyed,
giggling
and stinking of *****.

You sip the coffee,
take in her small ****,
pressing against
her coloured top,
flowers and balloons,
patterns, eye catching.

She begs a smoke
from your packet
and you nod,
and she takes one out
and lights up
from the red
plastic lighter,
the cigarette,
held between her lips,  
kissable lips,
lickable.

Yes, it had been
a good night,
you and she
and someone
strumming a guitar
from the bar,
nearby,
loudly singing,
not far.

Miryam was sitting in the bar
of the base camp
outside Madrid

you sat next to her
on your second Bacardi
drawing on a smoke

she was sipping a glass
of white wine
where'd you get to last night?

she asked
thought you were going
to come to my tent?

thought your tent mate
would be there
you said

no we had a row
and she went to share
with Moaning Margaret

Miryam said
didn't know
you said

else I'd have come along
she sipped her wine
looking around the bar

spent a lonely night
she said
you exhaled smoke

and looked at her
taking in her frizzy
red hair

her eyes
her small tight ****
her tongue licking

the lips
I had that army guy
with me

you said
ex-army I should say
he got thrown out

why was that?
she asked
he didn't say

you said
and you thought on the guy
and how he went on and on

about his mother's new boyfriend
and how he felt pushed out
and the army life

was getting him down
and he did something
whatever and got

thrown out
Miryam drained her glass
I'm going now

where to?
you asked
my tent

she said
been a long day
touring around Madrid

you stumped out
your cigarette ****
in the glass ashtray

are you coming?
she asked
you looked uncertain

you don't have to
she said
I can always

sleep alone again
what if your tent mate
comes back?

you asked
she won't
Miryam said

too much was said
you drained your glass
and put it down

on the bar top
now?
don't you want to go

to the disco
in the other bar
by base camp?

no I'm tired
she said
ok

you said
see you later
later?

she moaned
I want to go to the disco
you said

she shrugged her shoulders
and stormed off
out the bar

into the night air
you went outside
and she had gone

between tents
into the darkness
disco music thumped

from the other bar
across the way
sounds of laughter

and voices calling out
and Bill waving to you
from his tent

on his way
to the other bar
his long wavy hair

caught in the breeze
and jeans with holes
or tears in the knees

and you thinking
of Miryam
in her tent alone

no longer waiting
maybe fuming
getting undressed

wanting you
not wanting to rest
and back at your tent

the army guy
lying there
full of woe

waiting for your return
to tell his tale
of life that fate

had sent
walking to
the other bar

(with Bill)
you wished you'd gone
to Miryam's tent.

Miryam slept
most of the way
through Paris
that evening

her head
on your shoulder
her eyes closed
like pink shells

her mouth
slightly ajar
an innocent
sleeping child

kind of look
on the coach
as it travelled
through the bright lights

and sights of Paris
Beethoven's
5th Piano Concerto
pouring

from the coach's
loudspeakers
you gazed
at her tight

red haired head
sense of her
laying there
a soft sound

of breathing
a barely felt sense
of her pulse
and feeling

that the most
important thing
at that moment
that pulse

that sound
of breathing
that the whole world
would cease

if she did
neither again
you lay back
your head

on the headrest
taking in the sights
the lights
people passing

street scenes
bars and cafés open
couples walking
arm in arm

a kissing couple
here and there
the second movement
of the Beethoven concerto

easing through
the coach
and looking down
at her hands folded

in her lap
as if they too slept
fingers holding
thumbs touching

her knees visible
where her skirt
rode up as she sat
and as you lay there

taking in
her being there
that eternal moment
sinking in

the Proustian connection
of her sleeping so
and the Beethoven episode
the piano easing out

and her head there
on your shoulder
rested childlike
and all or most

of desires kept at bay
seeing her lay so
like untouched
untrodden snow.

Miss Billings dismounted her motorbike
over by the garage wall
and in Marilyn Monroe like fashion
she walked up towards

the forecourt where you
were sweeping
between the pumps
with the big broom

Mr Fredericks had given you
a few minutes ago
to clear the last
of the snow

got you busy already kid?
she said
undoing the headscarf
and giving you the eye

yes he said to get off
the rest of the snow
she glanced around
the forecourt

well don't let me keep you kid
don't let it be said
I kept a keen man down
and she walked off

into the garage rooms
to the back office
swaying her backside
as she went

you watched
until she had disappeared
then swept more snow
from the pumps

until half hour later
(only three cars had entered
the forecourt for petrol)
you walked to the small office

at the front where the till
was kept and a small heater
was lit to keep you warm
when Miss Billings came along

and said
you want some coffee
or cocoa? or anything else
to get you warm?

coffee would be nice
you said
OK kid
she said

keep yourself warm in there
don't want you to freeze
your jewels off
and she swayed away

humming some song
as she went
you rubbed
your chilled hands

together to warm them
remembering that Christmas
when you and Judith
had walked

through the snow
carol singing
her cheeks red
with her cold

her hand touching yours
her breath exiting
her mouth
like cigarette smoke

and she pretended
she had a cigarette
between fingers
her eyes bright as stars

her hand squeezing
her fingers freezing
what you dreaming about kid?
Miss Billings said

putting a mug of coffee
by the till
O just thinking
of happy times

in my past
well hold on to it kid
she said
because it won't last

and she wiggled off
like some imitation Monroe
without the glitter or good looks
back to the back office

to play with herself
or make up the books.

You made your way down
to the gas station
for your third day of work
in the heaviest fall of snow

since the year you were born
15 years before
and Mr. Fredericks was there
limping about the forecourt

around the pumps
with a big broom
brushing away snow
hey

he said
right you can try sweep
off the snow about the pumps
make it easy

for the customers
to get in and out
their cars and trucks
and handed you the broom

I’ll be upstairs
if you need me
just press the bell
under the desk

in the kiosk
at the front
and off he went
limping inside

snow still fell
there was a cold chill
about your limbs
your fingers ached

you pushed broom
shoved snow off
about the pumps
until all

were temporarily clear
then went inside
just as Miss Billings
rode along side

of the gas station
on her motorbike
then walked up
to the kiosk

where you’d taken refuge
you the new kid?
she asked
you nodded

I’m Miss Billings
she said
I work here too
in the back office

doing accounts
help out in the forecourt
if needed or the shop
in back if you’re overrun

she stood there
in her glasses
blonde hair covered
by a scarf

a black leather jacket
zipped to the neck
and helmet in one hand
white overalls coming down

to her knees
followed down
to her ankles
were red wool stockings

and white boots
on her feet
she stared at you
her eyes scrutinizing

the customer
is always right
did Mr Fredericks
tell you that?

yes
you said
well he’s right
so don’t matter

if the customer’s thick as ****
or **** stupid
they’re always right ok
so be tight Kid

tight as *****
in the *******
in a freezing shower
get it right

you nodded
and she walked in
and disappeared
into the back office

with a slow sway
of her of hips
her words
like chisel blows

to your ears
she about 21
to your 15
innocent

boyish years
she seeping
into your imagination
not knowing then

that her beauty
was probably
some marine’s image
for secret *******.

Are the boys in?
Benedict asked
no they've gone fishing
with their big brother

Milka said
O right
Benedict said
looking at her

standing there
in her Baby Doll
nightie
best go then

I was going
to the cinema
this afternoon
not sure

if they'll be back
in time
she said
he  looked beyond her

into the kitchen
your mum
not about?
no Dad's

taken her shopping
I’m on my own
she said
gazing at him

want to come in
for coffee or tea
or something?
she asked

no best not
he said
she expressed
disappointment

if your parents
come back
they'll put
two and two

together
and come up
with ***
he said

no they wouldn't
they would think
you'd just come
and were just going

I’ll say you came
for the boys
and had only
just found out

she said
you'd lie to them?
he said
if needs must

she said
needs?
he said
how long

have they been gone?
20 minutes
how long
will they be?

long enough
she said
he looked behind him
at his bike

by the fence
of the field
chickens were pecking
around the barn

I’ll come in
for coffee
he said
she backed in

and he followed
watching her cute ****
swaying before him
take a seat

she said
he sat on a seat
at a large oak table
strong or weak

black or white?
white strong
two sugars
she smiled

and took two mugs
down from a shelf
and prepared the coffee
in both

a radio was playing quietly
in the background
the Kinks
were being played

he noticed
she had nice legs
plumpish but neat
from ankles to ****

she poured water
into both mugs
and dripped in milk
she gave him his

and sat down
gazing at him
we have the house
to ourselves

she said
my bed
lonely upstairs
wanting company

she pouted
and pulled
a baby face  
how comes

your not dressed yet?
I seldom get dressed
till late on Saturdays
unless Mum

has a moan
Milka said
Benedict sipped
his coffee

she sipped hers
we could be doing things
she said
we are doing things

he said
we're drinking our coffees
you know what I mean
she said

he looked
at the wood stove
with logs on the floor
warmth came across

a picture hung
on a wall
by a Welsh dresser
they may not

be back for hours
she said
time enough
he mused on her words

but the image
of her parents
coming back
whilst in play

haunted him
not today
he said
your mother trusts me

Milka frowned
and sipped her coffee
shame she does
Milka said sulkily

a Beatles' song
came on the radio
I could sit on your lap
she said

the door of the kitchen
opened and her mother
came in
with shopping bags

and plonked them
on the table
O hello Benedict
come for the boys?

yes
he said
Milka made me a coffee
while I waited

good girl
she said
but still
in that silly nightie

just as well
Benedict is a good boy
or I don't know
what would have happen

my girl
Milka stared at him
as her mother
put away

the shopping
he looked innocent
as a peach
and knew now

that Milka
was out of touch
and out
of his reach.

Your father used to put
a folded white handkerchief

in the top pocket
of your jacket

and combed your hair
which he’d plastered

with Brylcream first
and even dampened

your eyebrows
to get them to lay down

with his spittled finger
and took you with him

to the movies
to watch cowboy

or war films
or now and then

those romantic ones
with kissing

and too much talk
which although good

you would avoid
if you could

and he took you
to your granddad and gran

and you sat there
bored out of your brain

watching the goldfish
swim round and round

the glass fish bowl
and him talking

about this or that
and once you recall

at a Friday evening treat
at the movies

he’d run off into
the dark

and you sat
watching the film

until an usherette came
and said

your daddy’s had
a choking fit

and he’s in the foyer
having a rest in a chair

and so you missed
the end of the film

as she took you off
to see him there.

Miss Maitland
the student girl
who worked Saturdays
in the D.I Y. Store

wore tight jumpers
and jeans or pants
which hugged her body
in a way you used to wish

you could have done
but didn’t and when
she walked up
and down the aisle

to serve
waiting customers
she wiggled
her compact ****

in a way that caught
your imagination
and set it to thoughts
not poetic

you write poetry don’t you?
she asked
yes
what kind of poetry?

non rhyming
blank verse
kind of thing
you replied

what do you write about?
life and people
she stared at you
her eyes dark

and intelligent
what people?
yourself? me?
I don’t write

about myself
you said
taking in
her small compact ****

beneath the cover
of her jumper
the way
they occasionally wobbled

as she moved
or lifted an arm
do you write about me?
she asked

leaning closer
the perfume invading
your nostrils stirring
deep passions

no fictitious people
oh
she said
and went off

to serve a couple
who had entered
the store
you watched her hips sway

as she walked
the tight ****
going side to side
and you feeling

a poem coming on
the muse waking
from its doldrums
Ezra Pound has died

she said
on her return
he was a fascist you know
hated Jews and such things

you watched her lips move
wanting deep down
to connect with them
set yours to hers

invade with your tongue
but he wrote good poems
you said
the Cantos

the translations
etc etc
does that excuse him?
she asked

as a man no
but as a poet
his poems will survive
long after

any moral judgements
of his beliefs
however wrong
or misguided

he may have been
you said
drinking in
her aspect

her **** and ****
the way she looked
and smelt
the bourgeoisie breeding

of her mind and being
she walked off
to serve again
unaware what

beneath her clothing
you were seeing.

Take me, Miss Pinkie says,
take me. A plump bundle
of pinkness, dyed hair, grey
at the roots, the blue eyes
whiskey soaked, the mouth

open, the naked skin, the full
moon flowing in. All aboard
who are coming aboard, she
says to the room, and he beside
her says, are you sure? now

of all times? yes, she says, lift
the anchor, set sail, take note
of the rough seas, the rise and
fall of the waves, and he looking
back sees moonlight on his naked

****, the sound of Mahler’s 6th
echoing from the other room,
and he sensing the high seas
and moving surf, climbs aboard,
set eyes to the horizon of bed

board and cool blue walls, and
hears the sirens sing, hears the
creak of bed and bones as he and
Miss Pinkie, on the love ship, hold
tight and smile, as it rises and falls.

Miss Pinkie cornered him
in the laundry room
there was no one else about
and she had him

against the wall
her plump body
pressing into him
making his pecker move

what if someone comes in?
he said
what’s the matter Professor
am I too hot for you?

he tried to move
from her but her body
had him fixed
and his pecker

was coming along fine
trying to push
its way forward
what about tonight?

she asked
maybe
he said
have to see

if I can make it
she ran a hand
over his trouser bulge
come on Professor

don’t be shy
you know you’ll come around
what if someone comes in
and sees us here?

he said
she sighed
and moved away
straightened up

her uniform
I can put on
some Mahler
and if you bring a bottle

we can have a good time
he tried to sort out
his pecker before
he moved on

ok
he said
I’ll be around
about 8pm

now can we get on
with our work?
she smiled
of course

she said
moving a side
letting him go by
better look after

Mr Pecker
she said
don’t want him
unfit or unwell

she laughed
and picked up
some soiled garments
and put them

in one of
the machines
and cupped in
some powder

and closed
the door
he left the room
hands in his pockets

and she thought
of the last night
they ******
with the Mahler

rising across the hall
the Resurrection Symphony
and she on her back
legs spread wide

and he
like some jockey
in for the ride.

Miss Pinkie
had him spread out

upon her bed
an object

to ******
and adore

his clothes folded
neatly on a chair

hers cast here
and there

upon the floor
there’s an art

to seduction
she said

moving in
upon him

her tongue
about to lick

his pecker
he laying there

taking in
the tinted colour

of her greying hair
her eyes

opals of blue
not white

outside the window
the approaching night

and she
came down on him

and was silent
of words

but licked
and ******

and he moved
as the motion

moved him
his pecker saluting

and he noticed
how her earrings

dangled
as she downed

upon him
and up again

for breath
oh

he thought
but saying nothing

what a way to go
what a pleasant death.

Miss Pinkie
(she had dropped
the Mrs
after her divorce)
undressed slowly

she was an older
and plumper version
of Marie Antoinette

I lay on her bed
looking at her disrobe

so why
did you leave
the convent?
I asked

things happen
she said
you realize
what you are missing
or will miss

the moon was held
in the corner
of her bedroom window
like a fresh minted coin

and what was that?

what was what?

what was it
you were missing
or feared
you might miss?

children
marriage
***
she said
plunging
on her side
of the bed
and I have my son
and maybe
a grandchild one day

she turned towards me
her big blue eyes
searching me

I smiled
she had a similarity
to a hippo sunbathing
on a river bank

Mahler was playing
from her Hi-Fi
in the lounge

she put a hand
on her hip
her ******* moved
like piglets at play

sure you don't want
another drink?
she asked

no I’m fine

she ran a finger
along my thigh

my pecker stirred
from its slumber

her fingers walked
along my groin
her nails
were bright red

she had
the kind of touch
that could have
raised Lazarus
from the dead.

I miss you
coming in
and out each day;

I miss your quiet
presence as you stood
and thought;

I miss you standing
behind me as I write,
your soft spoken words
as you pointed out
an error in my work.

I miss your being here,
your wandering
from room to room
looking out for food;

that laughter,
that way you had
with wit and humour.

I miss you, my son,
miss the being of you
in my life.

I miss the presence
of you as each day
goes by;

I know you
are there
as I silently cry.

I miss you
you I miss
time's hold
gone now
like water
through sands
once here
slipped through
hands touch
miss you much.

I love you
you I love
feelings bold
since birth's
unfold
and given free
from me to you
and you to me
and though there
you are not
but in other world
beyond my touch
love you much.

I need you
you I need
your quiet presence
solid form
wisdom embodied
and humour too
over years we knew
and always such
I need you much.

I want you
you I want
more than treasures
more than gold
more than life's
false promises
of riches far
out of finger's
greedy touch
I want you much.

You make a good bed,
Sophia said.

I smoothed the top sheet
of Mr H's bed
with a motion
of my hand,
trying hard not
to look at her
by the sink
in the corner.

It's a firm bed,
isn't it?

It's metal framed
for endurance,
I said,
lifting my head,
seeing her standing there
with Vim powder
in her hand
and cloth in the other.

We have ****?

I pulled up the blankets
and duvet,
pretending I hadn't heard.

No one around,
she said,
be safe.

Until Mr H
or some other old boy
comes along
and keels over
clutching their heart,
I replied.

She smiled, turned
and began powdering
the sink and scrubbing
with the cloth.

I looked out the window
at the grounds below;
the grass
was a bright green,
the few trees
in full leaf.

I turned
and she was
standing there
with one foot
on the bed
and her skirt hem
lifted, showing
a fair glimpse of leg.

You sure
we not have ****?

Not here, not now,
I said,
taking the glimpse
of leg inside my head.  

She pouted her lip
and shook her long
blonde hair.

Shame,
it could be good.

I went out the room,
closing the door,
thinking of my next task,
giving Sidney
his morning bath,
and as I walked on,
I heard her
mocking laugh.

Oslo that summer
having left the base camp
and the tent
with the Australian guy

(he was with the Yank girl)
you walked about
looking at the sights
Moira beside you

in her denims
and white tee shirt
and her hair frizzed
after a shower

(which she had taken alone
worse luck)
and she was talking
about the Yank girl

with whom she shared
her tent
O the perfume she wears
I’d rather sleep

in a tent
with a camel
than with her
and her voice

***** my head
and do you know
I've heard about
her love life

from the very beginning
I’d rather spend the night
listening to a duck quack
you nodded

and listened
taking in her fire talk
her four letters words
filling the air

floating there
like black
angry birds
you can share with me

any time
well you could
if I didn't have
the Australian guy there

smelling of beer
and talking about Sheilas
and how he did this
and that

you said
no
Moira said
and have them

talk about me too
no I’m not that
kind of girl
besides

how would we work it
to allow that to be?  
don't get so angry
about things

why do you Scots
get so moody?
it's not just us
she said

it's the ******* world's
view of us
as wee tight *******
when we're not

anyway
she went on
giving you the stare
what do you

know of Scots?
lived in Edinburgh
for a while
you said

nice place
so much history
well there you go
she said

anyway what’s that
got to do
with the Yank *****
and her perfume

and the love life
of a ******* rabbit
nothing I guess
you said

I think she's over here
studying art
O then
that explains it

the way she has
the I-couldn’t-go-a-day
-without- a man's- ****
-in-me

kind of talk
and philosophy
Moira said
spitting out words

like broken teeth
what about a beer?
you said
chill out

and take in a view
and have a smoke
and I can tell you
of my love life?

the beer's a good idea
but I’m not so keen
on the tales
of your **** life

she said
so you found a bar
off a street
and sat outside

with two beers
and a couple of smokes
and you wondering
how she bedded

and how indeed
to get her into your tent
and what to do
with the Australian guy

and the Yank dame
and off she went again
moaning about
the Southend

teacher guy
did you see him
at the from
of the mini bus

giving it all
that talk of history
and that Lancaster *****
all ears and ******* teeth ?

you sat and smiled
listening to her
talking of herself
and the world's grief.

From Dover
to Zeebrugge
across on the ferry
Moira said nothing

kept herself
to herself
except moaning
at her brother

until you reached
the base camp
outside the port
and in the bar

after seeing
the caravans
instead of tents
she said

did you see the state
of those caravans?
talk about dosshouses
you studied her

as she spoke
her lips moving
ten to the dozen
her eyes blazing

like a lit up
Swan Vesta
you saw her
short frame shake

with her anger
I’ve told Billy
to have a go
but will he?

no ****
he won’t say boo
to a ghost
if it was tired

to a chair
and on she went
her words spreading
through the bar

like spilt oil
but all the time
her eyes
were on you

her hands gesturing
the thumb
pointing back
towards

the caravans
the barman
a Belgium guy
gazed at her

bemused
wiping glasses
in the background
someone put a coin

in the jukebox
and out played
loud and clear
Heartbreak Hotel

and all you
could think was
I wonder how she kisses
this wild eyed girl?

Outside Stockholm
in that base camp
having put up the tents
and unloaded the bags

and suitcases
from the top
of the truck
you walked with Moira

to the camp cafe
and order two beers
and burgers and fries
and looked out

the window
at the spread of tents
over the campsite
and Moira said

if I have to share a tent
with that Yank girl another night
I’ll go mad
her and her talk

and boasting
of how many men
she’s *******
and where she’s been

and what she’s done
and always wearing
that leather gear
all black and tight

showing her backside
and small ****
and so Moira went on
and you listened

half heartedly
wondering what Judith
was doing in Florence
and who she was with

and if she remembered you
and would bring you back
some gift like she did
from Amsterdam

that postcard
of a Chagall print
which you pinned
to your wall  

and if she so much
as boasts of her education
once more
I’ll break her

FECKING JAW
Moira said loudly
so that people nearby
turned their heads

and stared
your thoughts of Judith
blew away
and the image

of the Chagall print
pinned to your bedroom wall
maybe she’ll sleep elsewhere
you said

who else to sleep with?
she said
huh? who else is there?
what about that Yorkshire girl?

you asked
maybe she will
I’ll ask
Moira said

can only say no
and she sat
and thought
and sipped her beer

and the other people
looked away
and returned
to their conversations

and you sipped yours
taking note of her small hands
and plumpish fingers
and the small *******

pushing through
the tight tee shirt
and the small
silver crucifix

hanging down between
and her moving chin
and you wondered
how well she *******

but didn’t ask
being
you thought
rather rude.

Time at the moment is pretty fluid it wraps itself about you like a warm fur coat and snuggles close to you the minutes ticking ever so slowly the seconds taking their pace like wrinkly old folks crossing roads and the cigarette lit and you drawing in the smoke the inhalation a big thrill a big relief after the kids are off to school and Buck’s out on the road with his job and all and you just wanting the moment to be prolonged beyond the usual process of time wanting to be able to stretch out and just take in the moment now the scent from your skin the cigarette smell the nicotine the smoke the sounds of the birds outside the window the sounds of the traffic along the back road the ability at that moment to just lounge there and feel the chair beneath your *** the hardness of it the smoothness of it as you move your *** back and forth and taking another drag on the cigarette you want to heave it back into your lungs and let it settle there let the smoke filter into your head  and heart and soul and if Buck was there with you and not on the road trying to sell those **** brushes and brooms and washing junk you and he could make out up in the bedroom and not have to worry if the kids came in or overheard or you could be on the floor in the front room and making as much sounds as you **** well liked and not having to think of the kids saying what’s up Mommy Daddy hurting you again? Thinking of that time when you and Buck were going strong and you guess the noise was getting kind of loud and little Pips comes into the semi dark and says Mommy are you ok? What’s happening? And you had to hush her and read her a story until she had gone to sleep again and Buck had gone to sleep by the time you got back and you were left heated and wanting and him asleep and you burning for it but now you are alone with the smoke and the scent and hard chair supporting your **** and remembering the day a few weeks back when that salesman came to the porch selling hardware and giving it the hard sell and you the eye and looking beyond you wondering if there was anyone at home apart from you and you looking at him thinking what would he be like if he and you made it on the sofa the flower patterned sofa that you bought with Buck’s mother’s money she left us and wondering if he had it in him after giving you the big sell and the usual yak but you pushed the though out of your mind as pips was home from school that day having the ***** and if she hadn’t maybe you might have but that was that and you didn’t and he didn’t and you didn’t even buy a single *** from him not so much as small knife and coming back to the moment to the cigarette between fingers the smoke being blown into the air the smell the scent the feeling of being alive the sensation of being free yet not free of being at ease yet uneasy and thinking if only Buck was here if only he’d taken the day off and wondering what to do for the rest of the day apart from the chores apart from the usual day to day things and wishing that the salesman would ome by today wishing that he’d call in and maybe you say to yourself just maybe that **** sofa that sickly flowered sofa could be could be soft against your naked **** and he making it out with you and him yakking about pots and pans and the hard sell and you not caring a fig’s skin as long as you had company and he was pretty good but he never did and you never did and the smoke touches the ceiling like grey fingers reaching for the sky and you sitting there smoking waiting for the why.

Mona stands outside
the back door of the
cottage and stares up
at the morning sky.

Monday, school soon.
It seems a lifetime ago
since Friday. She and Lisa
had, the previous day,

burned into each other
a different relationship.
She can still sense each
touch, each hold and kiss.

The rainfall had soaked
them like a holy baptism,
a fresh start, a new beginning.
She breathes in the morning air.

Fresh in the lungs.  Cows
moo in a far field. A crow
calls. She closes her eyes
and smells the farm across

the fields. Each part of her
seems touched. Each inch
of flesh seems hotly kissed.
The bedroom had been their

sanctuary, a place of rebirth.  
The parents had not heard
or known or suspected a thing.
Teatime had been so innocent

after. Acting as normal, as if
the moments before they had
not made love, had not been
naked in each others arms

flesh to flesh, body against body.
Just tea and sandwiches and
cakes and the usual talk of
farm and land and weather.  

She opens her eyes and
watches the clouds drift.
More cows moo.  Birds
fly overhead. There is

a new life within, a new love
inside her heart and head.

Helen awakes
to dawn's light.

Tick tock
of hall clock.

Light peeps
through blue curtains
like a nosey child.

What day is it?
she muses.

Monday.

Sighs.

Looks at her doll,
Battered Betty,
beside her
in the bed;
one eye open,
one eye shut,
dressed in
an old grey dress.

Time?

Radio plays
from sitting room.

Music drifts.

Tick tock
of hall clock.

She counts.

Seven fifteen.

Tick tock.

Time to get up.

Sighs.

Pushes back
grey blankets.

Puts her feet
onto the cold
linoleum floor.

Cold.

She sits
on the edge
of her bed;
looks at her toes,
her feet.

She looks back
at Betty.

Lazy girl.

Sighs.

She gets up
and walks
to the window.

Peeps through
the curtains
at day's dull light.

Coldness bites
at her limbs.

She stares
at the wall opposite;
dull coloured bricks.

She can smell
bacon frying.

Breakfast.

She walks across
her room
on cold linoleum.

Opens the door,
goes out
and closes door;
leaves Betty
to sleep.

She walks down
the passage.

Radio plays.

Music filters.

Bacon smell.

Her mother is
at the gas cooker
frying bacon.

Her hair in curlers,
dark hair,
plump features.

Fairies wake you up?
Mother asks.  

No, just woke up,
Helen says,
sniffing the air,
looking at
the kitchen/ bathroom.

The table has been lowered
over the bath.

Plates set out.

Wash before food,
Mother says.

Helen takes
the boiled water
in the kettle
to the sink
and places a plug
in the hole
and pours
the water in.

She puts the kettle
back on the stove.

She turns on
the cold tap
and feels
the water get
to the right
temperature.

Turns off the tap.

Rolls up the sleeves
of her night dress
and washes: neck,
face and hands.

Dries on the towel
behind the door.

Go and sit
in the sitting room
and I'll bring in
your breakfast,
Mother says.

Helen walks through
the passage
to the sitting room.

Her father is
at the dining table.

Tea sipping.

Smoking
a cigarette.

Smoke rises
to the ceiling.

She gets that
dull Monday morning,
yuk school,
feeling.

Mona sits on the school bus,
the noise of the other children
seems far away, she is indulging

in her thoughts. Lisa will get
on the bus soon. Her closeness
again. Sitting just here. Next to

me, Mona muses, patting the
seat next to her. The evening
before they had parted after

the tea. The bedroom romp
had filled her up. Each moment
seems to relive in her mind.

She looks out of the window,
passing countryside, cows in
fields, trees, birds. They had

almost drowned in the downpour
of rain from the woods to the
house the afternoon before.

Drenched to the skin. Get out
of those wet clothes, they had
been told by a parent. And they

did so. That started it all off.
Naked and drying. How had it
got that far? She thinks, watching

a ******* the other side of the
aisle of the bus talk about
watching such and such on TV.

She wonders how Lisa feels now.
The day after. After such things,
such sights, such deeds. The bus

draws to a stop. Others get on.
Lisa comes up the aisle and sits
beside her. She smiles and fiddles

with her school bag. Her fingers
nervous, like spiders on the run.
Sleep all right? Mona asks. Yes,

Lisa answers. Their eyes meet.
Mona feels a thump in her breast;
her heart seems to want to burst

open. Lisa leans closer. Dreamt of
you, she whispers. Did you? Mona
says, taking in Lisa lips moving, her

eyes, the nose. Lisa nods. Looks
around her. The bus moves on.
Mona wants to speak but her

mouth seems sealed. Lisa turns
again and looks at her. Seems
strange now seeing her clothed

after the nakedness and kissing
and holding. Lisa puts her hand
over Mona’s, squeezes, touches,

flesh on flesh. Mona breathes
in deeply. The touch, the feel
of her. She thinks of the last kiss

the night before. Not now of
course. Not with others about.
Not here. They seem in a different

world to the others. Adrift on
their own ship, wild seas. Waves
of passion inside. They look away

each to a different horizon. Love
locked. Hands touching, skin on
skin. Father O’Brien would call it sin.

Shoshana sees him,
watches him, he walks
through the playground
towards the cloakrooms,

his head turned away
from her, his profile,
snaps it with her eyes
like a camera, Naaman,

she thinks his name is,
the stride of him, so
goose-bumpily he makes
her, somersault of her

innards, her brain alive
like a wire shot through.
He stops, holds out a hand,
palm upwards, eyes the

sky, then her, standing by
the fence, Monkey's Wedding,
he says, smiling, then down
it comes rain and the sunshine

almost hand in hand like a
weird bride and groom, then
downwards falling, go run,
she hears him loudly calling.

Christina sat at the dressing table
to brush her hair, the hairbrush
her aunt had given her, in her hand.
She was still in her nightgown,

her school uniform
was on a chair by the bed,
the bed still unmade.
She looked at her features,

her hair a mess, her eyes
still had sleep in them.
She brushed her hair slowly,
a hundred times, her mother said,

does it best. She dragged the brush
through, pulling through the knots
at the ends. She thought on Benedict,
her friend's brother, the boy she

had become smitten by. She wondered
if she'd see him today; unless she
waited by the school fence and peered
through when his school bus arrived

and he descended and went by the fence
into his playground, she might not.
Maybe if it was fine and they were
permitted to go out on the sports field

she would. They'd met the first time there,
after his sister had told him that
Christina liked him. Thinking about
him now, made her feel excited, made

her insides turn over, not nastily, but
weirdly, as if fingers stirred inside of her.
She had dreamed of him the night before,
dreamed he had sat at the end of her bed,

and she had wanted him to enter, but
he just sat there talking. She stopped
brushing her hair and put the brush down
on the dressing table. They had kissed.

Hard to find a place at school where
they could be alone. They had found
a few moments in the gym during recess
a week ago, just them, the smell of

sweating bodies, gym shoes and feet.
They had their ears pricked for any
sounds, but then kissed. Lips on lips.
His tongue met hers, touched, strange

sensation that, she murmured to herself
sitting gazing at her reflection in the mirror,
as if she'd touched a live wire, it tingled,
rather made her feel open, wide open as

if someone had pressed something within.
She daren't tell or ask her mother even
if her mother wasn't in one of her low moods.
Only when she menstruated the first time

did she mention to her mother about her body.
Oh you'll get use to it, her mother said,
the curse women have to put up with.
Sometimes in bed or when she got out

of the bath, she would put her arms about
her body and pretend it was Benedict,
imagined it was he doing the caressing
and holding and touching. Time to get

ready for school, she thought, taking out
of the photo of Benedict out of the drawer
and kissing it. He gave it to her after she
had given him one of herself. Not a good one,

she had to sneak one out of the photo box
her parents wouldn't miss. Benedict liked it,
said he kept it somewhere safe. His was
good, her damp lips had left an impression.

She wiped it off and held it against her *******.
She sighed. At night she kept the photo under
her pillow and took it out to kiss before
going off to sleep. She put the photo away

again and stood up. Time to get dress
and get down for breakfast before her
mother bawled out up the stairs to her.
Out of the window she could see blue

skies, a sun was rising. Might see
Benedict after all, she said, taking
off her nightgown, and letting it slip
to the floor. Oh to see him always,
and see him more and more and more.

Benedict met Mrs Cleves
in one of those
out of town bars
and they had a few drinks

and she told him
about her ex and
what a ******* he was
and how he used

to mess around
with those air hostesses
(he being a steward on a plane)
and he'd even boast

how many of them
he had had that week
and Benedict listened
and drank his drink

knowing that after this
they would go back
to her place
and drink more

put on some Delius
on her hifi
and have ***
on the sofa

or maybe make it
to her bedroom
if time and passion allowed
but she talked on

about her ex
and how she met him
after she came
out of the convent

(Benedict couldn’t picture
that scenario)
all innocent and pure
and thought love

had been found
Benedict sipped
the last of his drink
noticing how her hair

was like that French queen
he’d read about
who’d had lost her head
on the guillotine

and still she yakked on
about the ex
how he liked
fast cars and women

and drank too much
and disliked
her Scottishness
or her whiney voice

Benedict wondered
what she was like
back then
before the pounds

had landed on her
before age
had begun to settled
into features

and remembered
that time they had ***
on the sofa
and they’d fallen off

( too much *****
or what he couldn’t now say)
and the downstairs neighbour
had banged up

from the room below
and she said
shut the **** up
you old hag

and all said
in her Glaswegian tones
and they lay there
on the floor

she **** naked
and he semi clothed
with Mahler’s 5th bellowing
in the background

and as he came back
from his thoughts
she was still talking
of the ex

and he wished
she'd finish up
her drink
to get back

to her place
for more ***** and ***.

Jane's kisses
were not then
******,

but they were
sensual,
in that they

woke up those
senses that
had before

been dormant.
Outside school
after that

school bus ride
to our homes,
and others

had gone their
separate
ways apart,

she remained
hesitant,
her being

on the edge
of some vast
awakening

within her.
Can we walk?
She asked me.

If you like.
The school bus
had gone off,

the others
not in sight.
We walked down

the side lane,
grassy banks
on both sides.

There is talk
at our school
of a girl

in my class
who's pregnant.
What girl's that?

I asked her,
having a
vague idea

what it meant.
Jane drank in
each aspect

of nature
about us:
butterflies,

wild flowers,
the song birds,
the bird's nests.

Can't say names,
Jane replied,
mustn't judge,

Daddy said.
Her father
was parson

of our small
dull village.
She's our age?

Yes, Jane said:
just 13.
Her black hair

had two grips
either side:
neat, precise.

Her school skirt
was dull grey,
with white blouse.

What happened?
I then asked
not knowing

the process
of those things.
I don't know,

Jane replied.
She didn't,
because she

never lied.
She stopped still
and looked down

at the stream.
I stopped, too.
Those flowers

give the scene
completeness,
Jane then said.

God given,
not man made.
She knelt down,

I knelt, too.
She fingered
the flower,

brushed along
fine petals,
dipped fingers

in the stream.
Whose baby?
I asked her.

She pulled at
the skirt's hem
to her knees,

brushed fingers
which were damp,
on skirt’s cloth.

We don’t know.
Some local
boy I guess.

She stood up;
so did I.
She looked up

at the sky:
birds in flight,
puffy clouds,

spread of blue.
What, I asked,
did they do?

Jane followed
with her eyes
across sky,

a swallow.
Love those birds,
their wing spread,

how they fly.
I studied
how she stood,

her dark eyes,
her back hair,
her pink lips.

We had kissed
and now there
I needed

to kiss her
lips again.
Not quite sure

what they did
Jane’s lips said.
Our eyes met.

Hazel and black.
More than kiss?
I asked her.

Yes, Jane said,
I expect.
She came close.

Her small *******
touched my chest.
We kissed shy,

then less so,
our lips moist,
our tongues touched,

senses stirred.
Our eyes closed.
Our lips met,

hands entwined.
Not pregnant?
I enquired.

No, she said,
more than this
required.

Yehudit sat on the grass by the pond Benny sat beside her she was looking at the ducks and dragonflies hovering and taking off in a long flight he was thinking of the death of Marilyn Monroe announced on the radio that morning and how he had kissed the photograph he had of her on his wall a small photo he had got through some club it was in black and white and he adored looking at her standing there cant believe shes dead Benny said who? whos dead? Yehudit asked looking around at him Marilyn Monroe on the radio news this morning he said how did she die? they think suicide overdose or something he said she looked away why did she do that? she asked no idea he said Yehudit lay back on the grass put her hands behind her head come lay beside me for a while she said he lay back beside her then turned to face her sideways on he took in her eye looking up at the blue sky blue as blue on blue he thought the flush of her cheek her nose her lips parted just so as to see teeth her ear covered by her brown hair she turned towards him so that both eyes were on him now blue on hazel we can if you want to she said studying him intensely can we? if you want to she said should we? he said and thought of the first time that time in the school gym once midday when the gym was empty and theyd gone in for a quick kiss and well one thing led to another and even though they were risking it they did and even though she had tried to be quiet she let out the moans under her breath and he momentarily on high had uttered yes yes yes and they had only just rearranged clothing when a teacher came in and said you ought not to be in here what were you doing? and Benny said showing her my press-ups and the teacher said they best leave and so they did Yehudit put her hand on his cheek and rubbed it gently and said of course we must if Marilyn can go like that we must take each given moment we have to fulfil our lives and he thought of Marilyn lying on her bed dead and the beauty still there but the spirit fled he leaned in and kissed Yehudit on the lips and she touched him on his thigh and their lips sealed and tongues engaged and moved and his hand felt along her thigh moving it up and down slowly and she closed her eyes and moved towards him and he felt upwards and upwards and touched and began to unbutton then voices came male voices from over the way by the pond-lake Yehudit called it- they broke apart looked around and sat up two men appeared with fishing gear over their shoulders one with a cap the other older balding pushing their way through the bushes on the other side engaged in conversation Yehudit and Benny made their way into the tall grass and lay flat looking through at the approaching men who stood opposite sorting out their fishing gear what they here for? Yehudit asked fishing Benny said I know that but why here why our lake? maybe they dont know its our lake Benny said they watched the two men unload and unpack their rods and seats and nets and then sit down typical Yehudit said now what? Benny reached through the grass and touched her hand we can touch and feel he said she felt his hand in her hand his fingers wrap around hers she moved through the grass and kissed his cheek can they see us? she asked shouldnt think so Benny said we are in the tall grass she turned him around to face her she breathed on him warm and **** and he kissed her and lay his hand on her leg then her high thigh she sighed and breathed warmly out I could have you now she said he lay back taking her in her eyes soft blue her parted lips her tongue risky Benny said what if they see movement of grass from over there? her hands began to unbutton his jeans and search within he stiffened looked at her lips her eyes he moved his hand moved upwards and felt her and closed his eyes cast it further a voice said maybe get something then another voice said do my best caught a good one here last week Yehudit held and rubbed Benny said shall we find some other place? Yehudit released and withdrew her hand why and where? too risky here cant focus he said she buttoned him up and lay on her back he lay beside her the sky was a bright blue birds flew overhead a dragonfly swept over the tall grass a butterfly swooped by voices again loud and deep nearly had one then be patient takes time the other replied Yehudit moved in the tall grass Benny watched as she took off her underwear and lay there got to be patient the man said she said softly Benny moved to her and next to her and felt her and unbuttoned and nearly there one mans voice said bit deeper the other said and laughed Yehudit sighed a shudder a movement an ease a bird flew off over the pond a blackbird sang got a bite a man said pull it slow now the other said Yehudits hands were on Bennys **** Bennys hands were holding her waist and bring it in now the man said steady steady Benny kissed her lips her cheek her eyes Yehudit saw birds in flight a woodpecker peck a duck quacked Benny opened his eyes and o a mouth and rode through a storm she lay there watching a rook in flight over head she was alive and Marilyn was dead.

She had managed to get out
and met you by the pond

where you had been waiting
and the morning air was fresh

and the birds were in song
and the flowers around the pond

were colourful
and she sat beside you

and said
Had to sneak out

the back way
before my mother

gave me chores
and anyway

it’s too nice a day
to be stuck indoors

and she looked at you
and smiled her bright smile

and you said
Glad you came

don’t like being here
unless you’re with me

it reminds me of you
this place

us being here together
and she said

Remember that time
we were here

and the rain came down
and we got drenched

and had to run to the barn
and shelter

and we were warm
and looked at each other

and then she stopped
and looked at the pond

and at the ducks there
and the bright morning sky

and you said
Yes that was a time to remember

and do you remember
that mouse that ran over your leg

and you screamed
and it echoed

around the barn
as if you were being murdered

and she laughed
and put her head

on your shoulder
and said

I can’t help it
if mice frighten me

and you sensed her head
against you

and wanted that moment
like all moments with her

never to end
but some how

to always to be there
memories and moments

and feelings
and the ducks

and the smell
of the morning air

always to be in my mind
and always to be there.

Sister Elizabeth looks
out of window. No mirror.
Self unseen. Image only

Imagined.  Pushes window
Outward, breathes air,
morning fresh, birdsong

From mulberry tree, old
still there. The cloister
Below, the red brick, arches,

Walls, no nun in sight.
At Matins eyes hard to
keep open, stifled yawns,

Chanted from memory, Latin
Words on page a dull blur.
Wonder how father is?

Aged now, pains most days.
She sniffs the air, breathes
in, tastes fresh air on tongue.

She places a hand behind
the pane of glass of window.
Her refection seen there.

Sin of sin. Vanity of vanities.
She looks at her refection.
Seen. Takes her hand away.

Makes sign of the cross.  
Bell tolls. Bell tower across
the way. Who rings? Which

Sister? Lauds soon. Chants
And prayers. She fingers her
cowl, brushes nose, eyelids.

She looks away from window.
Cell tidy. Books put in shelves.
Crucifix on wall above bed.

Wooden and aged. Plaster
Christ, pinned by small nails
through hands. Mother bought

Her her first rosary. White, small,
silver cross and Christ. Mother
taught to say rosary. Word for

Word. Mother cancer eaten.
Prayers offered. She moves to
the door, goes out. Passageway

Clear. None is there. She closes
her cell door. Puts hands away
In her black habit. Walks, muses,

Silent prayers. Down the stairs,
as taught, slow but careful, not
to rush, no running.  Into the

Cloister, morning sunlight touches
cloister wall and floor. Flowers
in flower bed by cloister wall,

Well tended, watered. Fingers
Rosary, thumb over the body
of Christ, rubs, smooth with

Rubbing. Goes by the refectory
door, smells of coffee, warm
Bread. On by the stairs to upper

Landings. Sister Francis by cloister
wall eyes closed, lips moving,
hands together. passes by, notes

White hands, fingers touching.
Smell of incense from church,
enters, fingers stoup, holy water,

Touches forehead, makes sign
Of Christ, moves into church,
genuflects, enters choir stalls,

Takes place. Stands till closes
Eyes, sees the image of herself
In window mirror reflected face.

Baruch liked
Yehudit's eyes
the smile that lingered
waiting for her

seemed an eternity  
being with her
always seemed
too short a time

the walk
by the wood shed
the memory
of their first

smoke there
she almost choking
that first time
the path

through the woods
the trees tall
sky above
hardly seen

she by a tree
that time waiting
said she wanted to
but they didn't

not just yet
he said
the walk to the pond
warm weather

unlike that first time
when the frost
bit them
he waited

by the pond side
ducks swimming
disturbing
the water's skin

she lay once
beside him here
talked of ***
or what

she knew of it
what girls
at school said
what one girl

said it was like
he watched the ducks
smelt the weather's air
that first kiss

kisses followed
she and him
the moon shining
above them

he liked the way
she lay
on that bed
the sunlight

through the window
falling
on her *******
he watched the sky

through
the tall trees
clouds passing
he liked her hand

in his
warm pulsing
fingers touching
undoing

doing
waiting seemed
an eternity
he often said

playing out
the last kiss
inside
his morning time head.

Morocco
some base camp
by a beach

in 19
70
a small bar

Miriam
sitting there
drinking her

Bacardi
and small coke
wearing that

very snug
bikini
coloured red

like her hair
of tight curls
up one end

a very old
Moroccan
was strumming

a guitar
him smoking
cannabis

happy guy
what's that stink?
Miriam

says to me
cannabis
I tell her

how'd you know?
A girlfriend
I once had

smoked the stuff
how could she?
Miriam

says to me
I don't know
she just did

I sip my
Bacardi
and smoke my

cigarette
she looks neat
in her snug

bikini
but neater
out of it.

I wonder if
the Moroccan sun
going down
into the Mediterranean
sea(or seemingly so),
noticed us
kissing on the beach
by the tufts of grass?

We cared not,
but went about
our business
as lovers do.

Loud music
from the base camp,
some one sang,
guitar, voices,
silly laughter.

It was quite
some time
ago now;
age has set in,
bones
have become stiff
and ache,
but it was
a good session,
as I recall,
for time-sake.

O my God
the ride down here
to this base camp
in those converted
army trucks
wasnt that something?
Miriam says

my face felt frozen
and my hair
looked as if
Id been in front
of a massive
hair-dryer
for hours

I sip my coke
and watch her
sitting at the bar stool
thinking
her jaw sure must
have unfroze
since shed not
stopped speaking
for a good five minutes

and guess who
Im sharing
a tent with?  
she informs

I dont know
I say

that hippy girl
you know the one
whose boyfriend
looks like Jesus

o yes
I know the one
yes so whats
she like
to share with?

o you dont
want to know
she says

then dont tell me

o but I must
so she does

and as she rabbits on
I study her hair
a mass of curls
tight and red
which reminded me
of a guy
I worked for once
who said
I took a red head
out last night
no hair
just a red head
and I laughed
because he was
my employer
but it was a kind
of put on laugh

and o
she says
and thats not all
when she undresses
at night in the tent

I am brought back
to the present
and am all ears
hanging on to
her every word
about the dame
*******
like a penitent
awaiting
a priests blessing.

Bring some wine around
Chana said
and I’ll put on
the music

and take off
some clothes
so I took some wine
(red she liked best)

and she put on the Mahler
and we sipped our wine
and she brought out
some small cakes

those fancy things
with small cherries on
and we ate and talked
and I listened to the Mahler

and looked at her
sitting there
with her big blue eyes
and that beehive

hair style
and her plumpish frame
and she said
how's the writing going?

not bad
still typing away
still learning my craft
she put her hand

on my thigh
and said
how about I
show you my craft?

I finished off my fancy cake
and drained my wine
(two glasses after)
and she took me

to her bedroom
with the big double bed
with purple sheets
and cover with large flowers

a picture or two
on the walls
and from the other room
the Mahler still played

and she lay on the bed
after *******
and I looked out
onto the evening sky

and stars and moon
and street lamps
showing a young couple
going by

and I was there with Chana
and she waited there ready
like some big mountain
waiting to be to climbed

and she said
aren't you coming on over?
sure
I said

and began *******
to the distant Mahler
the final movement
of the 2nd symphony

and went on over
and she said
how do you want me?
I told her how

and that was it
we made love
as the Mahler ended
the other room quiet

the far off sound
of a barking dog
from the window
the pale moon

quite bright
and we made love
( sans Mahler)
for most of the night.

As a kid
you used to watch
your mother

shucking peas
over the kitchen sink
and see the skill

her fingers
and thumb had
of clearing out

the peas into a bowl
with a single move
and you asked her

for one of the shucks
to chew
and she said

shucks?
you want a shuck?
yes please

you said
and she gave you one
from her hand

and you chewed
the juices out
and let it move

around your mouth
like that old tobacco
the cowboys had

in the black
and white films
your father

had taken you to see
and then you swallowed
and asked for more

and your mother obliged
with a raised brow
and a continued

moving out of peas
from the shuck
with nimble thumb

and fingers’ grip
as another green shuck
sat upon your lip

cowboy style
and your mother
with a shake of head

smiled and carried
on her work
of pushing out peas

from the pod
as you walked off
into the cowboy sunset

thinking of the Wild West
with no thought
of Boothill or God.

Those days are over now
you and your mother

sitting in the garden
she with her posh lady hat

and you in your cap
to keep the sun

from your balding head
she maybe muttering

but mostly still
and quiet and looking

as best she could
at the birds coming and going

as they picked up bread
now she is still

and silent once more
quietly dead

and you sit no more
in the garden

in your cap
and she

in her posh lady hat
with the sun

on your head
she is silent now

forever gently
peacefully dead.

Yes Helen muses Id like to meet Benny by the Duke of Wellington but to ask Mum first and I dont think shell mind as its Benny as she likes Benny and his mum and mine know each other and talk to each other at the school gates and when they talk they talk and yes if I ask Mum nicely and when shes not busy shell let me go but I cant leave it too long or the time will go and he will have gone if Im not at the Duke of Wellington by ten past ten this morning has as he is going to the herbalist shop to buy liquorice sticks and sarsaparilla by the glassful and Benny says it makes blood so if I drink a pint I will make a pint of blood and hopefully I wont spillover with blood she waits a few minutes while her mother puts away the shopping Helen had bought home from Baldys and looking at her mother making sure her mothers features did not show too much stress and timing it right that was the key Benny told her once timing is the key he said her mother walks around the kitchen seemingly busy the baby crawling around her mothers feet and the smell of nappies boiling on the stove steam rising smell of it Mum she asks can I go out with Benny to the herbalist shop and buy some liquorice sticks and sarsaparilla? her mother picks up the baby she hugs him close smells his rear end pulls a face what did you say? her mother asks holding baby a little distance away from her arms out stretched walking to the put-down table over the bath and placing baby down can I go with Benny to the herbalist shop and get some sarsaparilla and liquorice sticks? Helen repeats standing with fingers crossed behind her back when are you wanting to go? her mother asks unpinning babys ***** and the smell erupting into the room and air as soon as I am allowed Helen says trying not to breath in hoping her mother will say yes but her mother hesitates her features ******* up her fingers pulling back the offending ***** and dropping it in a pail at her feet bring me a clean ***** from the other room Helen and some talcum power and some cream and best get some other safety pins as these are a bit well not fit to put on again until theyve been washed o keep still you little perisher dont move your legs so and no dont piddle on me go on then Helen dont dawdle so Helen walks into the other room and collects a ***** from the fireguard and talcum powder and cream and pins from the bag by the chair and takes them to her mother who is struggling to hold the baby in one place and clean up the smelling liquid and mess  and waving a hand in front of her face to give her fresher air give them here then girl I cant wait all day and here hold his legs the little figit so I can get him clean properly Helen pulls a face and carefully reaches over to try and hold her brothers legs still while her mother attempts to clean him up but her brothers legs move at a pace and hes quite strong for one so small she thinks hold him hold him her mother says Helen does her best for a little girl not yet in double figures there done it her mother says hes done now right take him and put him in the cot in the other room while I wash these nappies out can I? Helen asks can I go? go where? what do you want now? her mother says to go to the herbalist with Benny Helen asks he asked me this morning while I was getting the shopping at Baldys her mother put on the kettle and empties the nappies in the big sink when did you want to go? as soon as I am allowed Helen says gazing at her mother through her thin wired thick lens glasses hoping her mum will say yes off you go well you cant always rush off you know not when I may need you after all youre my big girl the oldest of the tribe but as youve been good this one time you can go but mind the roads and keep with Benny and if you need to go to loo make sure its a clean place and put some toilet paper on the seat you dont know who sits on them things ok I will Helen says trying to recall all her mothers instructions can I go now? she asks hoping her mother will not change her mind at the last minute best go now then her mother says its nine fifty nine fifty? Helen says what's that mean? ten minutes to ten her mother says o right Helen says and rushes into the passage way and put on your raincoat it looks like rain her mother calls out I got it Helens says and rushes out the door and down the stairs carefully not wanting fall down the steep steps she holds on to the stair rail and then out into the street and bright fresh air and dull clouds and she walks along Rockingham Street under the railway bridge and there he is Benny hands in his jeans pockets his hair and quiff creamed down and his hazel eyes gazing at her blimey he says youre earlier than I thought youd be he takes in her hair plaited into two and her thin wire framed glasses making her eyes larger than they are had to help Mum with my baby brother she says hed messed his ***** and Mum had to clean him up and needed me to help and gosh the smell Benny enough to make you feel sick and anyway Im here now o but I havent money I forgot to ask Mum for money she says biting a lip looking back towards where shed come I got money Benny says rattling coins in his jeans pocket she smiles and looks at him he gives her the kind of smile she likes the kind that makes her feel safe and wanted and she loves the coat he wears with the odd buttons and and his quiff of air and his warm what shall we do now stare.

Bill feels the weight
Of the gun, moves
It in the palm
Of his hand, puts
His finger on

The stiff trigger,
Raises it and
Aims. The woman’s
Fragile head would
Have exploded

Had he loaded
The gun, but he
Hadn’t, it was
Just for fun, just
For practising.

She passes by
In the busy
Sidewalk below
Unaware she’d
Been in his sights,

Her head still in
One piece, her brains
Intact. He’d put
A few women
Away in his

Time, but mostly
Men, taken out,
Targeted, by
Gun or hands or
Blown apart or

Drowned in their baths
By accident
Of course. He tucks
The gun away,
Wipes his hands on

His coat, takes out
A cigarette,
Lights it up, and
Inhales. He used
To often dream

Of having his
Father in his
Sights in deep sleep
Nights; seeing the
Fatherly head

Blown wide and all
The things he used
To say, the WASP
Thoughts, prejudices
Shot far away.

He smiles, exhales
And remembers
His mother’s kind
Ways and tender
Kisses, with her

Ignorance of
His dark work and
Killing hands and
Undercover
Days and nights, who

Knew nothing of
The CIA,
Black ops, or the
Secret wars; just
Wanted to love

Him deeply, chide
Him gently for
Not loving his
Own father or
Doing the chores.