Spank me
Mrs Cleves said
it was all part
of her ****** foreplay

rather than some
Freudian slip
of a childhood probing
stuck inside

her head
OK
Baruck said
willing to oblige

to keep the show
on the road
the game in play
and she

19 years older
and 15 pounds
heavier
and he a novice

of the way it goes
the music
from the lounge
easing through the air

the wine seeping
through his head
trying to keep her words
and image

and her body
on the bed
she above him
he beneath

wondering what
the priest would say
if seeing him now
hand pounding flesh

moving to the music
and lust
doing
what a young guy

must
the Mahlerian
symphonic sounds
the sounding springs

the echoing voice
of her demands
and needs and pleads
come on more more

Mrs Cleves said
and he recalls
that Lucien Freud painting
he'd seen

of the fat dame
lying on a couch
naked as the day
she was born

seductively reclined
her huge *******
and ample flesh
her body crushing thighs

and thinking such
he smiled
and closed his eyes
and thought of Rome

and the Roman ******
he'd read of somewhere
and the smell of perfume
and wine

and he and she
moving
quickly and sexually
there.

Elaine sat in class.
She'd seen John
on the bus, but he
had not looked over

at her, but gazed out
the window, sitting
beside the boy Trevor.
She looked back and

he was sitting at back
of class with a boy
called Rowland, he
looking at some book

the boy was showing him.
Once the pupils were
all there Miss G took
the register calling out

the names. Elaine wished
John was beside her at her
desk; wished he was talking
to her not the Rowland boy.

She sat uneasy, her body
plumpish, her glasses smeary
needing cleaning. Miss G
talked about music; about

Mozart; about his piano
works and put on a LP and
the pupils sat arms folded
or hands over faces listening

-or not- to the unfolding
Mozart music piece. Her sister
talked of boys over breakfast;
what so and so had done and

where and their mother had said
NOT AT THE BREAKFAST TABLE
loudly but did boys really sniff
after girls as her sister had said?

Elaine never heard John sniff her.
He had kissed her that day, but
not sniffed-thank God- and she looked
at Miss G as the music played away.

Mrs B said
can I take you
out to dinner
one lunch time

for being
such a kind
young man?
I'll bring Lillian along

not because
I don't trust you Benny
because I do
but just in case

my husband hears
about me taking
you out for dinner
and thinks there's

something going on
and I wouldn't
want that
and I know

a nice restaurant
where we can
have a really
decent meal

and O best dress
in reasonable clothes
because the place
I am going to take you

is quite upmarket
no jeans or tee shirts
I let her talk on
while I studied her

after all
she was old enough
to be my mother
and unlike Lillian

who was of
a similar age
and was a quite dish
Mrs B

never struck me
as being
****** at all
but it was good

to have a meal
and see Lillian eat
and see her
delicate hands

and her pale complexion
and O those eyes
I could so easy
fall into them

and **** her in
O boy
how is that
for sin.

Your mother stood talking
With Mrs Clark after school
And you were kicking your
Heels waiting to get home
To your toys and games and
You gazed at Mrs Clark’s young
Daughter who poked her head
Out from around her mother’s
Wide *** and stared at you
Through thin wired spectacles
Which made her eyes large as
Fish in glass bowls and her hair
Was ribboned up in two plaits
Either side of her head giving
Her a stern expression and Mrs
Clark said Helen here has a crush
On your son or so she told me
After school yesterday and Mrs
Clark gave you a big smile like
A hippo coming out of water
And your mother said he never
Talks of girls and such all too
Busy with his toys and games
And shooting from his imaginary
Horse around the house and
Mrs Clark said well boys will
Be boys and girls be girls each
Playing games with their own
Toys and Helen poked out her
Tongue and a boss-eyed stare
God was you glad when your
Mother took you out of there.

Mrs Cleves
her husband
long ago

elbowed out
allowed me in
the young guy

the green
at the gills guy
come around

she said
bring a bottle
I'll put on

the Mahler
1st or 2nd
and we can drink

and talk and whatsoever
so when evening came
and work was done

and dinner eaten
I took off
to Mrs Cleves's place

and she welcomed me in
with her usual
soft spoken voice

and Scottish tones
and she poured
the drinks

and put on
the Mahler
on the Hi-Fi

and she talked
about her day
and I talked

about mine
and so Benny
she said

how's it going?
how's the writing?
heard any music

you think
I should hear?
I sipped my drink

(usually Scotch)
and said
well the writings

coming along slow
but I heard
this Delius guy's music

and it kind of
turned me on  
I said

Delius?
she said
think I've heard of him

she drained
her glass
and poured

another gin
the Mahler played
in the background

she'd put on
her a tight fitting dress
short above

her knees
she sat
crossed legged

then uncrossed them
then crossed them again
I’ve heard tell

that one
of the young girls
has her eyes

on you
she said
news to me

I said
the student girl
long hair

middle class
Mrs Cleves said
nice ***

I understand
I sipped the drink
the Mahler movement

was slow
emotional
O her

yes she's been
talking to me
I said

given me a book
by Pound
Pound?

Mrs Cleves said
yes
some American poet

I said
why
did she give you

the book?
she asked
don't know

guess she thought
I might like it
no female

gives a man
a book of poems
unless she's

after something
Mrs Cleves said
like the Robert Burns

book you gave me
you mean?
I said smiling

that's different
she said
I drained my glass

and she poured another
leaning over me
her eyes gazing

into mine  
how about bed Benny?
she said

the Mahler moved on
to a louder movement
lively

crashing
I drank in
her perfume

her breath breathed
on me
and so we went

to her room
and bed
and undressed

and the Mahler
became far away
like under water

sounding
the curtains drawn
against the night

the moon shining
through the pink
flowered cloth

I didn't tell her
about
the student girl's

fine *** or ***
in case
of her wrath.

Mrs Dillinger undressed
in the hotel room
a different room
from the time before

shouldn’t we
close the curtains first?
you asked
there’s an office block

across the road
and there maybe people
who might see in
she paused

in releasing her bra
who the **** cares?
the nets will dim
or fuzz what they may see

she said
and carried on
as before
her fingers fumbling

from behind her back
I like the other room best
you said
it seemed more private

she dropped her bra
on to a chair by the bed
and unzipped her skirt
you worry too much

what people think Kid
undress and lets to action
you scanned the room
the white walls

the one picture
of some seaside scene
second rate furniture
and a double bed

someone was playing music
from a room along the hall
undressed she slipped
into bed and waited

her eyes all over you
come on Kid
you’re wasting time
you unzipped

your jeans
and let them fall
and kicked them
across the floor

then bit by bit
you took off
the rest of your clothes
and carefully put them

on the chair
even the jeans
by the door
passions can dilute

you know
she said
ok
you said

just coming
well don’t come too soon
she said
and laughed

and you climbed into bed
and the springs groaned
and you lay beside her
seeing the hair

beneath her arms
oh that
she said
that’s just part

of my charms
and she touched
your pecker
and kissed your lips

and set to work
and out of the corner
of your eye
you looked across

to the window
wondering if people
could see
what she was doing

to you
wondering if the nets
kept it blurred
or invisible

or maybe
they couldn’t careless
what you were doing
to each to each

across the road
and out of reach.

Benedict watched
as Mrs Fairweather
hushed her mutt
and told him to get back

in its box
under the table
and ushered Benedict
into the lounge

and to take a seat
on the blue sofa
recently bought
she said her husband

was away
on a long haul
(truck driver
of some sort)

and that she’d like
to know more
about Benedict
than she knew already

he sat there listening
to her voice
coming through
from the kitchen

tea or coffee?
she asked
or something stronger?
coffee’d be fine

he said
looking at
the landscape prints
upon the walls

after a short while
she came in
carrying two cups
and set them down

and sat beside him
her red skirt rising
as she put one leg
over the other

tell me more
about yourself
she said
looking at him

sideways on
one hand resting
on her cheek
the other

on her thigh
what’s to tell?
he said
and she told him

what she wanted to know
how long since
his last kiss?
who with

and how
was his pecker?
(laughingly put)
and she said she’d seen

a photo of him
some where
and all the time
her hand went up

and down her thigh
(which caught his eye)
what is that aftershave
you’re wearing?

nice and kind of ****
she said smiling
he told her what it was
some stuff his mother’d

bought for him
from the superstore
he could smell her scent
as she neared him

musky overpowering
and laid on thick
his mother
would have said

he sipped his coffee
and she sipped hers
then she put on a record
of the Kinks

and danced
on her way back
to the sofa
wiggling her backside

and **** as she moved
and Benedict wondered
if he’d made a mistake
coming over

at that time of day
or any time at all
then she kissed him
and touched him

and it was suddenly
in the deep end of the pool
wondering if he’d not got
out of his depth

her lips pressing
in on him
her hands searching
for his pecker

her words uttered
in a low voice
as if drowning
but what if?

o don’t mind him
he won’t be back
for days yet
but what if?

but the but ifs
were drowned
in her kisses
and her hand

had plunge into cloth
and sought out
the pecker
and Benedict imagined

Mr Fairweather
hot tempered
from a long haul
unhappy with

this kissing
and hugging
and all
entering the room

just as his shy pecker
had been exposed
and in the hands
of his wife

but it was all
in his mind
no Fairweather came
or saw or spoke

just she and Benedict
and the mutt moaning
from the other room
and the new blue sofa

beneath them
and the Kinks singing
and sunlight filtering
through the half closed shutters

blueness of sky
and Benedict
sensing her
and wondering why.

I visited Jupp's house,
we had planned
a ball game
in the park.

Mrs J was in the lounge
on a sofa with her cat.

Come in, Benny,
she said,
it is Benny isn't it?
I nodded.

Yes, although
I was named Benedict
after the saint.

What do you think
of my *****?
She asked.
Did you want
to stroke it?

I wanted to get out
and play ball,
not stroke her *****.

It purrs when excited,
she said.

It was purring,
or she was purring
under her breath
like some
stage ventriloquist.

She wore a white dress
with a brown bow,
and her black hair
was wavy and permed.

Come closer,
she said,
it won't bite;
sit on the sofa,
near me.

Where was Jupp?
I wanted to get
some fresh air.

I sat next to her
on the brown sofa.

She smelt
of perfume and soap.

The *****
was brown and white,
furry, smooth.

You can touch it,
she said,
feel the fur,
smooth and soft.

She took my hand
and placed it
on the *****.

I stroked it
reluctantly.

Her hand
held mine,
moving it
over the *****.

It's purring, see;
feel it?

I nodded.

You can always
come here
and see *****
and play with it,
she said.

I smiled weakly,
wanting out;
the perfume smell
sickly in my nose.

Then Jupp came in
and said,
I’m ready to go.

I got up from the sofa
and Mrs J said,
want to kiss *****
before you go?

I kissed
the **** *****
and we walked
off and away.

Outside I said
to Jupp,
you and your
mother's *****.

And he sighed
and said,
I know.

Mrs Murphy’s third child
Died in her arms. She never
Forgot the feel and hold,
The warmth still there;
The curly hair just beginning
Would grow no more; the eyes
Closed as if in sleep; the lips
Half open imitating half smile,
Small fists semi open gesturing
Welcome incomplete. She would
Not forget; not the looking down
And seeing that; not the taking
Away after the final hold.

You have others to look after
And care for, they said, meaning
Well maybe, but not understanding,
That a baby lost is a loss with no
Compensation, no matter if more
Followed and came from her womb
And lived and grew, she’d always
Remember the one she lost, that
Never grew, that never ******,
Or opened eyes, or smiled,
Or walked or gripped
Her hand: the lost one;
The third one; the lost child.

Mrs Oldham
on the slow train
to the castle
held your hand

between her thigh
and yours
beneath her coat
although it was summer

and the day was hot
in case some one saw her
and told her husband
hey I saw your old lady

with some young guy
holding hands
but no one did
and as you walked

around the castle later
listening to the guide
looking at pictures
and furniture

and suits of armour
you couldn’t get out
of your mind
the picture of her

taking you home
while her husband
was working
and her dog barking

and her saying
shut up Napoleon
he’s here as a guest
and taking your jacket

and sitting you down
on the sofa
and offering you drinks
and talking of babies

and how her husband
didn’t want them
and all he wanted
was the *** side

and the *****
and cigarettes
and you sat there
thinking of how tight

together her **** were
under her pink top
and wondering
how she made love

and if she enjoyed it
as she brought you
coffee and sat beside you
her hand on your thigh

rubbing it upward
and downward
all the while talking
some music playing

some crooner
called Como
or some such guy
and her lips on your neck

******* and kissing  
you wondering
what her husband was doing  
and what he was missing.

He used to deliver
Groceries to Mrs
Ushmore as a kid and

She’d say, bring it into
The kitchen, Henry, and
Put it down on the side,

Why, you must be thirsty
After carrying that
Heavy load to my door,

And he’d go in with the
Groceries and lay them
Down where she had shown him

And looked around the place
Trying hard to avoid
Looking at young Mrs

Ushmore who was dressed in
The skimpiest of things
And pretended to be

Looking around at the
Shelves and gas cooker and
Out the large window.

What are you having, she
Asked, Coke? Yeah, that’ll be
Fine, he replied, looking

Over her shoulder at
The wallpaper of bright
Yellow flowers. Have you

Seen my *****? She asked.
Miss Glissy, I call her.
Henry shook his head and

Looked briefly at her. No,
He replied, getting a
Quick glimpse of her *******,

Fighting to escape from
The black bra. Here, she said,
Have a Coke and don’t go

Rushing it now, don’t want
You to get the hiccups
And have your mother come

Over here telling me
Off. No, I won’t, he said,
Sipping the Coke, tasting

Each mouthful, letting it
Rest on his tongue. I love
My *****, she said, but

My husband, Clive, he has
Little to do with her,
Says she’s nothing to be

Too fussed about. Henry
Swallowed the small mouthful.
His eyes settled like small

Butterflies on her thighs,
Focussing where her black
Suspenders met the brown

Stockings and the skin stretched
Out there like nothing he’d
Seen before, not even

Amy Shortdove, showed him
That much for her two dimes.
Would you like to stroke Miss

Glissy? She asked, giving
Henry a wide-eyed stare.
No, I better be off,

Henry said gulping down
The last remaining Coke.
Mr Ashton don’t like

Me hanging around and
I’ve loads more to do and
Maybe another time,

Mrs Ushmore, I can
Stroke your *****. Sure, she
Said smiling, I’m sure she’d

Like that. Henry rode his
Bike away not looking
Back, not letting her see

He was interested,
Not letting her think he’d
Ever stroke Miss Glissy

In a thousand years let
Alone days or weeks,
And he never did see

Or stroke Mrs Ushmore’s
*****, but he often
Dreamed he did and enjoyed

The dream, with him and Miss
Glissy purring and both
Of them licking the cream.

The tall
young monk
by the bell rope,

in the cloister,
by the refectory door,
off to Rome

the following day.
I tolled the bell
for Angelus,

rope between hands,
words between lips.
The peasant monk,

fading tonsure,
swept the cloister,
black habit dusty,

humble,
soft prayer,
inaudible mumble.

The Beethoven piano piece
played on an old
record player

by Miss G
the music teacher
and the class quiet

(or maybe asleep)
but you Yochana
you sat there

engrossed by it
your head moved slightly
your thin shoulders moved

as in a secret embrace
your hands in prayer mode
Reynard sat bored

and eyeing the girls
or drawing inside
his exercise book

rude pictures
I sat half listening
to the Ludwig

other half
watching you Yochana
(being back a few rows)

how slender your body
how the grey cardigan
hugged you tightly

your hair ribboned
green bow
and Reynard whispered

look at titless
how she moves
to this boring crap

bet I could
move her better
Miss G walked

the classroom
arms folded
bespectacled

hair greying
tied in a bun
the brown cardigan

with leather patches
you Yochana
lay your head

on your hands
in meditation
of the piano piece

I viewed you steady
my eyes moved
over you

like an explorer
over new horizons
unexplored seas

O to be within
those arms Yochana
O please.

Floptin sits outside
the cafe on the mall

and watches the three
plump dames sitting nearby

one slightly plumper
than the others

and as he stares
it reminds him

of his first lady
the one who showed him

the ropes of sexuality
who ****** away

his innocence one night
and he recalls

how liberated
he felt back then

how her plump flesh
flapped against him

and the sound was like
nothing he had heard before

and she said to him
sweet boy

you’re a man now
you can tell your friends

you have made the grade
and now sitting at the cafe

on the mall
watching the plump dames

feeding her mouths
their chins moving

their eyes excited
their voices booming

and their laughter
****** and loud

and looking at
the plumpest dame

how her hair
was pulled back

so and so
he smiles to himself

and wonders how
she’d make him feel

with her flesh flapping
and her eyes aglow.

We sit on a river bank
our bikes resting
against a tree;
Milka throwing
small pieces of branches
into the river's flow.

Some one said
you can't walk
in the same river twice,
she says,
don't know
who said it,
but some one said it.

Heraclitus,
some Greek guy said it,
I say.

She looks at me,
her eyes cow-like,
deep and sad.
What's he mean?

It's not the same water,
it moves on like our lives;
we can't stand still
no matter how much
we wish we could.

Where'd you read that?

I study her sitting there;
her hair brushed back,
tied by a ribbon;
her grey coat,
the brown and pink dress
coming to the knees,
black stockings.

Reader's Digest,
I guess.

I hate cold water;
had to wash in it
this morning
because the fire'd
gone out,
she says,
looking at
the river again.

I know,
I heard you moaning
at your mother.

She shrugs her shoulders,
continues throwing
branches in the river.

She moans at me
often enough.

But she's the parent,
that's what they do.

What would you do
if I stripped off now
and walked through
the river?
She says, smiling.

What would your mother say
if you did?

She'd not know.

If she did?

God knows;
slap me one, I guess,
but what would you do?
She asks me.

Nothing;
just watch the scene.

You wouldn't join me?

And get wet feet?
no, not me.

Spoilsport;
too cold anyway.

I open my cigarette packet
and take two out;
one for her
and one for me.

We light up
and sit musing,
the river flowing on,
slow,
moving over
small rocks and stones,
down a slight hill,
we sitting
watching its flow.

My bridegroom lifts me up
from the world’s dark, said
Sister Clare, He holds me fast
against the world’s clutches,
His touch heals my deepest
wounds, my many failures.

His eyes search me and see
me as I am; there is no pretence
in His presence, no maybe
in His words. He lifts away
from the false prophets and
lying religions, He shows me
His love in a thousand ways,
His love has no conditions, no
limitations, no world’s whims.

He calls me out of darkness
with the slightest word, none
is worthy of Him, none seek
Him as they ought. He seeks
me when I am lost, finds me
when I cannot see beyond
the narrowness of the me,
am blind to the reality of being,
too lost at times to the world's
sad ways. He will lift me up in
the Last Days; will save from
drowning in my deep depressions,
my eyes open to the brightness
of His face. I bathe in His love
and grace, hear His call even
when the noise of the world is
at its loudest beat, I shall know
His love, feel His tender touch,
even when I am sunk in darkness
and the wild world’s too much.

Myfanwy Price plopped in the armchair, sipped at her drink, gazed at the ceiling with a slight squint; spotted a drawing pin that broke up the off-white space like a boil on the buttocks. If Joshua Jones thinks he can drop me like a hot coal he can think again, she moaned to the room in her alto voice that clung to the air around her dark-haired head like a bad smell. Thinks he can do that to me, does he? I’ll show him, she mused darkly, holding the glass above her head, peering down at her slippered feet that lay there like sleeping puppies. After all I’ve done for him, the po-faced prat, she muttered, bringing the glass down to her lips, taking a sip as though it were poison. Just like her dad, dreary as dripping, chapel bred born and dead, at least in the head, she mused, crossing her legs disturbing the puppies, peering through the glass, imagining Dai Davies coming through the door of her bed-sit with an armful of flowers and chocolates, a cuddly kiss with a promise of more, as the evening sky grew dim as her brother Bryan, the kiss lingered in her mind and over her fantasy lips. Mum was right about men, she groaned, wondering if poison was too quick for Jones the Bones or whether she could smother him with a pillow as he laid sleeping in that squat flat of his, where she’d slept once in the single bed that smelt of onions and rotting flesh. She scratched her fleshy thigh, gave a sigh, pulled a face at her reflection in the darkening window, wanted more than wanton ***, the sight of Jones the Bones hanging from the window with his trousers round his skinny ankles, his buttocks bare for all of Cardiff to see and stare. She stood, poured herself another drink, placed a record on her gramophone. Buddy Holly’s Peggy Sue, a daydream of being in his manly arms, and being squeezed, and adding her alto groan to that of young Buddy’s baritone or tenor or whatever. She waltzed the room with her partnered glass gave it kiss and squeeze. Remembering her dad’s stern face; his sermon voice that rattled timbers, she kicked her leg like a dancer, spun it round and round until it got dizzy; plopped in the armchair with a fit of giggles; spilt drink on her dress that seeped to her drawers; sniffing and sighing she poured it all down in a drunken swallow; watched the evening sky darken like her mood and tangled hair. Jones the Bones would pay, she sighed. He’d not lay her aside like an empty glass; go off for another to kiss and cuddle in his dingy flat with its onions and flesh, rotting and foul, she mused sadly, rubbing her breast, pulling her bra that had slipped in her dancing. Mum was right about men, with their ***** thoughts, their wanton ways, wandering hands over hills and stays. She stared at the glass; with a deep dark sigh, she crossed her legs; let the sleeping slippered puppies lie.

I guess my grief
is like an open wound.
It seems never
to heal over,

my son,
seeping all
over my soul
with its hurt and pain,

as if all
was happening
over again.
Five days forever branded

in my mind and heart:
Thursday to Monday,
haunts and repeats
the images and events

and the ward
and the waiting
and you
-you so patient,

-so stoic-
I wondering
if this circus of care
will lead anywhere.

Your final breath,
then death,
and an ever repeating
Monday of the same

soaks in
my heart and mind.
How are things,
on that side

of the curtain?
Do you visit
when you can?
I guess you do

-you my stoic son,
being there,
watching, seeking
to make me

hear or see,
that you are fine
and all is
as it's seems

must be.
An open wound
my grief,
the ache seeps

in soul's span,
you my son,
my stoic man.

Nadav had rough skin
when he touched
it was like sandpaper
rubbing flesh

girls have a habit
of boring me
to tears
he said

I looked
at Miss Ashdown's
broad behind
as she walked down

the aisle between desks
in class
her skirt swayed
like old ship's sails

all they talk of
is dolls and prams
and doll's clothes
and about whom

they'll marry
one day
I wondered
if Miss Ashdown's hips

wore away the wood
at the side
of the desks
as she walked

between them
I prefer boy's talk
of guns and battles
and wars and such

he said
I watched
as Miss Ashdown
turned and faced

the front of the class
her big bust
like battleship guns
do you like girl's talk?

Nadav asked
I like their gentleness
and softness
and smell of flowers

I said
but talk?
he said
what of that?

the knack
I said
is to listen
only to the last

few words of speech
to get the drift
of talk
Miss Ashdown

glared at Nadav
and threw
skill fully
chunks of chalk.

If she could have got
inside her head, Nadya
thinks, she is sure, her

mind can expand like an
inner universe. The thoughts
moving around like lost

planets, clusters of stars,
images, words, faces, actions
remembered. If she could

just put her hand into a
hidden orifice and reach
into her brain and sort

amongst the galaxies of
ideas she could be brighter,
braver, wiser, and there

clinging to certain ideas
associations like Proust’s
madeleines would be old

loves, broken heart moments,
melodies from favourite songs.
Josef has told her to leave

off the *****, to put away
the bottles, drink water, tea
or whatever. But he does

not satisfy. His love making
is a joke, all push and poke.
Sometimes she thinks her

thoughts come out of her
head and dance. Time for
another drink. She thinks

of Paris. Summers past,
spring walks. Josef’s endless
chatter breaks in; those all

too intellectual boring talks.
She imagines him as another,
pretends some young Russian

overeager tends to her, embraces
her body, kisses each inch of her
flesh, pleasure giving. No more of

this boring life, more of that wild,
touching the new, exploring ***, living.

We discovered
the tents leaked
in Nakskov
and Dalya said

she was going
to write to the company
when she got
back home

not all
of them leaked
and so we paired up
a few of us

to avoid using
the leaky ones
but I’m not sharing
with the Yank *****

Dalya said
I’ve had enough
of her since Hamburg
you could share

with me
I said
but I don’t think
it would go

down well
with the others
let's leave it
for now

she said
let's see the place
have a drink and such
so we walked

and had a good view
of the place
then had a drink
and a bite to eat

in some café
and as we sat there
I watched her
light up a smoke

and lit one
of my own
and she said
I suppose

I could share
with Yorkshire girl
despite her
constant yak

if she's agreeable
I shared
with the Aussie guy
who smelt

of beer
and Lifebuoy soap
who told
pathetic jokes

and talked
of the Yorkshire girl
and how he'd
like to

give her one
but I just read
my Russian book
not bothering

to give
an interested look.

That’s a Small Skipper
Jane said

And that’s a Clouded yellow
as two butterflies

flittered overhead
as you both lay

in the tall grass
on the side

of the Downs
and you followed

her finger
as it indicated

the butterflies’ flight
and then they were gone

and she gazed at you
and said

What?
How do you know

the names of things?
I’m a country girl

not a townie like you
she replied

her lips moulding
the words like a potter

moulds clay
and you caught a whiff

of her perfume
carried on the calm breeze

over your heads
and you looked

at her there
in the grass

her head turned back
to the sky

her eyes reflecting
the summer blue

and her left leg
bent upwards

so that her knee
stood naked

beneath the sun
and her right hand

lay next to yours
the white blouse

open at the neck
and she said

I often used to lay here
alone listening

to the overhead birds
and the winds’ moan

watching tractors
in the fields below

and mother wondering
where I was

And now?
you asked

Does she wonder
where you are now?

she turned her head
and gazed at you

No not now
she knows I’m with you

and that I’m showing you
the store of nature

and the panoramic view
And she trusts you?

you asked
sensing her hand

touch yours
the flesh warm

and soft
She trusts you

Jane said
and another butterfly

fluttered by
like a ballerina overhead.

Netanya met me
at the rail station
and we got the train

to the coast
for the evening air
and sight of sea

and just be
he asked
where are you going?

and I said
that's for me to know
and you to guess

I told him
Netanya said
the sight of the sea

and moonlight
and the sound of waves
and smell of salt

made the trip out
with her special
does he guess

who you are with?
I asked
she looked out

at the horizon
a ship passed by
shadowy

in the evening light
he can guess
all he likes

won't make
any difference
she said

we walked along
by the beach
she held my hand

her wedding ring
had been removed
the green raincoat

tied tight
against
the evening wind

must seem odd to him
that you choose
to go out

rather than stay in
and watch TV
I said

are you sorry
I asked you out?
she said

no
just curious
as to why?

I said
she looked at me
with her dark eyes

think I love you
she said
then looked away

at the sea
dangerous three words
I said

but meant
she said
not easy to admit that

about someone
guess not
I said

how do you feel
about me?
she asked

I like being with you
I said
I think of you a lot

and?
she said
what does that mean?

I smelt the salt
strong
hitting the lungs

clearing the head
love you a lot
I said.

Janice holds
on her small
open hand

the yellow
canary
I watch it

standing there
on her palm
seemingly

not trying
to fly off
it talks words

she tells me
standing there
red beret

perched on top
of blonde hair
-I knew that

I'd heard it
taught it words
while Janice

was not there
in the room
naughty words-

but sometimes
Janice says
it utters

naughty words
and Gran says
who taught that

canary
such bad words?
not me Gran

I tell her
must be that
previous

owner's fault
I guess so
her gran says

I keep stumn
put on my
good boy face

saint like gaze
falling from
God's good grace.

I'm sitting on a fence
by the field
opposite the drive
leading to the church

it's a fine day
sun is out
birds are flying
and singing

I can smell flowers
in the air
and smells
from the cows nearby

Jane said
to meet her here
I wait
watching the drive

then she appears
she's dressed
in a green
flowered dress

her dark hair
is in bunches
tied with green ribbon
I like how she walks

her dress flapping
about her
her hands by her side
I get off the fence

and go meet her
she smiles
I smile
she waves

I wave
been waiting long?
I've been helping Daddy
with his sermon

for Sunday
o good
no not been waiting long
(I had

but I wouldn't
tell her that)
do you mind
walking with me

to the post office
and shop
I need to get
something

for my mother?
no sure
be good to walk
with you

so we walk
and I notice
she has a bag
wrapped up

in her left hand
her other hand is free
and is near me
I want to hold it

but don't want
to seem presumptuous
she talks of her cat
which has had kittens

and tells me
their colouring
and what they
get up to

and what
she feeds them on
and I am listening
not for the subject matter

but for the sound
of her voice
and her near by me
her hand close to mine

mere inches away  
she asks about my pets
we have a cat
it's black and white  

and it doesn't
get on well
with our dog
and chases her

whenever
she gets too near
o dear
Jane says

why is that?
no idea
maybe they'll
get on later

I say
our hands
are nearly touching
hers small and pale

and mine waiting there
itching to hold
but I don't
not until I'm told.

The French
peasant monk,
head bowed,
walks

through the cloister,
carrying two buckets
full with milk
from the farm,

his eyes full
of earth's colour.
I wash
in the cold water

from the icy jug,
the cloister seen
from the window above;
I feel her legs

about me,
bringing me in;
there
in the waters

of her passion,
I nearly drown.
The old monk
allows the bell rope

to rise
through his hands,
then
pulls it down.

Nima waits
by the Embankment
of the Thames
she has a few hours

freedom
a few hours to do
as she pleases
(within reason)

the doctors said
OK but no
needle pushing
no pill popping

and so she agreed
and was on her way
although the ward sister
wasn't pleased

she didn't like
her wordiness
her being
too up front

for lying
on her bed at night
******* her ****
thinking of Naaman

but she went anyway
took the train
and sits waiting
having put

on the all
too tight dress
(her father's words
on his rare visits)

and the tight top
with yellow birds
and she watches
the water flowing

the boats and barges
and the occasional
row boat going by
and then he's there

having come out
the tube station
concerned looking
his hair dark

and groomed
the jeans
and open necked shirt
been waiting long?

he asks
yes been almost
picked up twice
as a *****

she says
told them
go **** themselves
he looks at her

and beyond
the river's dullness
buses passing by
cars

motorcycles
lorries
the city alive
sorry about that

he says
train delays
she smiles
no matter

you're here now
how long
have you got?
he asks

a few hours of grace
she says
the doctors were good
said I could come

although the ward sister
the *****
almost put her oar in
but here I am

all yours
well for a while
at least
so where are we going?

how about a coffee
in the park
and a lay down
on the grass to chat

and smooch and relax
no art or cinema
or record shops
or window shopping

he says
or ***
she says
no place

unless you want to
want to have ago
in the bushes
or maybe be daring

and have it away
on  a park bench?
she smiles
no coffee

and a chat will do
he says
besides
I don't perform well

in public
and so they walk up
the road
and cross

by Trafalgar Square
and on down
and into the park
she talking about

dying for a fix
and other things
and he talking about
his boring job

the sitting
and drilling holes
into metal
or the pressing

of two sides
of metal together
and how he'd heard
the new Beatles' LP

something about
a Doctor Pepper
they buy two coffees
and talk on

she gazing at his hair
the eyes staring at her
his mouth opening
and closing

bringing her words
his fingers touching hers
his having dark hairs
along the fingers

hers none
white
thin
good for *******

and he studying
her eyes
seeing himself there
in that darkness

in that faraway place
far from God's kingdom
but near(he thinks)
to His grace.

You needed a leak
so entered the bathroom
and there was Anne in the tub

so you made ready
to make a speedy exit
but she called out

hey skinny fellow come on in
and you looked over at her
and said

what if Sister Bridget comes?
Oh **** her come over
and scrub my back

I can’t reach back there
without falling over
so you moved over to the bath

trying to avoid looking
where you ought not
and she said

what’s a matter
ain’t you seen ******* before?
sure

you said
loads of times
and she laughed and said

ok small guy
pick up the sponge and scrub
and so you did

and put soap on the sponge
and got to work
and while you scrubbed

she began to sing softly
and put her hands over her shoulders
and waved at you with her fingers

and you saw her one leg
rise and fall in the water
and you looked away

and felt yourself blush
and all the time her voice
became smoother and smoother

and you pushed the sponge
all over the back
and touched her fingers

so that the soap went over them
and she stopped singing and said
what about the front then boy

are you ready for that?
and as you were about to speak
you heard Sister Bridget

coming down the hall
and Anne said softly
drat.

Even in the train it is cold.

Netanya snuggles closer to me,
her eyes searching me,
her hand clutching mine.

Had a job getting out,
she says.

Does he know
where you are going?

No, I just said
I was going out.

Was he suspicious.

Who cares?
She breathes out,
her breath like smoke;
it fills our area
of the carriage.

Why Brighton?

I like it there;
it reminds me
of my childhood.

She lays her head
on my shoulder,
her hand holding mine;
warmth moving
through mine.

Outside it is dark;
evening sky menacing.

How are things?

We rowed,
we always row.

I look at her hair
on my shoulder,
dark, wavy.

Won't going out
for so long
make things worse?

I hope so;
I hope he moves out,
hope he moves away.

What about the kids?

They'll understand,
kids do;
they like you.

I look out
at the passing view,
lights in the distance
from passing
villages or towns,
trees swimming past.

We arrive at Brighton rail station,
get out the train
and walk into the town
hand in hand.

We must come here
and stay the weekend.

When?

When we can.

I look at her beside me.
She's serious.

What would he say?

He'll say nothing.

He thinks it's just
a mid-life crisis
and I’ll get over it.

We walk down
to the seafront;
the wind and cold
biting at us.

The sea's rough.

I like it rough,
I like to sense
nature's power,
she says,
snuggling
close to me.

We go into a shelter
and sit down
in the semi-dark.

We kiss and embrace.

No one is about.

It seems far
from my usual world,
kind of surreal.

Her lips are on mine.

Feel her pulse.

Her living through me
and I through her;
I feel along her back,
feeling the smooth coat
she is wearing;
my fingers sensing
and imaging
what ever is beneath.

We sit there
for what seems hours,
kissing, holding,
looking out
at the rough sea.

Was I being
someone else
or was I just
being me?

Netanya
sits crossed legged
in the bar
(Irish bar
off Whitehall)

her red dress
above knees
the black shoes
pointy toes
and flat heels

I sit there
beside her

loud speakers
easing out
the music
of Ireland

what a night
she utters

never had
such a night

I sip beer
she sips wine

did you count?
I ask her

studying
her features
the slightly
broken nose
now mended
the green eyes
holding me

5 or 6
times it was
she tells me

feels like it
I tell her

she takes out
cigarettes
and offers
one to me
then herself
and lights up
and inhales

I’m 40
she tells me
but I feel
years younger

she looks it
her dark hair
set down loose

and you are?
she asks me

28
I reply

she smiles now
not thinking
about her
bald husband
miles away

we had ***
in the small
hotel bed
many times
seemingly
almost one
big session

then she moves
uncrosses
her fine legs

glimpse briefly
Eve's Eden
paradise
sight of thigh
paradise
ease a sigh.

Who was that?
Netanya asked

who was whom?
I said

that *****
who has just
dropped you off
in her car
she said

O her
she gave me
a lift home
from the store

what did you do
at the store
that she needs
to give you a lift
in her car?
she said

I work at the store
she said
can I give you
a life home?

O sure
what else
did you give her
to make her
so grateful?

she gave me a lift
because she was going
my way
I said

do you fancy her?
does she get
your pecker going?
Netanya said
in her tight voice

I walked to the fridge
and took out a beer
pulled the ring
on the lid
and took a sip

she's four months pregnant
I said
walking to the sitting room
and sitting down

yours I suppose
she said
she stood with her hands
on her hips
her eyes darkening

no of course not
I barely know her
she works
in Home ware

I bet you've
given her one
Netanya said

I looked
at her frizzy hair
dark but greying

you know I wouldn't
I said

how do I know
what you get up to
at the store?
she replied

I don't fancy any
of the dames
at the store
I lied

Netanya walked off
her backside swaying
like a ship
on stormy seas

thoughts of the young dame
on Perishables
buzzing like bees.

Netanya
sits crossed legged
on the couch

beside me
her husband
in the chair

by the heat
of fire
their children

and few friends
sitting down
all about

listening
or talking
I notice

her red dress
the dress hem
riding high

up her thigh
capturing
my young eye

stealthily
she puts her
thin ringed hand

up my back
stroking it
her fingers

playing me
up and down
piano like

but she's not
looking round
she studies

her husband
as he talks
her fingers

are walking
and doing
the talking

stirring me
sexually
no one knows

except one
her oldest
married girl

who spots her
mother's hand
on my back

but looks off
and away
unlike her

her face chilled
the room's hot
so am I

my pecker
stirs from sleep
giant like

Netanya
unaware
just sits there

*******
studying
her husband's

balding head
While I stare
straight ahead.

Netanya smoked
and sat on the settee
her husband sat by the fire
his friends had come around
there was general chat
and laughter

I sat next to Netanya
watching the others
drinks were offered
I had a scotch and ice
Netanaya's husband
handed the drinks around

Netanya touched my thigh
unseen by him

and I said to him
I’m your man for that job
don't think of asking
anyone else
her husband said
to the others
it could be a big job
he added

her hand moved
along my thigh
squeezing me now
and then her daughter
saw her touch my thigh
I could see the amusement
in her eye

how long will you have to wait?
Netanya said

her husband looked at her
(her hand removed now)

I don't know
but it looks promising
he said

I knew you were the guy
for the job
the friend said

his wife
some dull looking dame
nodded

Netanya placed her hand
on my back
and rubbed it sexually

what do you think Benny?
Netanya's husband asked me

I guess you're the guy
by what Netanya tells me
I replied

he smiled
and sipped his drink

his wife's hand
was touching my ****
rubbing circular
in motion

we'll have to wait see
what happens
her husband said
never know
where things might lead

my pecker stirred
Netanya smiled
her daughter looked at me
frowned

I looked away
trying to keep
my pecker under control
watching the dull dame
over the way
having her dull worded say.

I was sitting outside
the caravan
we'd been let

by some
do-gooders society
some one Netanya knew

who knew some one
I was lazying
in a deck chair

smoking
and sipping a beer
looking into the area

around the caravan
where other caravans
were parked

behind us
over the hedge
and road

was the beach
I could hear the sound
of the sea

and smell the salt
who you looking at?
Netanya asked

you looking at her?
Huh?
You looking at her

over there
by the caravan
hanging out

her smalls?
What you talking about?
I'm sitting here

having a smoke
sipping a beer
I said

you are gazing
at the *****
in the short skirt

with her *******
hanging out
like squirrels

out of a tree
I’m sitting here resting
I didn't see her

until you
picked her out
Netanya spat

on the grass
my *** you didn't
I’ve a good mind

to go over there
and give her
a piece of my mind

I was looking around
the site not at her
I said

Netanya's kids
had gone down
to the beach

to swim and play ball
Netanya gave the female
over the way

a glare
if I see you
looking at her again

I’ll tear her hair out
and stuff that cigarette
down your throat

Netanya went inside
the caravan
and banged about

with pots and pans
and cups and mugs
I sipped my beer

and smoked my smoke
the female
with the short skirt  

hung up her bras
like huge slingshots
I looked away

it was a hot
liquid blue
of a sky day.

We'll never get
those times back now,
least not for real,
in mind maybe,
viewing photographs,
recalling past times,
long ago laughs.

But now it's just that,
memories in stacks,
memories of you,
places, things done,
things said; gone now,
you being dead.

You kept words
to a minimum,
used them
like precious coins;
seldom making
statements; rarely
getting in involved
in the small talk,
the day to day banter;
but when you did,
came out of your shell,
it all meant
something more,
special, done well.

Even at the Tate Modern
you kept your views
of the art and artists
to yourself; their skill
or lack of, never
mentioned or hinted at;
just your quiet viewing,
that way you had
of taking things in,
ordering them neatly
inside your head;
your encyclopediatic  
knowledge of matters,
or so seemed,
you processed;
that look you had,
seemingly impassive,
unmoved, but moved
you were, a soul like
yours so often is,
deeply moved that is,  
your eyes taking in,
your mind processing
the whole show,
as you did before,
in your own way
of having your say.

Wish you were
still here, with your
few words, that look
of yours, back here today.

Never knew grief
could bite so deep,
my son. Dark night
succeeds dull day,
images replay
in black and white,
through dawn hours
following night.

Words captured,
last ones, over
and over in my
tired mind, in order,
exchanges, mundane,
but special now,
being the last.

Never thought
the knife of grief
could ****** so hard,
between shoulder blades,
heart, lungs, throat tight
and seemingly slit,
words choke, unable
to say, fingers push
damp cheeks
of tears away.

Dark day succeeds
drugged up night,
dawn's light
puts nothing right.

Never knew death
could undo so well,
my son, knew nothing
of the end game
until you went.

Life is not forever
just a brief gift
or maybe lent.
Never knew grief
could could so undo.

Dream following
nightmare, looking
for you, my son, for you.

Can you
buy me
an Augusten
Burroughs book?
You asked.

I'd not heard
of the guy
until then;
read Bill Burroughs,
but this guy
was new to me.

Anyway,
I sought him out
in the local book store
and purchased
the book you said;
wrapped it up
for the birthday gift
and gave.

Now and then,
if house sitting
for you, while you
were at work
and some workman
came to do a job
or sort things out,
I’d pick out
the Burroughs book
and read
a paragraph
or so, smile,
get the drift,
the humour
pretty much
like yours,
then put it down
until another time arrived
to carry on
the quest to read
where I’d left off
the time before.

Now
since your sudden death,
I’ve inherited them all,
the large book
and medium range
and the small.

I've all the time
to read them now;
they sit there
by my bedside cabinet
waiting to be read,
silent, well behaved,
orderly, all in line.

I wondered if
you read them all,
or if time ran out
before the end,
that illusive
final paragraph
or so, that last book
unread.

I guess
I’ll never know;
you being
on the other side
of the curtain,
they label:
being dead.

Sure I’ll read
the books
read them
until the end
each
and every one;
but I’d rather
see you again
my dear
departed son.

Benedict turned the page
of the Dostoyevsky novel.

His brother puked in the bidet,
too much cheap wine,
Benedict thought,
but he’ll be fine.

He immersed himself deeper
into the Russian world
of ****** and fear
and dark corners.

Crime and Punishment
was one good tale all right.
Even the book cover held
the attention, he thought,
turning it briefly over.

His brother’s moans
interrupted the puking.
Benedict asked an
are you all right?
There was a groan
of response.

Benedict recalled the time
he had been in that condition
in Yugoslavia the year before,
same cause: too much
cheap wine.
And that beautiful guide
came to his room
to see how he was
and sat on his bed
and all he could think of
was when would
the puking end.

No thought at all
of her presence there,
her body so close,
her perfume making him
more nauseous.

She was Croatian,
he thought, pausing at the page
of the Dostoyevskian novel.

And that waitress
he and his brother had liked
in the restaurant
at the Yugoslavian hotel.

*****. Yes, that was the name.
Got no where though.
Just the luck of the draw.

His brother returned
from the bathroom
and flopped on the bed.

The puking over maybe,
Benedict thought
and his brother hoped,
pale of complexion,
perspiration on brow.

Outside the window
the Parisian streets
echoed with life:
Cars, coaches, buses,
people, natives, tourists,
males and females.

Tomorrow they’d be out
on the streets again.
Sit in restaurants where
the famous once sat
over coffee or beer:
Hemmingway, Sartre,
Picasso, Henry Miller
and the others.

Art thrived here.
Ideas born
from philosophic minds.

Benedict book marked
the page and closed
the book and put it aside.

Some one laughed outside
in the street, another sang,
voices of ghostly singers
of the past, breathed
from the walls.

His brother returned
to the bathroom,
more puking.
Benedict thought:
poor brother.
Of course, he mused,
gazing at the Parisian
night sky, they’d never
tell their mother.

And there was that small room with a bathroom attached just off Trafalgar Square said Netanya and it had been booked by Benedict to go to after the show in a theatre near Victoria Station and my husband at that time said where are you going? and I said to London to see a show and what time will you be back? Sunday afternoon I said youre staying over night? he said yes I said who are you going with? he asked thats my business I said and anyway when the Saturday came for me to go I met Benedict at the station he had been waiting anxiously in case I couldnt get away and I had a small overnight bag with my change of clothes in and wash stuff and he had a duffel bag and I said well here I am and he said wasnt sure youd get away and I said well he was suspicious but thats his problem and we got on the train to London and it was our first time together away from our local sites and he was looking at me and I think he was conscious for the first time of our age differences I was his senior by thirteen years and it didnt seemed to show in our own town but now out of the area it did seem to show a bit but I put it out of my head and hoped I was up to the challenge not having regular *** for some time and my husband at that time wasnt up to much at least not with me- he had had *** with anyone else between sixteen to sixty but me no it was sparse and anyway I was glad at the time thinking I didnt want to catch anything he may have caught from some ****- and we sat and talked and Benedict talked of Sartre and Camus but I didnt know who they were so just pretended I did and about existentialism and such words he went on about but it was him I watched not his words they swept over me like water in the sea and I was glad we were away and I thought briefly what the kids might be doing with me not around over the next day but theyd cope after all a woman has to live her life when she can and what chance would I have again and I recalled the first time I met Benedict and he was introduced to me at the workplace and I thought to myself hes a bit of all right and he smiled and I was kind of blown away but I knew he was having it off with another who had no luggage with her but then that blew away and I thought now is my chance and this was it and once the train entered Victoria Station and we got out and it seemed like a whole new world with so many people and we were just two people in sea of humanity and we saw the show at the time it said and sat and watched the show and I was aware of him beside me and thought about afterwards at the room he had booked and what it would be like and would I be able to perform after all it wasnt as though I had *** often and apart from my then husband and a boy back in the early 1950s I was not quite that expertise at *** or so I thought much as I liked what I had had but Benedict was younger and seemed quite a one with the girls and I thought it maybe a big let down and Id be shown to be just a woman in her middle age crisis stage but after the show which was quite good we got a taxi to the address Benedict had shown the driver and in no time we were there and we got in the door and the woman looked at us as we booked in and I thought She looked at me with a stern eye but we didnt care she showed us the room and left us to it shutting the door behind us and telling us if we wanted the gas fire on we would need to put 50p in the meter each time it went out so I found a 50p coin and put it in the slot and turned on the gas fire and it roared into life and we looked around the room and I looked into the bathroom and it had a  big deep bath and I thought that will come in handy later and I showed Benedict and he said we can bath together and I thought I have never bathed with anyone else before and he said theres always a first time for everything  then we looked at the bed and sat on it and bounced on it and it seemed all right if a little bit hard but it would do us Benedict said so what now? he said and I said well why waste time and began to undress first by taking off my coat and then my cardigan and he watched at first uncertain and I thought hes been put off about this after all and I got as far as my blouse when he took off his jacket and I watched him and he took off his tie and then we both seemed to race the other to undress first and it was like being a teenager again rather than a forty year old woman with a thirteen year younger man and I was right down to my underwear and bra and he was completely bare and stood there and then climbed into bed and waited for me and I took off what else I had on and we were both in bed naked and it was so strange so surreal and I couldnt believe I was actually there with him and he lay there beside me looking at me and he switched off the bedside lamp and we were in the semi-dark except for the flashing on and off of neon lights and street light outside in the street and then he kissed me and his hands were on my thighs and I was unsure if I was doing the right thing but then I though O to hell with it and kissed him more and we going at it quite strong and I didn't realise how much I never knew and how much I enjoyed what I was learning and once we had done we lay back and I looked at the room and felt him beside me and breathed in the air and him and my scent and the sounds of London out there and after that we were at it again and again until it seemed we were never going to stop and the we bathed together and I felt so young again and then we slept and had *** and bathed again and then it was morning and we left the room and the woman looked at us and I winked at her and she looked away and it was a day that day never to go from my mind never go go away.

Sutcliffe walked
in a kind of shuffling his heels
kind of way
with hands in his pockets

and school tie undone
and hanging loose
you’d walked home
from school with him

as O’Brien was off
with dysentery
I find that pottery teacher
a bit of a ****

he said
the way he held up
your work
in that dismissive way

to show you up
you shrugged your shoulders
I hate rolling out
the messing clay

and I’ve no idea
how to make a pissy ***
than how to make
a pie like my mother’s

he’s a pockmarked
****** anyway
Sutcliffe said
and the fecking car

he drives to school
that red sports job
you came to the road
where Sutcliffe lived

and waited
I’ll surprise him one day
you said
I’ll make him

the fecking ***
he wants
Sutcliffe laughed
and shuffled up

the stairs to his flat
with a wave of his hand
and nod of his
blonde haired head

you walked over
the crossing
and down Meadow Row
by the bombed out houses

Ingrid was sitting
on the kerb
with her face
in her hands

she looked up
at the sound
of your approach
what’s a matter

with you sitting there
all glum?
you said
no one’s indoors

I’m locked out
she said
where’s your parents?
you asked

no idea
I knocked and knocked
but no one answered
she said

have to wait now
until they come back
when will that be?
you asked

God knows
she said
last time it was late
as they went to the races

and mum forgot
to leave me
the front door key
and I had to wait

out in the cold
on the stairs
until they got back
you should have knocked

at our door
Mum’d got you
something to eat
and you would

have been warm
by our fire
you said
didn’t want to disturb anyone

she said
she looked at the road
and closed her eyes
well come home

with me now
Mum won’t mind
and she’ll tell
your parents

where you are
when they get back
you said
he won’t like it

she said
tough *****
you said
she laughed

and got out
of the kerb
and stood
next to you

are you sure
your mum won’t mind?
of course she won’t
ok

she said
and you both walked down
Meadow Row
and crossed over

to the flats
through the Square
you knew your mum
wouldn’t mind

she knew Ingrid’s parents
and knew their ways
and faults
and his drunken voice

and pushed back hat
but as you walked
with Ingrid up the stairs
you never told her that.

Where now, my son?
Have they laid you
amongst the dead?
Or are you seeing
another kind of being?

I try to remember
our last conversation,
the words exchanged,
but they are elusive
like exhaled breath
in a winter's sky.

I look for you
as I turn my head,
the familiar places,
the passage way,
the hall,
the sitting room,
the chair
by the window
most of all,

but no matter
how hard I stare,
you're not there,
least not
that I can see,
although despite
my not seeing,
you may well be.

We couldn't find
your Jimi Hendrix
tee shirt,
the one
you used to wear,
despite us looking
everywhere.

Maybe that's the one
you wore that final night,
the one they cut away
to restart
your flat lined heart?

My loves have bought me
another Jimi Hendrix
tee shirt
to remember you
and keep you
close and near.

That was good of them;
wasn't it my dear?

Alice waited in bed.

She couldn't believe Mary
was to be her new lady's maid.

The nanny had told her
the night before.

Stern looking
she had told her
that Mary was to be
her maid from now on.

There seemed a kind
of relief in the nanny's voice.

Through the night,
Alice thought of it.

The limping thin girl
was to be her own maid.

The thin red hands
to undo and do up
her dresses
and bathe her
and wash her
and take her places.

Mary was in
her own room
in the attic.

Nervous, she was
all fingers and thumbs.

The child was now
her responsibility.

No more washing up
and working in the kitchen
of the big house.

Mrs Broadbeam
was not happy about it.

She would have
to have another now
to train as kitchen maid.

Mary was happy about that.

Maybe her red hands
would have a chance to heal.

She was dressed
in the maid's dress
the nanny had given her
the night before.

It was a bit too big,
but it fitted and was better
than the dresses she wore
in the kitchen which smelt
of cooking and sweat.

She looked at herself
in the old mirror.

She licked her hair damp
to get it to lay down.

The white hat
she had pinned
to her hair.

She smiled
at her reflection.

Alice sat up in bed
as Mary entered.

She looked different,
but she still limped
to the bed.

Have you heard?
Mary asked.

Yes,
Alice said,
you're to be
my own maid.

Mary pulled back
the bed covers
with her red thin fingers
and took Alice's hand gently.

Best get you up
and washed and dressed,
Mary said.

Will your hands
get less red?
Alice asked
looking at the maid's hand
holding hers.

Hope so,
Mary said.

Alice walked with Mary
to the wash bowl  
and Mary poured water in.

Mary undressed Alice
and so began
the washing process.

The warmed water
was better than the cold water
the nanny used
when she did the task.

The washing was gentle
and calm, not forceful
and hurtful as it was
when the nanny did it.

Alice missed her mother
being there. No news
of her since
she had gone away.

Mary was kind
and thoughtful.

She had washed Alice
and dressed her.

That's you all ***** and span,
Mary said.

***** and span?
Alice said.

Neat and clean,
Mary said.

She looked
into Mary's eyes.

There was not
the anger or darkness
as was in
the nanny's eyes.

And when Mary
took her hand
there was not
the pinching or squeezing
like the nanny did.

As Mary limped
to the window
to open it up,

Alice watched her
from behind,
the loose fitting dress,
black and white,
the hair and white hat pinned,

the red hand reaching
for the window latch
to let in air
and Alice smiled
to herself
at the maid
like an angel
standing there.

You walked with Jane
as you passed by
the water tower
she talked

of the various breeds
of cattle
there were some
for meat

others for milk
some for both
she pointed out
some cows

in a field nearby
and told you
their breed
have you ever seen

a calf born?
she said
no
you said

not seen anything
like that
let's go to the farm
I think they have a cow

that is due to drop
she said
so you turned up
the drive

that led to the farm
where you worked
some evenings
after school

or at weekends
she walked and talked
you listened
looking at her

dark hair tied back
with a green ribbon
her dark eyes shone
with sunlight

you looked away
at that moment
watching the farm dog
pass by

with its one good eye
(it had bitten you once
and you were wary of it)
a cowman

was at the side
of a shed
clearing out
has the new calf

been born yet?
she asked
he looked at her
then at you

no not yet
he said
but should be soon
want to watch then?

he said
gazing at you
kind of grinning
yes

Jane said
Benedict here
hasn't seen a birth
oh of course

these Londoners
haven't nought
he said
hang about a moment

and we'll go across
he said
you looked at Jane
she was silent

looking around the farm
have you seen
a calf being born?
you asked

many times
she said
ever since
I could stand

I’ve been near
cattle and sheep
I know most breeds
of both

she added softly
after a few minutes
the cowman walked
you both over to the cowshed

over the yard
and opened up
the half door
there she is

he said
waiting to drop
you and Jane
peered over

the half door
at a cow by the wall
looking at you
disinterestedly

her tail flapping
away flies
shouldn't be long now
the cowman said

never seen
a calf born then?
he said to you
no not yet

you said
don't suppose
you Londoners
see much of cows

he said smiling
no not at all in London
you said
he looked at Jane

then at the cow
which was standing still
making noises
then moving

then standing still again
I was about 5
when my old dad
took me to see

a calf born
the cowman said
all that blood and stuff
near made me

want to puke
first time
you looked at Jane
her hands

on the door top
her eyes focused
on the cow
she had on blue jeans

and boots
and a yellowy top
with small bulges
of *******

there she goes
the cowman said
and you gazed
at the cow

and a head appeared
as if by magic
out of the rear
of the cow

and it hung there
momentarily
then it slid out
and dropped

to the straw filled floor
covered in blood
and stuff
and the cow

licked the calf
and you watched
fascinated
at the new life

laying there
moving
the cow licking
the legs moving

the head turning
that's how it is
the cowman said
easy one that

and you moved closer
to Jane
smelling her scent
her warmth near you

her arm next to yours
what will you call it?
Jane asked
don't know yet

the cowman said
might call it Benedict
if it's a bull calf
and Jane

if it's a heifer
he smiled at you both
and opened up
the lower door

and went in
then closed it up again
there you are
she said

now you've seen
a calf born
you nodded
and you walked back

out of the yard
and up the drive
let's go back to my house
she said

Mum'll give us
tea and cake
and we can tell her
about the calf  

ok
you said
walking beside her
sensing her nearness

her hand close to yours
you wanting to hold it
but not doing so
walking there

beneath the sun's
warmth and glow.

And the young schmuck said,
How’s about a nice
Pretty photograph,



Girls, something to show
The folks back home, you
In your beautiful



Bathing costumes, so
Young and so well wrapped
Up there? Sure, Betsy



Said, why not, though don’t
Think my daddy’d be
Too pleased about me



In this here costume.
You looked at the schmuck
And tried hard not to



Imagine the dark
Working of his brain,
What images lay



There, what ******
Thoughts swirled around there
Like black oil in a



Sump. Sally looked just
Away from him, looked
Further up the beach



Or maybe the sea
Or sky, anywhere
But the young guy with



The camera, her
Being the quiet
Type and shy. But you



Knew his type, they were
Like haemorrhoids: a
Huge pain in the ****,



Always there with the
Words, the wise cracks, with
Their slimy sayings;



But you knew all they
Ever wanted from girls,
Beyond the mouthy



Outpourings, was you
In the bed or some
Secret place and to



Be undressed and to
Copulate with, to
Have their way; but not



With you; you knew the
Goings on, you knew
Which way those kind of



Things ended and you
Knew that even though
Betsy gave him the



Smile and ease, she’d not
Settle for such a
Creep with his false smile,



Wheedling words or
Bright eyed stare. So he
Took his photograph



And you were captured
There on the beach in
New Orleans amongst



The other young folk,
Beneath a sky of
Blue, in your bathing



Costumes, beautiful
And youthful in the
Year of our sweet Lord,
1922.

Hannah and I
lie on the grass
by Arrol House

she shows me
a penknife
her father'd brought
home for her

a thin bladed one
with a white handle
it's in the palm
of her hand balancing

it looks good
I say

that's not what
Mum said when Dad
brought it home
Hannah says

what did she say?
I ask

Whit did ye brin'
'at haem fur?
she said

what did your
dad say?

nothing he pretended
he was deaf
and just gave me
the knife and went
and sat in his armchair
and read his newspaper

how do you understand
what your mum is saying?
I'm never sure
if she's being angry
with me or if
that's just her
being nice

probably the former
she's seldom
nice to people
Hannah says

she puts the knife
in the pocket
of her skirt
and says
where we going then?

we can stay here
if you like
I say
lying in the sun
and talking

o sure
and have my mum
peering out
the window at us
saying
whit ur ye tois
up tae?  

I fall back laughing
what's that mean?

it's what are you
two up to?
Hannah says
no let's go
through the Square
and get an ice lolly
and 1d drink
and look at
the cheap shop
on the New Kent Road

so we up and go
over the mental fence
and through the Square
and go buy
our ice lollies
and 1d drinks

and I wonder
as we walk
what her mother
says and thinks.

Benny's the new boy
in class
he sits at the back

with some kid
called Rennie
while the teacher

Miss G
yaks on
about Schubert

or some feller
putting on
some LP

as they sit
and put on
interested faces

the girl who
smiled at him
on the school bus

is there
looking over at him
beaming like

a new sun
her eyes bright
as fresh stars

he looks
at her briefly
then looks away

storing her eyes
for some
other day.

Do you like
my new shoes?
Helen says
Dad got them

for me
I look
at the new shoes
brown like new

polished conkers
yes they look good
Mum says I can
wear them to church

today and I've put on
my Sunday dress
as it is Sunday
and what do you think

of the white socks
and the little pink
ribbons at the top?
and you'll never guess  

I've got new handkerchiefs
and I've got one
with me now
and she gets it out

of her dress pocket
and shows me
and I gaze at it
waiting to get

a word in edgeways
but she says
and after that
Saturday morning

matinee yesterday
and that boy
attacking you
with that knife

Mum says she's
not sure I should go
any more
you know what

Mum's like
but maybe you
could talk her around
because I like

being there
with you
and o by the way
my doll Battered

Betty's other eye
is stuck now
and she can only
see through half

an open eye
it's my little
brother's fault
he banged her

with his toy hammer
o poor Betty
and to think
she could see

out of both eyes
when Mum bought
her for me
from that jumble sale

a few years ago
I nod having given up
trying to get  
a word in

and see how neat
her hair is plaited
into two neat plaits
with pink ribbons

and her think lens glasses
clean so that I can
see her eyes
large as oysters

and guess what?
she says
I have two
shiny pennies

for the collection
at church
Dad gave them to me
and said new pennies

for new prayers
have you got
pennies too?
yes I've got 3d

my Mum gave me
I say feeling it good
to get my words
out there on the stage

of the day
and she smiles
and that smile
blows me

a seven
year old kid
in my best suit
far away.

You rode bikes with Milka
to the bridge over the river
and stood looking down
at the flowing water

and talked
of the latest
Elvis Presley film
you’d seen

and she said that she
had wanted to see it
but her mother
had forbidden it

saying it was not
the type of film
for her age
then you talked

of the film you’d seen
while working
as a cinema projectionist
called Ben Hur

and the great
chariot races in it
she leaned close to you
as you talked

her hands
on the brick bridge
her hips pressing
gently against yours  

she said she like it
when you came
to their farmhouse
and practised judo

with her brothers
and she could watch
and as she spoke
you studied her

her short fair hair
her large blue eyes
her delicate hands
the fingertips rubbing

against the bricks
of the bridge
the simple
green shift dress

she had on
and do you remember
that time you had them
both on the grass at once

in that karate fight?
she said excitedly
and you noticed
maybe

for the first time
her small firm bust
her figure
kind of huggable

although you hadn’t
hugged her
and she went on
about wanting to go

out with you
but her brothers
had said
Baruch won’t be

interested in you
he likes pretty girls
and you looked
at her eyes

as she spoke
how large they were
yet not unbeautiful
the orbs blue

portraying
wide worlds of you
and how old are you?
she asked

because they
keep saying
you’re too old
for me

16
you said
well
she said

I’m 14
so that isn’t
too old is it?
no

you said
seeing her eyes look
kind of watery
like small fish bowls

then she talked
of having seen you
in her dreams
and that in her dreams

you had kissed her
where did I kiss you?
you asked
on the lips of course

she said
no I meant
where abouts
was I when I kissed you?

o
she said blushing
in the barn
by the farmhouse

o I see
you said
never having been
there with her

only with her brothers
to do judo fights
she looked down
at the water

her eyes wide
and watery
a bird flew by
a bird song sounded

you leaned close to her
and kissed
her ear
through her

fair hair
and she looked at you
and you saw
new worlds

being born there
amongst the blue
Milka smiling
at an older you.

Sure
he had it all in mind
the way he was going
to approach her

how he was going
to get the date
fixed up and maybe
other things along

the line if he caught
her right but Hogdig
got it wrong
right from the start

she wasn't into men at all
she preferred her own kind
of the same gender
but at least he tried

and came out
with the usual spiel
gave the usual
****** expressions

gestures of hands
and smiles and all
but the dame didn't fall
she had her own agenda

and he wasn't it
not one bit
so Hogdig having got
the message loud and clear

( still ringing in his ear)
he apologised said he
didn't realize (hard to tell
he thought with that type)

and went on his way
(hoping against hope)
he'd get it right one day
but don't hold your breath

he said to himself
in the usual way he had
with his internal dialogue
an internal debate

going on for some hours
until quite late
all so one day
he'd get himself

(hopefully with a
good looking dame)
a night out
and a date.

She thinks of him
as she lies in bed,
thinks of his last visit,
that time he brought her

cigarettes and chocs
and the tubby nurse said
it's not good for you all
these things , and Nima

had said is *** good for me?
the tubby nurse said
everything in its place,
and Nima had said show

me the place. She ought to
be up and dressed but
she can't be ****** or so
it seems in her mind, so it

seems if she can't have
her fix and can't go out
until the quacks say so.
Benedict has said he will

come like he came that
day for the first time and
she was so unaware that
he'd get there, but he did,

turned up and the nurse said,
you've got a visitor, she
thought her parents had
decided to come after all,

but it was Benedict standing
in the doorway holding
cigarettes and a wide smile.
She looks at a nurse passing by,

thinks of being up and out,
seeing Benedict in London,
but no, the quacks say not
until we've fixed the fix craving

as if...and that time he and
she had had a quickie in that
side room and smiles and lies
with eyes closed dreaming of

that time, supping on it in colour
and all like a small picture show,
and she watches it move on and go.