Nima holds
the **** in
her bladder

another
occupies
the toilet

she can hear
the woman
*******
seemingly
hear talking
explosions
of farting
muttering

Nima stands
with hands
held in place
between thighs

hey in there
what the ****
you doing
laying eggs?
Nima says

go away
a voice says
go elsewhere
I’m busy

Nima sighs
where to go?

her bladder
is ready
to explode

she rushes
through the ward
passed nurses
out through doors
to the next
lavatory
and pushes
it open
and shuts it
and locks it
undresses
and sits down
and lets go

she thinks of
Benedict
and that time
that they ******
in some cheap
boarding house
in London

another
deep release
not of ****
but of ***
held in place
by a kiss.

Nima's not
in the mood
for the quacks

visiting
the mental
cases ward

coming round
in white coats
stethoscopes

and closed minds
she's outside
in the sun

that despite
the nurse’s
wanting her

on the ward
not outside
chain smoking

a doctor
with a nurse’s
comes outside

the doctor
not happy
you should be

on the ward
for our rounds
not out here

the quack said
Nima sits
on a seat

her legs crossed
the night dress
with no belt

reveals sight
of her thighs
and she smiles

at the spark
alive there
in his eyes.

Nima wants out of it,
wants out of all,
the medicated care,
nurses fussing over drugs
or pill popping
or signs she back
on the downward slide again;
she wants Benny to come,
want him to visit
or meet in London
as once they did.

The doctor's just gone,
his dark eyes gazing over her
like a skater on ice,
his dark eyebrows
as caterpillars sleeping.

She wants to walk the ward,
but he's told her
to rest until she’s up
to the walk; ******* talk.

She lays there on the bed,
head on the pillow,
eyes on the lights,
on the nurse who
comes and goes,
thinking of Benny
and that good bit of ***
in the cheap hotel;
the taps in the bathroom
the wrong way around:
hot for cold and vice versa.

She laughs;
she always thinks of that
when she bathes,
that and that time
when they bathed together.

She wants out if it;
wants either a good fix
or a good ****,
but stuck in here
in the ward,
none of that
worse luck.

Nima waits
in her bed
on the ward

it's twilight
and she feels
a great urge

for some ***
but Benny
is at home

at his place
and others
on the ward

are sleeping
all women
some are old

few are young
even the
young night nurse

in her small
cramped office
off the ward

seldom comes
to visit
at that hour

she tries to
picture in
her dazed mind

Benny there
beside her
kissing her

holding her
his fingers
exploring

her body
his wet lips
on her neck

on her *******
on the dip
of her *****

on her *****
but he's not
there at all

just her lips
wet kissing
where she can

O Benny
come to me
be my man.

Gran said it isn’t safe
to walk about the bombsites

Janice said
as you walked with her

off of Meadow Row
towards the bombed out sites

of WW11
there might be

unexploded bombs
she added

holding on to your shirt sleeve
there are no

unexploded bombs here
you said

to reassure
you paused midway

and stared back
to where the coal wharf stood

and coalmen went about their work
loading trucks and horse drawn carts

how do you know?
she asked

her hand gripping
your shirt sleeve tight

don’t you trust me?
you said

turning your head
seeing her eyes wide

beneath her red beret
yes but maybe there could be

hidden beneath ground
you looked around

with hand above your brow
none I can see

you said
she released your sleeve

and touched your hand
her smooth skin

like soft silk
moved over yours

you mustn’t tell Gran
she said

she’s forbidden me
to go on sites

you sensed her pulse
tap along your palm

of course I won’t
you said

and walked across
the bricks and rubble

and weeds between
even here

amidst the bombed out ruins
a touch of green.

Lizbeth sits
in a pew
church empty

damp smelling
old hymn books
on the shelves

hymn number
on a board
on the wall

come and sit
she tells me
I sit down

beside her
hear nothing
except us

breathing there
far off sound
of tractor

in a field
why not here?
she asks me

on this pew
do what here?
I ask her

but I know
*** she says
me and you

don't want to
least not here
I tell her

not in church
on this pew
why not here?

it's quiet
no one here
not for miles

her eyes stare
at my eyes
could be fun

having it
on this spot
her palm pats

the wood pew
don't think so
anyway

it's God's house
holy place
not for ***

she looks down
at her knees
lifts her skirt

with fingers
it's our place
or could be

she mutters
you're 13
I tell her

so are you
she replies
someone calls

from outside
there's voices
her fingers

move her skirt
we kneel down
in prayer mode

as someone
enter in
behind us

thank you God
Lizbeth says
and we rise

from the pew
and pass by
two old girls

sitting there
in their bright
summer clothes

that was close
Lizbeth says
wonder what

they would say
seeing us
doing it?

I cannot
imagine
I tell her

but I can
in my mind
and we walk

down the path
sound of cows
mooing near

and tractor
over fields
and her laugh.

As soon as she closed her bedroom door Sophia began to undress daj spokój she said in Polish come on she said in English Benedict stood staring what if your parents come back? he said they not come for ages she said go out to dinner with friends but Benedict was unsure he stood there watching her undress you just come to watch? she said standing there in her underclothes we have only just come back from the cinema he said can't we just have a coffee first and maybe think about it? no we not time for coffee we have *** she said gazing at him sternly he began to take off his clothes listening out for voices or a door closing or opening not worry they not be back we have hours before they back she said removing the last of her clothes and pulling back the bed covers he looked at the bed at the pillows at her standing there completely bare your father speaks little good English last time I was here he misunderstood me then how can I explain this? not time to explain now she said getting into the bed and watching him ******* reluctantly his eyes on her his heart pumping fast imagining her father coming up the stairs and finding him there she patted the bed beside her I am ready she said let us get going he stood undressed and climbed into the bed beside her she turned and switched off the lamp beside the bed then turned to face him again he saw her outline in the light of the moonlight coming through the window she touched his pecker with her slim fingers he felt unready for anything he wanted to go home and be somewhere safe she kissed him and put a hand on his back he put his hand on her thigh felt soft skin I see you have no crucifix on your wall above the bed like your parents have he said no I don't want Jesus see me at night in bed or get up in morning she said my parents are old fashion Catholics I think differently about things she kissed him on the lips her tongue entered his mouth and moved around his tongue he gagged and she moved her tongue away and sat back what matter now? first you have no stiff now you not like the tongue why you here? she said moodily he sighed you said come back to your place for coffee nothing about this he said you not like me not fancy me? she said yes I do but I’m not ready he said we wait a while she said laying back on the pillow he lay back too they faced each other neither touching how long have you lived here in England? he asked I came when I was nine years old he nodded your mother she's Italian? Sophia nodded yes my father he Polish they met after the War in Italy she said why did they come here to live? he asked my father come here with a job he get and bring us here too she said her hand felt for his pecker and touched he stirred looked at her in the semi-dark he touched her leg with his right hand she kissed him and put a hand around his neck you like me? she asked yes I do but what if your parents come back? you worry too much they not come back yet she said licking her lips she pulled him closer to her body you not like ***? she asked he sighed and looked past her at the window at the moonlight yes I do but I can't relax just in case he said in case of what? I tell you not come back long time she said in a fast movement she was on top of him and leaning breathing over him licking his chest he lay there pinned to the bed I really can't he said yes you can she said I feel stiffness of it she said come on we have it he looked past her head at the patterns on the ceiling made by the moonlight and trees swaying she worked on him and moved and moved and he sensed her moving and the light came and went the moonlight gone then there he put his hands on her thighs and felt a swimming sensation as if he were in water or swaying or he didn't know what but the bed moved and so did she and he and the moonlight was gone and there was darkness and perfume and body and lips and he felt himself as if swimming fast as waves lifted him and let him down then up and he thought he heard sirens or maidens or voices  and her lips were on his and her tongue entered and he swallowed her up and or though he had and she said come come and he heard angels sing or maidens moan or sirens on rocks or voices downstairs or calling voices from the shore was her parents or sea waves and she brought him around and over and now he was riding the waves of the sea and she lay there spread like an eagle wings wide and he kissed her lips her neck her cheek her nose as he dipped and rose and she began to sing or sigh or laugh or call and the waves lifted high and then low and he kissed her ******* then he swam and swam as he rose and fell and sounds came and went maidens calling angels singing or calls from a far off shore lights flashed in his head or was it the wall and she entered her tongue and **** and **** and he skimmed the high waves and slide into the rise and fall and voices or angels singing or maidens calling from a nearby shore was that her parents calling or singing he wasn't sure.

Shamira
said to me
come for lunch

so I told
my mother
I'll be out
for my lunch
this Sunday

Shamira's
parent's place
was empty

just us two
sitting there
eating lunch
drinking wine

I can play
piano
I know
some
Beethoven
if you like?

Ok then
I replied

so she did
and I watched
her fingers
moving on
the keyboard

Beethoven's
Fur Elise
sounded well
after that
and a short
Chopin piece

how about
some dessert?
I asked her

have we time?
she replied
my parents
may return
anytime

always time
for dessert
I told her

so we went
to her room
and undressed
and began

then we heard
her parent's
car pull in
the front drive

o my God
she uttered
and we stopped
and got dressed

she uptight
my pecker
all distressed.

Noga watched
the other girls play.

Skip rope or
ballgames
or groups
in idle chatter.

She was left out,
an outsider,
she said
it didn’t matter,
but deep down
it did.

The others
had new dresses
and shoes,
their hair shone
with the washing
each day,
spoke about her
as she went by
their way.

The boys preferred
the pretty girls,
the ones who shone
or outshone her
or who promised
them more
as they giggled
and swooned
and swayed their hips
or pushed out
their tingling ****.

Their parents
picked them up
in posh cars;
she walked
the long trek
on worn-out shoes;
their parents spoke
with clipped voices
and la-de-da tones;
hers spoke
or shouted
or pushed out
groans or swore;
blamed her bruises
on arms or legs
on the usual door,
to those who cared
or casually stared.

Noga watched the girls
kissing boys,
saw their lips meet,
their hands in play,
but no boy kissed her,
no lips met hers,
no hands in play
sought to touch
her skin.

She only had
pretend romance
or maybe dreams
of shining knights
on big white horses,
no real love,
like other girls
with their
hot lip kisses
or overt ***
and intercourses.

You used to watch your mother
boiling the washing
in the steel copper
then heave it out  

with the wooden copper stick
and into the ringer
where you'd help
to pull it through

as it pushed out
the water
into a bowl underneath
you took in

her red hands
the steam rising
from her fingers
the sweat on brow

the tired gaze
the tied around apron
flowered blue
and yellow and white

and the red patterned top
black skirt
then you watched
as she leant back

and put her hands
to the small of her back
to ease the ache
and some days

( if bored with cowboy games
or too wet to go out)
you watched her
make a cake

in a mixing bowl
adding the ingredients
one by one
( giving you a handful

of dried fruit
if you asked)
and put the mixture
in a large round tin

and then place in the oven
with a sigh and run
her fingers through her
dark hair

on other  days
you'd watch her
iron clothes
( using the old iron

which had been heated
on the stove)
on the ironing board
running it over carefully

each item in turn
taking care
not to burn
and you liked to watch

the steam rise
like incense
before your eyes
back in the old days

when you were a boy
in short trousers
and white shirt
with that curious stare

but now your mother
the lady who laboured hard
has passed away
and those washed

and ironed clothes
and cakes
are no longer there.

And Mrs Shepherd said
come up
and see me sometime
-she was no Mae West

but she did her best-
and so I went
to her apartment
and she invited me in

and said
sit on the couch
and I'll get us drinks
so I sat on the couch

and watched her
get two tumblers of scotch
and she had a neat ***
compact body

and fine hair
in a kind of
Clara Bow style
and she came back

to the couch
and sat down
handing me my drink
and she said

how'd you like me?
it was warm afternoon
the sun was strong
and poured itself

on her red carpet
you're fine
I said
she smiled and said

no I meant
how'd you like me to be?
laying out here
on the couch

or the floor
on all fours?
there was a picture
on one wall

of a vase of flowers
sunflowers big and yellow
I'm not sure
what if your hubby comes in

while we're at it?
o don't mind him
he's miles away
she said

put him right out
of your head
so what will it be
me spread here

with class or me
on all fours
and you take my ***?
the scotch was good

nice and smooth
and a dog barked some place
-she was no Mae West
but she did her best.

No matter
how much
I open
my arms wide;
you're not inside.

I cannot hold
you again,
cannot feel
the hold of you,
no matter
what I imagine
or believe, or do.

Cannot weigh
the sadness
or explain
how I grieve.

I think on
the you,
the you
that used to be,
the younger,
older, son,
child, man,
you,
I cannot see.

Judy sat
in one of the seats
in the pub garden
and spoke

of the university course
she was going for
in the late summer
and you sat opposite her

watching her as she spoke
taking in her blue eyes
and her little quaint nose
and her dark hair

held back
with blue ribbons
and you remembered
the kisses

of the evening before
while she waited with you
while you waited
for the bus back to town

and how that last kiss
was held by you
all the way home
and packed away

in the mind
in that part
you keep
for good moments

and she stopped talking
and sipped her Coke
and you said
you want to be a lawyer?

yes
she said
I’ve always wanted
to be lawyer

even as a little girl
and you tried
to imagine her
in wig and gown

in some high court
cross examining
some criminal
or maybe defending one

and she said
I got that parcel
you sent me
that Mahler 6th symphony

in the box
you smiled
you shouldn’t
waste your money

on me  
she said
I’m not worth it
of course you are

you replied
no I’m not
she said
but I love you

you said
I know
but although
I like you

I can’t  say
I love you
as easy as you
say you love me

and she sipped her drink
and you sipped your beer
and you wondered
if you would ever hear

her say the words to you
but she never did
and so at the end
of the year

after the Christmas gift
she gave you
and the farewell kiss
you never saw her anymore

some things you want
you can’t have
no matter how much
you adore.

Christine stood
at the ward window
peering out
at the snow

you stood beside her
smelling the perfume
she wore
the one she was going to wear

on her honeymoon
had the ***** shown up
as she told you
a few days before

snow looks like icing
on a Christmas cake
she said
hope to Hell

I’m out of here by then
me too
you said
as long as the quack

don’t fry our brains
with ECTs again
better not have
she said

gives me headaches and ****
look at that tractor
out there in that field
see how those gulls

are following him
through the snow
she followed your finger pointing
like a ship at sea don’t it

she said
you stared up
at the greying sky
cloudless

and end of worldish
could have been
on my honeymoon
some months back

she said suddenly
could have been
well *******
and sun blessed

guess so
you said
instead I get brained fried
by some doc

in a white coat
don’t see how
he could have let you down
like he did

you said
that bridegroom
of yours
gutless worm

she said
leaving me standing there
in that white dress
and headpiece

and those fecking
pinching shoes
you sniffed her perfume
looked at her sideways

her eyes scanning
the fields and trees
her night gown
beltless

(in case we take
to hanging ourselves)
opening
to show legs

and night dress
hanging by the knees
she breathed
on the glass pane

breathed it up
and wrote
with her finger
no more ECTs.

Two mental breakdowns
In as many years;
The ECT, she
Knows too well; the dark

Corridors; the sharp
Broken mirrors, all
Reflecting different
Selves; the slashed wrist;

Bath-almost-drowning
Business; the white
Coated nurse and docs
And the tricks up their

Long thin sleeves; and the
Emptiness inside
With the long slow fall
Into that so long

Awaited and wished for
Oblivion and
No more echoes from
The sad ghostly dead.

Two mental breakdowns
In as many years;
The ECT, she
Knows too well; the dark

Corridors; the sharp
Broken mirrors, all
Reflecting different
Selves; the slashed wrist;

Bath-almost-drowning
Business; the white
Coated nurse and docs
And the tricks up their

Long thin sleeves; and the
Emptiness inside
With the long slow fall
Into that so long

Awaited and wished for
Oblivion and
No more echoes from
The sad ghostly dead.

The best is yet to come, he’d said. But you
Think that’s down the drain now after last night.
Yet it started all right, him in a good
Mood, the bottle of wine, the food prepared,

The music low, the right week, the two kids
Away. You’d even put on the new dress
he’d bought, bright red, but a little short, but
He didn’t mind, he said it made you look

Sexier and more desirable. You
Never brought up your husband’s demise last
Year, you mentioned it on the first date, he
Just said, too bad, nothing more. You’d put your

Late husband’s photo in the drawer out of
Sight. After the wine and meal and warm shared
Conversation on the sofa and hot
Kisses and holds, you both transferred to the

Bedroom and quickly undressed and made love.
Or rather you didn’t, at least not how
You thought of it before, he treated you
Like some downtown *****, even beat you up

Once or twice or more leaving you ******,
Soaked and ******. The best is yet to come, he’d
Said the first time you met and he normal
And kind and quite the regular guy. That

Was before last night and the awful ***,
The split lip and black eye. You stare out of
The window at the rising day and the
Sunlight and think of better days before

Last night and the fall from grace. No more of
That, no more of him, no more of that ****.
You won’t see him anymore, the *******
You don’t care for him no more, not one bit.

Mr Cutler had passed away
the room was cleared and ready
for the next resident
clean sheets

pillowcase
fresh blankets
the curtains taken down
and washed and dried

and put up again
but that didn't stop Sophia
penning you in
standing with her back

to the door
blocking your escape
he is dead now?
this Mr Cutler?

yes died the other day
you said
nice bed
she said

you looked at
the candlewick bed spread
blue and smooth
yes guess so

you replied
you gazed at her
with her blonde hair
tied in a pony tail

her ice blue eyes
focused on you
her Polish English words
harsh yet also soft

you could **** me there
she breathed
rather than said
too risky

you said
more exciting
she uttered
her Polish tongue

brutalizing
the English
who will see?
the old man dead

who else
will come in here?
some old boy might
come in by mistake

you said
an audience
will add to the fun
she breathed out

the words
you could smell
their sensuality
no I can't

I have baths to do
you uttered
looking at the door
behind her back

they can wait
she said
or you could
bath me first

she said smiling
I've got to go
you said
someone might need me

I need you
she uttered
here on the bed
I can't

you said
if you try to leave
the room I will scream
she said

I will say you try
to touch me up
as you lot say
she put one hand on a hip

and the other
against the door
they wouldn't believe you
you said

let's try
if I scream loud enough
and cry they will
she said

she mimed opening
her mouth and screaming
ok
you said

no need to scream
she smiled
good boy
I like you

she said
moving away
from the door
and unbuttoning

her blue overall coat
revealing her tight
short dress
her ******* pressing out

the top
she dropped her overall
on a chair by the window
and drew the curtains

that's better no?
it made the room darker
the shadowy light
made the moment surreal

come on
she said
mustn't waste time
and she began to undress

and you stood there
open mouthed
and doomed
when someone

called your name
down the passageway
Mr Elks needs you
where are you?

oh ****
Sophia said
dressing quickly
and standing

by the sink
out of sight
of the door way
sorry

you said
maybe another time
and you opened the door
and closed it behind you

as Matron arrived
ah there you are
Mr Elks has been
calling for you

I think he needs to go
to the bathroom
o right
you said

just been making sure
the place is ready
nodding back
at late Mr Cutler's room

ok
she nodded
and gave the door
a quick look

and then went on ahead
leaving Sophia dressing
and forsaken
no ****

for her today
and followed Matron
with no
more to say.

Afternoon sun touched the cloister garth. The office of None had just completed. Sister Teresa walked slowly down the cloister from the church, letting her failing eyesight search for the opening to the garth. Heard the clink of cups on saucers; the chatter of voices; nearby the smell of the flowers in the flowerbeds. Her white stick tapped against the wall as she walked; her arthritic hand gripped it painfully. Felt the sun's rays on her face; the slight breeze touch her habit like as saucy child. Remembered a summer long ago before she entered the convent. The green of grass in her memory and a kiss. Who's kiss? She searched her memory like one seeking through an old chest. Jude. Yes, Jude. Smiled. Felt opening in the wall; turned into the garth. She remembered vaguely his face; felt the grass beneath her feet. Someone touched her arm with their hand. One of the sisters spoke. Not Sister Clare. Dead now. Most of them were she knew. She listened to the tone of the voice; her eyes failed her again. Sister Mark. Her mind grasped the image that fitted the voice. She smiled. Sister Mark had led her by the arm and asked about tea and cake. Tea, yes, no cake, she said. Mama had a similar voice. Mama had said not to let them touch. Not men; not to be trusted. Or was that papa? She couldn't remember. Take it easy, Mother Abbess had told her; take things steady. Fifty years since she came that summer. She recalled the heat of that summer. The cloister's smell of bread and incense. Papa's face when she left home that day; the tears in his eyes; the awkward smile on his lips. No one came now. All dead and buried. Clare in the convent cemetery next to the wall; mole holes along by the gravestone. That had been an adventure in the art of love. A secret known only to God and them. Mea culpa, she whispered. Sister Mark handed a cup and saucer; soft hand touched hers; sweet voice spoke of the weather and the smell of the flowers. Sighed. Breathed in the air. Sipped tea. Cup rattled in the saucer. Stood here once and spoke to all; now few speak; only the kind and brave. Sister Mark spoke of the new novices and of the freshness about them. Sister Teresa looked about her; a vague scan of images; of faces in white and their youthful giggles and chatter. She had been as such once. She, her loves, and her memories. The bell tolled from the cloister clock; voices stilled. The breeze calmed. The sun eased off and hid behind a cloud. Someone took her cup and saucer and placed a hand on her arm. Not to touch, not over much. Mama had said. One of the dead. The God blessed dead. She walked back along the cloister, the hand still on her arm; flesh on flesh. Not to touch, not over much, a soft voice whispered of long ago.

Michelle has
just made love
to Nesta

her lover
satiated
she lays back

on the bed
Nesta's head
on her *******

her right hand
on her hip
Michelle feels

all her nerves
tingle hot
electrified

from hair end
to small toes
Nesta breathes

Michelle’s *******
the softness
pink piggies

tiny tails
of brown dugs
recalls wet

hot kisses
body hugs
******

deep probing
warm juices
then she hears

from the hall
her deaf child
from her room

loudly call
and swiftly
leaves the *******

and sweet smells
to rescue
her deaf child

and bring her
back to bed
with Michelle

her lover
who always
gives kisses

all counting
none misses.

The nurse said
she's outside on the lawn
don't take her out
to the pub though

she's been banned
ok
you said
and trotted out

to the lawn
through the double doors
of the hospital
to where Julie

was sitting in a chair
by a white table
smoking
she was clothed

in a white dressing gown
and slippers
she sat with one leg
over the other

with one of her elbows
resting on the knee
did you bring me
any more ciggies?

she asked
when she saw you
yes
you said

and passed her the packet
you'd bought
at the railway station
thanks I am getting desperate

she said
I was on the point
of offering myself up
for a smoke earlier

but one of the porters
gave me one for nothing
cigarette that is
she said smiling

she put the packet
in the pocket
of her dressing gown
the nurse said

you'd been banned
from the pub
along the road
you said

Julie looked towards
the ward doors
which were open
to let in

the afternoon sunlight
and warmth
someone gave me a joint
and the landlord saw

and chucked us both out
and said I was banned
she inhaled deeply
on the cigarette

you saw how thin
she had become
her wrists seemed too thin
to hold her hands

she exhaled
now I can't have a drink
or **** or blow
my ****** nose

she ranted
looking at the horizon
of hospital buildings
and trees and sky

sorry about that
you said
not your fault
she said

I should have been more careful
should have said no
to a smoke of that ****
but I couldn't

she inhaled again
and you saw her thigh
where her dressing gown rose
as she moved her leg

it too had become thinner
are you eating properly?
you asked
you're becoming

like my father now
she said puffing out smoke
when he turns up
that is

you're thinner
you said
the hospital food is crap
she said

I'd rather starve
than eat some of it
she stubbed out
the cigarette ****

in an ashtray
on the table
looks like you have
you said

have you come to talk
about how thin I've become?
or to cheer me up?
to cheer you up

you said
she looked towards
the open ward doors
they've locked that cupboard

we went in last time
she said
do they suspect anything?
you asked

I guess so
she said
some of the nurses
make hints about it

call it the love room
just because they have a life
they deny me of one
you took out a cigarette

from a packet you had
in your pocket
and offered her one
and take one yourself

she lights hers
with a red lighter
then lights yours
you both sit smoking

sitting in silence
watching the smoke rise
she thinking
of another place to ****

you wondering how far
she'd fallen
from her middle class home
through drugs at some party

and the long ride down
the slippery *****
she thinking of no ***
no ***** no dope.

Jane's in the church,
helping to sort flowers
in vases.

I stand at the back,
watching,
not wanting to disturb,
smelling the ancient bricks
and wood and flowers.

She's in a world of her own,
her fingers nimble,
dedicated.

I sit down
in a side pew,
look up
at the wooden roof,
the arches,
the side columns.

Her father is by her,
talking quietly,
pointing out,
and she smiles
and then looks back
and sees me.

I feel as if someone
grabs my heart
and squeezes;
my whole being freezes.

She comes down
and sits beside me.

Didn't know
you were coming?

Your mother said
you were in here.

She nods,
looks up
at her father
at the altar,
then back
at me again.

I have finished now;
we can go for a walk.

Ok, that'd be good.

We get up out
of the pew
and walk down
the aisle towards
the back of the church.

She pauses
and looks back.

Funny if in years to come
we were walking here
after we were married.

I nod, but feel odd;
never think
that far ahead,
I muse,
but say nothing.

We walk on and out
of the church
and into
the warm sunshine.

My father saw you
and told me
you were there.

Does he mind?

Of course not;
why should he?

No reason,
just wondered.

My mother told him
you were ok;
she likes you.

I smile and we walk
down the narrow road
towards the farm.

How do you like school?

I don't;
I feel out of place there
after London.

You'll be ok
once you settle in.

I had a fight
my first day.

I heard from a girl
whose brother
heard about it;
I thought that meant
you were trouble,
but I understand
the boy started it.

I finished it,
but we're friends now,
I add.

She smiles at me
and her hand
touches mine
and it's like
I’m alive
for the first time;
my heart going
thirty to the dozen,
my whole being buzzing
like swarm of bees.

No one else knows;
no one else sees.

As you sit in the cafe
in the shopping mall
you see Sophie
and her man friend

smooching across
the table
he with moustache
and thinning

combed back hair
and she
with dark black hair
straight to the collar

of her white blouse
they purse their lips
he closes his eyes
leans forward

she likewise
as if
in some French cafe  
in some 1950s film

you sip your latte
watch the show
he once worked
pushing trolleys

in some super store
she unsure
but with a carer
sometimes seen

walking the mall
or in the bank
or shops
and some days

she’ll come up
and say hello
in a loud voice
as if she’d not

seen you
in a thousand years
other days not at all
or she’ll tell you

some news
about her life
or some small trouble
that’s got her down

today she sits
and kisses
and converses
with the man friend

and he’ll laugh
and maybe she too
and hold hands
over the cokes and cakes

you sit back
in the chair
and watch them there
repeat their kissing

or holding hands
the Romeo eyes
now open
leaning near

mouthing words
you cannot hear
she lips still pursed
says loudly

of a love
she feels
or how hot
the weather is

or how his scarf
untidy looks
or unbuttoned shirt
others who do not

know them sit
and gawk
and make snide comment
behind their hands

make judgement
in their bourgeoisie world
but you like others
who know them of old

sit and drink
and make no judgements
of what they say
or do but watch

the kissing
and holding of hands
like in a B feature
at the cinema

waiting for
the real thing maybe
but content to see
the movie through

having no where to go
or other things to do.

On the school bus home
she looks out the window
her younger sister
yakking as usual

to her friends nearby
but Elaine tries
to shut her out
and focus on John

and what he said
when they met
on the school
sports field

at recess lunch time
and what she said
to him and still
she couldn't say

to him how the kiss
had made her
feel inside
she watches

the passing view
fields
farm houses
trees

cows
sheep
trees
and she knows

if she looks across
on the other side
of the bus
he'll be there

looking out
of the opposite window
should I look over?
shall I see

if he's looking at me?
her sister giggles
about something
her friends giggle too

she hates it
when they giggle
she thinks
they're giggling

at her
she puts her hands
on her knees
rubs them

take her hands off
runs her palms
along her thighs
she looks over

at John
he's looking out
the window
she can see

the back of his head
and that boy
who sits next to him
is talking to him

she looks away
tries to go over
in her mind
the kiss he gave her

what seems now
some time ago
so sudden
so unexpected

and his hands
touched her
as he kissed
where?

does it matter?
she looks over
at him again
and he looks at her

and she blushes
and looks away
houses pass by  
hedgerows

horses
houses
she feels open
as if he'd spread

her wide
and nothing
is hidden
no place to hide.

Lizbeth lies
on her bed
after returning
from seeing Benny

in the small hamlet
outside town
she lies and fumes
and muses on the day

Benny talking
of birds of prey
and all she wanted
was for him

to have her
although she knew
it'd be a waste
of effort

but she thought maybe
he might weaken
if she tried enough  
and wore her

shortest skirt and such
but no
all talk of birds
and butterflies

and his
****** queen
from school
on his mind

as they walked
no doubt
worth an effort
she muses

maybe one day
he may
downstairs her mother
plays the radio

some classical stuff
her mother's
croaking voice
attempting

a Schubert song
the bed is soft
the pillow holds
her head

she pretends
Benny's there
closes her eyes
imagines its his fingers

touching her now
not hers
his fingers
lifting the skirt

his finger and thumb
lowering
her underwear
the Schubert song

is done
her mother's croak
is silent
some other

composer's music
fills the air
up from the stair
she wants it to be him

not her
his fingers not hers
its not the same
despite the pretence

her fingers stop
and lay by her side
and she opens
her eyes

with no
pretended ride.

Miryam sits at the bar
sipping a Bacardi,
bumming a smoke
from a packet open
on the bar top.

Hear you went
to Fez today,
she says.

Yes, it was like
something out
of Bible times,
you say,
camels, donkeys,
people in head gear
and gowns and such.

I would have come,
she says,
but I was too
shagged out
after the night before.

You eye her,
the tight curly
red hair,
blue eyes,
red lips.

I made it ok,
you say.

Don't know how,
she says,
you left after I did.

And you didn't come in
the tent
for a goodnight
kiss or more,
she adds,
staring at you.

Thought moaning Minnie
would be back,
you say.

She didn't show
until hours after;
been having it off
with that ex-army guy
of yours.

So that’s where
he went,
you say,
taking a quick sip
of your wine.

I'd have stayed
if I'd known.

Miryam inhales deeply,
then exhales.

Where's Army boy now?
she asks.

No idea,
joined the navy
for all I care,
you say.

We could now
if you like,
she says.

Where?
You take in
her tight blouse,
tight skirt
with a slit
at the side,
showing thigh.

One of those
sand dunes,
they're deep enough
to hide us,
she says.

Now?
Why not?
What if someone
comes over
and sees us?
They see us.

Nothing new
in what we'll be doing.

She drains
her Bacardi,
puts the glass down
on the bar top.

Well?
Under
the Moroccan sun?  
Either you do
or you don't,
she says,
getting off
the bar stool,
showing more thigh,
slim legs, sandals.

You drain your wine,
and follow her
from the bar
of the base camp,
and down
between the tents
and onto the beach
towards the sand dunes.

She has a fine sway
of hips, you note
as she walks in front.

The sun warms you,
sand beneath
your feet, some one
plays a flute
from across the way,
a voice sings.

She finds
a deep sand dune,
and you both
get down inside,
she kisses
straight away,
lips to lips stuff,
tongues,
hands undoing,
and taking
stuff off,
her body drinking
in the sun.

You and the pecker,
ready to go,
and the guys
still singing
from the camp,
flute still playing,
and she smells
of sun oil
and Bacardi
and stale
cigarettes,
but its all go
no time
for regrets.

Regrets
are like
burnt out
cigarettes

fit only
to be tossed
away
that's what

I say
Yehudit said
and things
she said

stick in
my head
like she didn't
believe JFK

was blown away
until she saw
the picture
in the papers

the very next day
or when
Marilyn Monroe
was found dead

in 1962
she said
you're just upset
because what

her body
does for you
(what did it do?)
besides

I don't believe
it was suicide
she said
someone had

something to hide
or when she said
there's no smoke
without fire

like there's always
an object
of ****** desire
but she’d always

let me
if I asked politely
or she’d say
you can't this week

Auntie's come to stay
and there was
the big pond
where we'd lay

and gaze at the sky
or watch
the ducks
on the water's skin

or kiss and talk
or go for a walk
or just laze
and absorb the days

she said
now the pond's
abandoned
and she is dead.

Edweir knew she came
To the cafeteria for her
Lunch each day and usually

Sat in the same place if
She could and this day
She is sitting there with

That blue dress on the one
That shows the valley
Between her ******* and

Her hair frames her face
In such a way and he tries
To sit so he can see her so

And turn away his head
If he thought she might
Gaze his way but now she

Sits in pensive mood as some
Women do her hands holding
The glass her thoughts seeming

Far away and he wonders if
Maybe she has grown tired
Of her work up in Dawlish’s

Office or maybe has is often
Rumoured Dawlish had soft
Touched her where it’s known

By those in the know he is
Often want to go or maybe
She thinks of some other thing

An evening date with some sad  
****** or some schmuck who
Only wants to drink and ****

Now she pauses and sips from
The glass and deeply sighs oh
How he would love to go and

Embrace her and say anything
I can do to help and run a finger
Along her face but now she stares

At him and he feels a creepy finger
Up and down his spine and her eyes
Wash over him in cold disdain while

Outside the skies are blue and the sun
Shines warmly with no sign of rain.

Aba would
have been there
Ole
had he known

would not
have left you so
facing death alone
that first time

bedded in that
hospital ward
that late evening

had they drawn
the curtains by then
Ole?

Was it still dull
that end
despite the light?

Who found you
and were they
there in time
that first time around?

Did you murmur
make moan
make sound?

Aba would
have given his life
for yours any day
given his limbs
his eyes
his speech
but too late
he didn't know
until they phoned
when they managed
to reach

remember Ole
you are loved
not forgotten

Aba and family
made it
the second time
around
but you
were comatosed
and made no sign
or sound.

The Rozzer stopped me
on the bomb site
off Meadow Road
you been smoking?
he asked

I put on my surprised
what me Governor? face
no Officer

he stared at me
his large eyes
searching me
let me see your hands

I showed him
my 9 year old hands
ink stained
and unwashed
since breakfast

do you know
what happens to fingers
of people who smoke?

I shook my head

they go brown
he said
brown as *****

do they?
I said
I knew they did
because my old man's
were slightly
*******
of one hand

he pursed his lips
to say more
but he didn't
he peered at me
looking for clues
of smoking

if I catch you smoking
I’ll take you home
to your parents
and that'll be it
my boy
get it?

I nodded
yes Officer
I stood looking
by him
at the bombed out houses
behind
the pub
on the corner

where do you live?

I tell him the address
of a neighbour's house
the old boy's deaf
as a post
so won't grass

well mind yourself
and the Rozzer went
hands behind his back
walking across
the bomb site

I look behind me
for the self rolled cigarette
I tossed behind me
when I saw him approaching
minutes before

I looked to see
how far the Rozzer
had gone
he went off Meadow Row
and out of sight

I found the cigarette
smouldering weakly
behind a broken brick

I picked it up
and dusted off
grit and dust
and puffed it
back to health

I held the cigarette
between arched fingers
as I’d seen gangsters do
in black and white films
then looked over
the bomb site again
sensing the start of rain.

Abela wants to sit
and sun herself
on the beach;
I prefer the cafes

in the old city,
a book, a smoke
and a cool drink.
Others sit or lay

in the hot sun,
she says,
why not you?
You go,

I'll meet you later
in the city,
have a drink and meal
in some restaurant.

I hate being on my own.
You're not be
on your own;
there are hundreds

of other sun worshipper
there, too,
all around you.
She pulls a face,

sulks,
wanders down
to the crowded beach
with her towel

and skimpy
two-piece.
Don't blame me
if I get picked up

by some gorgeous guy,
she says,
back at me.
I watch her go,

the figure advertising
her Venus sisterhood.
I wave
and set off

for the city.
Some poor schmuck
will try his luck;
he'll not succeed;

pity.

Atara loved the sun
and laying on the beach
in a deckchair
in her bikini
and sunglasses

I preferred the shade
a cool beer
and reading a book

she came in
the hotel room
tanned and cooked

I sat on the chair
by the open window
white and cool

you're like a snow man
she said
sitting all white
open necked shirt
white trousers
why don't you come out
to the beach
and get some sun
get those arms
and features brown?

prefer my whiteness
and being cool
and a good cold beer
I said

she stood by the shower door
and pouted her lip
why come
all the way out here
to sit in the shade
and read a **** book?

I like sight seeing
not sun worshipping
I like museums
and art galleries
not seeing other people’s
sweating bodies

you are such a bore
she said

you didn't say that night

she looked at me
wrinkled up her nose
that was different
she said

you didn't mind
my white body then
I said

I couldn't see it
in the dark

and I couldn't see
your tan either

what's wrong
with the beach though?
she said

too hot and smells
of sun oil and stinking flesh
I said

they have men on the beach
with big brown bodies
and muscles
she said

they also have dames
who look over cooked
and big busted
I said

I’m going for a shower
she said

don't wash off the tan
I said

why don't you
shower with me?
she said

I prefer to shower alone

don't you want
my body any more?
she said sexily

not in the shower

you are so square
she said
walking off
for a shower
so fecking SQUARE
she yelled
and slammed the door

a cool breeze
came through the window
I sipped my beer
and turned another page
of the book
I could hear
the shower going
but didn't go and look.

Janice said
she wanted to show me
how well she skipped
with her new skip rope

I watched
as her small hands
held the wooden ends
and her arms

circled like windmills
and her feet
lifted from the ground
in an odd dance

the rope going over
and under
over and under
have a go

she said
no it's OK
I said
let me show you

how good I can draw
my new gun
from my holster
I said

tapping
the toy gun
at my side
a brown hat

(an uncle's trilby)
plonked
on my head
she watched me

her red beret
on her head
the lemon dress
I liked her in

the black plimsolls
touching toes
I took out the gun
and spun it

around my finger
like I’d seen
in the Jeff Chandler films
my old man

took me to see
my other hand
spaced at my side
I put the gun back

in the holster
and on the count of
1-2-3
I drew the gun

in the blink
of her lovely blue eyes
as 1-2-3
bad cowboys

(invisible to her)
fell and died
can I have a go?
she asked

sure you can
I said
so undid the belt
and holster and gun

and handed them
to her
to put on
which she did

in clumsy fashion
all fingers and thumbs
once she was ready
(at her own

female pace)
she said
count me in
so I said ok

and counted 1-2-3
and she went
for the gun
and sent it

spinning
through the air
catching sun light
on the silvery parts

as it fell
to the ground
with a clattering
spark flying

cap banging
sound.

After you'd got on
the school bus
and sat down

in one of the side seats
Jane said
who did you fight with

in the playground
lunchtime?
Woolgar

you said
he pushed me over
against the wire fence

and I got up
and went for him
she looked disappointed

I didn’t think
you could be violent
she said

I’m not usually
but it was an automatic
response to being

pushed over
you said
my daddy said

one should turn
the other cheek
especially if you’re a Christian

she said softly
the school bus
started up

and took off down
the school drive
sorry

you said
but the creep
got under my skin

and if you let them
get away with it once
they’ll always do it

she gazed at you
then out
of the window

at the passing shops
and buildings
of the town

were you watching?
you asked
yes I saw you

from the girl’s playground
she muttered
not looking round

guess it looked
kind of bad
yes it did

she turned
and looked at you
but at least

you don’t do it
all the time
she said

and touched
your hand
with hers

and you felt sad
inside that you’d
made her feel like that

and you saw
how lovely her
dark eyes were

how there seemed
to be a mini universe
in them with their own

galaxies and stars
and moons
next time I’ll think twice

you said
before hitting
the other boy

she nodded
and smiled
and her hand

squeezed yours
her skin soft and warm
her hair black

and drawn back
into a ponytail
sitting there

beside you
her grey school skirt
and jumper

and white blouse
the neck open
the sight

of her throat
and you wanting
to kiss but not doing so

her neck
her skin
the feel

of her hair
against your cheek
sometimes

you thought
we can’t have
what we seek.

Fay managed to get out
while her father worked
and she came

and knocked at your door
and said
You want to go out?

Sure
you replied
and you both went down

the stairs of the apartment block
across the Square
and down the *****

up Meadow Road
crossing over
the bombsite

behind the coal wharf
and on to the main road
where you walked along

side by side
Let’s see what’s on
at the movies

you said
and you stopped outside
the movie house

and peered at the programmes
Fay said
My daddy doesn’t think

movies are right for children
he says they’re sinful
and full of lust

and ***
and greed
and she stopped

and stared along the road
at the people passing
and the cars and lorries

going by
on the main road
and the evening air

choked up with fumes
and the street lights
giving a false perspective

It isn’t all like that
you said
Some movies are about love

and laughter
and people enjoy going
it takes them out

of their dreary lives
Fay said
I’ve never been

inside a movie house
never seen a movie
Well why don’t you come with me

to the matinee on Saturday
I can squeeze some money
from my dad for the two of us

Fay looked at you
and seemed interested
but then said

No I can’t
if my father caught me
there’d be hell to pay

and apart from the lecture
on the immorality
of the arts and such

he’d belt me some
and not let me out again
for some time

and  you said
Ok but some day
you’re going to find out

things aren’t always
as the parents say
then you’re going to

have to find your own road
and walk your own way
and she looked sad

and walked away
from the movie house
along to the subway

and down the steps
into the bright lights
and noise of traffic

over head
and you touched her hand
and she gripped yours

and you walked down
through the subway tunnel
she in her flowered dress

and brown shoes
slightly scuffed
and you

in your tee shirt and jeans
and you pretended
not to notice

the bruise on her thigh
which caught your eye
as she skipped along

her dress rising high
as she went holding tight
your hand

her fingers wrapped
about yours
and up and out

on the other side
of the subway
with its bright lights

and evening sky
and too many questions
and not an answer why.

Lydia's mother
sliced the bread thinly
and buttered sparingly
and handed Lydia

two limp slices
and said
get that inside you

can't have you going
everywhere
with your stomach rumbling
people'd think

you've not been fed
Lydia took the two slices
and a mug of stewed tea

but she hadn't been fed
that was why
she went and got
the rolls and bread

but she said nothing
just nodded her head
and followed her mother

into the living room
and sat at the table
her big sister
had gone to bed

her father was sleeping
off the beer
Lydia nibbled like a mouse

a thin long haired girl
of a mouse
can I go up West?
she asked

up West?
her mother repeated
as if her daughter

had sworn at her
up West?
she said again
turning the words around

in her head
to see how they fitted in best  
can I?

her daughter
asked again anxiously
you can in the sense
that it's possible

but if you mean may
as a permissibility
then no

her mother said
what?
Lydia said
uncertain where

she was
in her request
your gran always said

that the difference
between can and may
is one of possibility
over permissibility

said Lydia's mother
may I go?
Lydia asked softly

no you may not
her mother said
why not?
her daughter asked

because I said so
her mother replied
why do want to go there?

her mother asked
Benedict said
he was going there
and that he'd take me

Lydia replied
oh him
her mother said

she sat and took a bite
from her sandwich
picturing the boy
from upstairs

in the flats
with his hazel eyes
and big smile

and self assurance
about him
why does he want to go
up West?

she asked
he likes adventures
Lydia said

adventures?
her mother said
repeating the word
as if

it were unknown to her
who does he think he is
Biggles or someone

like that?
Lydia sat nibbling
frowning
holding the bread

in her thin hands
he's never mentioned Biggles
Lydia said

don't talk
with your mouth full
her mother scolded
Lydia swallowed

the bread
he's not said nothing
about no Biggles

Lydia said
well you can't go
her mother said firmly
looking at her daughter's

thin frame
and lank long hair
do you mean I mayn't?

Lydia uttered gently
I said what I mean
her mother said
and don't get mouthy

like your big sister
or you'll feel
my hand

across your backside
Lydia nibbled
and looked away
a train steamed crossed

the railway bridge
leaving grey white smoke
behind it

lingering there
unsettling the air
her mother muttered words
but Lydia didn't listen

she watched clouds
cross the sky darkly
carrying a storm

or rain
she liked her backside
as it was
she didn't want

no pain
she'd not ask
again.

John is there
by the fence
arms folded
looking up
at the sky

Elaine feels
very shy
wants to speak
to be near
to feel safe

he sees her
waves to her

she blushes
walks over

you OK?
he asks her

I’m all right
she mutters
looking round
for others
who may see
both of them
together

but none seems
to notice
or to care
that she's there

let's walk on
she tells him
on the field
of the school

they move on
together
she feels his
hand brushing
against hers
electric
sensation
flows through her

beating heart
pumping blood
all around
her body

she stops him
holds his hand
feels his pulse

they tease me
the others
other girls
other boys
she tells him

why is that?
he asks her

they call me
the Frump
the sexless
old granny

you're not that
he tells her
not a frump
(he doesn't
known if she
is sexless
doesn't say)
you are you
a sweet girl
a bit shy

he goes on
talking words

but his hand
is in hers
she senses
the warmth there

the fingers
touching hers
pulsing life

electric
a love feel
running there
not a trick.

He first notice Elaine
as she waited
for the school bus
standing there

in the pouring rain
with her younger sister
and other kids
from the village

he noticed
how drowned she looked
her spectacles so wet
she couldn’t see out

her dark hair
hanging limp
about her face
and she looked down

not up
as she climbed
aboard the bus
making her way

down the aisle
of the bus
like some female Crucified
and sat in the seat

by the window
and peered out
her sister sat
next to her

equally as wet
yet unperturbed
laughing at another
who jested

at her state
but Elaine's
was a separate state
a lesser one's fate

knowing other eyes
gazed and sniggered
and whispered
into their hands

but not John
he saw her through  
his own eyes
pushed away

the sneers
and sighs
and sniggering japes
and saw a deeper soul

within peering out
through the window glass
that showed
the falling rain

he looked away
taking note of her hair
and eyes
and glasses smeared

and how she pushed
her wet hands
between the caresses
of her knees

and dampened skirt
how by the look
of her face
revealed

her inner hurt
and as the bus
moved off and on
the radio blaring

some Mike Sarne song
the voices of children
competing for the space
and John half listening

to Trevor talk
some such of fishing
with a friend
at pond or river

he did not discern
or Trevor’s sister
across the aisle
chatting of some dress

her mother bought
not the fashion
she complained
but John held close

the image of the girl
who sat behind
across the aisle
whose dampened

state of dress
and soul
had moved his mind
and touched his heart

but said nothing
to either Trevor
with talk of fish
and rod

or Monica's dress
or clothes whatever
it had been
unfashionable or such

as undesired
he looked out
at the passing scene
as the bus raced by

thinking of Elaine
sitting a little way
behind
wiping the raindrops

from glasses
so she could see
and not be
half blind.

I miss your humour,
the look you gave,
that twinkle in the eye.

I miss the smile,
mischievous,
but harmless,
healing wounds.

Your flat was emptied
and some other
lives there now;
I avoid the place now,
haunts me somehow.

I miss you coming in
for lunch and dinner,
your quiet presence,
your hungry bear look,
that soft foot tread
looking for food,
but most of all
I miss your wit,
your one liners,
that gentle humour
now gone,
but not forgotten;
aching heart,
as if wounded
and dumb rotten.  

Feel I ought not
to have left you
in that ward,
I feel I ought
to have stayed,
still haunts me,
I'm afraid.
If you come
in the spirit sense,
be near, talk,
even if I cannot hear.

I miss you son,
miss you
not being here.

O guess what I've heard
Anne said
that fat nun
the one with moustache
well she's leaving

I looked at Anne
her one leg swinging  
as she talked
the stump of the other leg
hidden by her red skirt
where's she going?

God knows
and he's not said
maybe she's going
to be a missionary
or join the Tiller Girls
and dance for a living

I smiled
the other kids
were on the lawn
on the slide or swing
some were on the grass
playing or sitting talking
Sister Bridget was talking
to the tiny Sad girl

Anne gazed at them
get me out of here Kid
the sight of them
makes me
want to throw up

where to?
I asked

the beach
yes along by the beach
let me see the sea
she said

I sat there looking
at her wheelchair
now?

yes now Kid
I want out of here

I looked over
at Sister Bridget the nun
what if she sees me
pushing you out
the back gate?

let her see what
she wants  
I want to see
the fecking sea
she put on her
Don't Argue With Me face

Ok
I said
and got up
from the chair
and began pushing
the wheelchair
on to the path
leading away
from the nursing home
to the back gate

she wasn't heavy
but I was not over big
and thin
as a *** paper

where are you going?
the nun asked
coming over
to where we were

the Kid here
is taking me
for a short jaunt

where to?

just the end of the garden
through the avenue of trees
I said
see the birds and flowers

the nun looked at Anne
is that right?
she asked

would he lie?
Anne said

the nun looked at me
her dark eyes
peering through me
I tried to look innocent

well don't be long
lunch will be at 1pm
then it's afternoon sleep

Anne said nothing
put on her
lost little girl features

ok Sister

the nun walked off
I pushed on

keep an eye
on the penguin
don't think she bought
the tale

I pushed her along the path
between the trees  

is she looking?

no
I said
she's gone in

good let's get a move on
to the sea Kid
to the sea

so I pushed her on
through the gate
hoping we wouldn't be long
and not be late.

On that rattling train
and rocky bus
you went
with your mother

to the sanatorium
where your father
was shafted
with cancer

the bus
made you travel sick
the long drive upward
was lined with trees

and tall grass
the building
a one storey affair
rigid and unfriendly

stood silently there
you walked down
long white corridors
the smell added

to your sickness
the passing of rooms
and windows
and silence

mother said nothing
carry hope
in her handbag
and you waited

for the first sight
of your father
since he’d left home
a short while before

and there he was
in pyjamas
and maroon dressing gown
and slippers

pale faced
an old man
imitating
your father

death winged
and narrow shouldered
he stood
attempting a smile

the cancer his companion
creeping beside him  
there was greeting
and exchange

of kiss and hug
and you taking in
the wasting away
the lines on features

the grey hair
turning white
the hanging on clothes
he took you

to a room
where you all
sat alone
given up smoking

he said
too late I know
but it gives me
the final word

mother sat
and talked of him
and home
and the other kids

and the pet dogs
missing him
and you sat silent
seeking the right words

the thoughts muddled
the sight of him
a shock
how are you?

he asked
he’s travel sick
mother said
o that’s bad

he said gently
as though it mattered
in the range of things
the smell of death

and decay
the last goodbye
seeing him no more
beyond that day.

The nurse turns the key
in the lock,
then pockets it
and walks on
with the tray of sandwiches
and puts it on the table
in the main ward.

He has watched her
come and lay
the tray down
and watches her
walk back
towards
the locked door.

He times it,
the journey
there and back,
how long it takes
to unlock the door
then that gap
of a few moments
between opening the door
and laying the tray aside
while she locks again.

Christine watches him,
stands beside him,
don't try
running out again,
she says,
they'll get you
like they did last time.

He sighs,
this place
is getting me down,
the locked doors,
the ward,
the confinement.

I know,
she says,
I’m here,
too, remember.

Each time you try
to escape
they’ll judge you
as unfit to leave.

Get a sandwich
and a coffee,
and we'll go sit
by the window,
away from the others,
she says.

So they get sandwiches
and pour coffee
and go sit
by the large window
of the sleeping quarters,
which looks out
on the woods
and grounds.

They are alone,
the others
are in the main lounge,
watching the TV,
others asleep
drugged up,
or sitting reading.

We'll get out one day,
she says,
but not, if you keep
trying those escapes
or suicide attempts.

He watches the grey sky,
birds drift there,
black rooks,
white and grey gulls.

Do you think
there is a God out there?
he asks.

Who knows,
she says,
scanning the horizon,
taking in the distant trees,
field covered
in white snow,
maybe there is,
maybe there isn't,
depends if it makes you
feel good to believe
he does or not.  

He watches a tractor
ploughing through
the snow covered field,
birds following
in the tracks.

This doesn't make sense
if there's no God,
he says,
how did it get here
all this stuff?

She looks at him,
the bloodshot eyes,
the growth of beard,
the hair unkempt.

More questions than answers,
she says softly,
why waste your time,
life is to live,
live for ***** sake;
I ain't wasting
any more time
on the ****
who left me
at the altar.

He gazes at her,
her thin frame
and figure
and pale complexion,
her hair brushed neat
into a ponytail.

I always wonder
about things,
he says.
Who made this
and why
and who did what
and when.

Well don't,
she says,
leave that for those
who care a ****,
live your life
and to the full,
because once you're dead,
your dead.

The tractor turns back
along the field,
gulls and rooks follow,
flap of wings,
exchange of black
and white and grey.

He sips the coffee,
she nibbles a sandwich,
her dressing-gown is open
at the top, revealing
a sight of ****,
flesh, soft, perfumed.

She doesn't bother
to cover up,
the room is warm,
the one who said he cared,
left her at the altar,
broken like some
thrown away doll.

He looks away,
takes the image,
folds it into the
see-some-other-time box,
dream time,
night time,
folding his arms
around an empty
dream, night,
he out and free,
and she building up,
what once feel down,
no more being left
at the altar
by another clown.

Yiska folds and unfolds
a small piece of paper.

Her fingers are nimble;
I watch her
from the armchair
by the window
of the locked ward.

My eyes focusing
on her standing there;
her concentration
on the task at hand
quite neat.

What you doing?
I ask.

It's his last short note
about not showing
at the wedding;
about leaving me
at the altar.

She folds it small,
then unfolds it;
her fingers having
that determination
about them.

Why did he do that?
Why not just say
before hand
he couldn't go
through with it?

She folds it so small
it's tight as tight.

Because he's a *****;
has no backbone;
no sense
of letting others down.

Bit of a clown.

More than that:
a complete ****.

I watch as she unfolds it,
and opens it wide,
and tears it
into small
confetti-like pieces
and drops
in a waste bin
by her feet.

She rubs a scar
along her wrist,
white against pink,
where the blade slit,
where the blood
was let slip;
gushed,
not drip drip drip.

I’ll not get over George,
Alice said, not manage
to get him out of my skin
or memory. Her psychiatrist

said she might. ****. Her
word. Heard it someplace.
Not sure where. No, George
she misses. Known him for

years, ever since the work
house closed and they were
dumped in some home for
homeless.  He was partially

blind, saw badly, spoke in
a jumble of words. But she
was drawn to him; first out
of pity, then deeper out of

love. Possible, her psychiatrist
said, love may help whatever
it is. ****. Her word. Heard
it somewhere, not sure where.

She kissed George first; then
he kissed her. Each carried the
work house haunting with them.
Young staff at the home for the

homeless, smirked, spoke behind
their hands. George seeing her
poorly imagined her better maybe,
she didn’t care, at least he was

kissing her and he was right there.
Once they almost did it, but
George fumbled and they lost
concentration. And they gave

that up as a bad job. Best not to,
her psychiatrist said. ****. Her word.
Heard it someplace, not sure where.
Then George died; stiff in bed, his not

hers, heart gave out, the doctor said,
poor Alice, loved mostly, cared much,
all gone, not wed, she alone, missing
George, in her single noisy spring bed.

You climbed through a broken window
at the back of the deserted pub
and you and ****

and Ingrid
went
into the gloomy bar room

with dust and chairs
and round tables
some broken

and empty glasses
and bottles
on shelves

and **** went
behind the bar
and said

what are you having?
large beer and a gin
for the lady

you said
sorry mate no beer
and we're right out of gin

**** said
shame
you said

Ingrid wandered
around the tables anxiously
do people come in here now?

no been closed for years
**** said
although some one's

been here
going by
the broken window

he added
Ingrid ran her finger
across a dusty table

could do with a good clean
she said
I think my granddad

used to drink here
said ****
I remember waiting outside

with a bottle of lemonade
and  packet of crisps
I've done that

Ingrid said
what waited outside of here?
**** said

no not here
she said
another pub

the Duke of Wellington mostly
never done it
you said

ain't done what?
**** asked
waited outside pubs

you said
lucky you then
**** said

waited for hours once
Ingrid said
mum was away

and Dad was in there so long
that someone
asked about me

and he came out
and dragged me home
all annoyed

as if I'd complained
you gazed at her
waiting for the next comment

about her old man
but she didn't
say anything

but you knew
what he most probably did
when he got her home

she looked at the windows
with words on them
but they were back to front

and hard to read  
**** held up a bottle
with a blue label

some sort of beer
he said
shall I open and have a swig?

no
said Ingrid
probably taste horrible

all beers taste horrible
**** said
he put the top

of the bottle
against a bottle opener
behind the bar

nailed to the bar top  
and yanked it open
and smelt it

have a sniff
he said
and he brought the bottle

around the bar
and you had a sniff
smells all right

you said
Ingrid sniffed
yuk

she said  
smells like my dad's breath
when he gets near me

**** had a quick swig
and pulled a face
yes horrible

he said
he put the bottle on the bar
and you all walked

around the bar room
then there a bang from upstairs
what the heck was that​ ?

**** said quietly
*****
you said

*****? Ingrid said anxiously
let's go
yes let's be off

**** said
and so you all tiptoed
as fast as you could

through to the back  
and one by one
out the window

making sure
not to cut yourselves
on the broken glass

once outside
**** went off
down the subway

to his home
and you and Ingrid
walked along

the New Kent Road
in the late afternoon
she brushing off her dress

to get rid of the dust
and you rubbed your hands
together with spit

to clean them
the smell of fish
and vinegar

from the fish and chips shop
the passing traffic
she talked of going home

before her old man
got back
so she could wash

and clean up
her eyes
dark olives shining

and tearful
you said
tomorrow we can go

to the cinema
and see that cowboy film
I told you about

yes
she said softly
if I'm allowed out

and you crossed the road
and walked down
Meadow Row

wanting her to stay
and play and not
have to go.

We are
temporal residents.
Where we live,

how much we have,
who we are,
are just

temporal factors.
We can take
nothing

with us
except our souls,
and if you

don't believe
you have one
of those

then you
have nothing
at all.

Benedict sat in a pew
of the old church
while Jane arranged flowers
up at the altar end
with an older woman.

The church smelt of flowers
and damp and age.
Sunlight poured through
the coloured glass windows.

He sat and watched Jane
sort the vase, her fingers nimble,
her body slim, reaching up
to the take down vases,
the sunlight catching
her movements.

Jane’s mother had told him
she was in the church
when he called
at the vicarage.
She won’t be long,
her mother had said.

He sniffed the air.
It had a churchy smell.
She arranged flowers with care,
her fingers patting into place,
her arms in constant motion.

The other woman
having completed her tasks
left the church.
Jane came and sat beside him.
Looks good doesn’t it, she said.
Yes it does, he said.

She smelt of fresh apples,
he thought of orchards,
sunlight, warm days.
She leaned in and kissed his cheek,
her lips moist, warm.
He put his hand on her thigh,
sensed the pulse of her.

Let’s go out in the daylight, she said.
They walked out of the church
and along the path to the lane
hand in hand.
I’ve just go to go home
for a minute for something,
she said and he followed her
to the vicarage
and waited outside.

After a few minutes she was out
and they walked along the lane.
The hedgerows were brimming with birds,
their songs and chatter filled the air.

It was never like this in London,
he said. Never this freshness,
never nature so near and alive.
I’ve only known this, she said,
this countryside, the small local town,
the cows and fields, the open sky.

Must seem odd to you the contrast.
He looked at her; her hair dark
and free from constraints,
her eyes dark, catching sunlight.

Yes, it is, he said, like escaping Hell
and finding paradise. She smiled.
With or without me? she said.
You’re the icing on the cake,
the angel that makes
it all seem worthwhile. She laughed.
You have such a way with words.

They passed the water tower;
cows mooed in a nearby field.
She put her arm around his waist
and kissed his neck. They stopped
in the lane. Momentarily it seemed
as if the birds had ceased to sing
or chatter; as if the sky had exploded
with colour. He kissed her and held her.

Their 13 year old lips met.
This was paradise, he thought,
nothing else could matter.

There is always
the aftermath,
the after kissing
time. Time to sit

and remember
the lips touching.
She recalls that well.
His lips on hers.

Skin on skin. Time
to reflect on actions
made. Things done
and not done. Or

done at the wrong
time for the wrong
reasons.  She knows
she will go to him

and do similar things
again. The love making
holds no surprises.
The holds, the way

his fingers move over
her, the positions she
engages in, those cigarettes
after, those French ones

he insists on smoking.
The after feel, the stale
breath, the feeling
there is nothing left.

Elaine sat
on her bed

her plump hands
in her lap

palms upward

wondering
which lines there

was the life
and which was

the love line,
she'd read it

in some place
on a page

in her mum's
magazine,

which her mum
had left there

for Elaine
to study

about girls
and bodies,

periods,
the naming

of each part,
with a line

like a thin
black arrow

showing there
what was what.

What she saw
made her blush

and quickly
turned the page

to see where
her love line

or life live
was on her

upturned palm.
The bold word:

******,
stuck in her

mind like glue;
like having

a brand new
item in her

plumpish palms,
turning round

with fingers
anxiously

not knowing
what to do.

Ingrid sees Benedict
from the balcony
he's in the Square

riding a blue scooter
a two wheeled affair
pushing himself along

with his right foot
his small quiff of hair
moving there

in the morning air
his opened necked
shirt short sleeved

and jeans blue
fading to grey
she wishes

she could ride
the scooter
could have

some fun
feel the air
of freedom

in her dull
brown hair
riding with him there

but her father
in his moody blues
has tanned her hard

and said not
to go beyond
the space of balcony

or beyond
not just out
of punishment

imposed
but in case
others see

on leg or thigh
bruises and welts
to blind the eye

now Benedict
races fast
his foot

pushing hard
and quick
O to be there

with him
to feel
his hand

in hers
or feel
his words

of humour
warm her heart
and ease her

troubled mind
now he stops
and turns

and sees
and stands
and waves

but shakes
her head
she can no more

leave her space
than the dead
can leave their graves.