It was a fine day
and one legged Anne
wanted to go down
to the beach

in her wheelchair
with you pushing her
I don’t want those other kids
following us down

Skinny Kid
she said to you
and so you went
and asked Sister Paul

and she said
Ok but mind
the incoming tides
and so you pushed her

in the wheelchair
along the path
and out the back gate
and onto the path

that led to the beach
and the sands
and the tide
was coming in

and you stopped
the wheelchair

as near as was safe
and she said

thank Christ
the others aren’t here
to spoil this moment
with their noise

and yakking
just us and the sea
and breeze
and the smell of salt

and you stood behind her
looking at the horizon
the waves
and the seagulls

in the air
hey come here
beside me Kid
I need to have you

where I can see you
so you stood
beside her
and she grabbed

your hand
and gave it a squeeze
breathe in that air
this is ******* life

as it ought to be
just you and me
and the elements
and the only thing missing

is my amputated leg
rotting some place
or burnt to ashes
who knows

and who cares
and she paused
and looked at you
and then out to sea

and you looked at her
at her black hair
and the one leg
protruding

from her summer dress
and the one shoe
and white sock
and she breathed in deep

and said
take it all in Kid
this beats
being ******* dead  

and you did
and took in her words
right into your
11year old head.

I want you
to wash my back
Skinny Kid
Anne said

she was standing
on her one leg
in the bathroom
of the nursing home

at Fishbourne
but what if someone comes
and sees me here?
you asked anxiously

we'll tell them to *******
she said pushing
the door shut
with a hand almost

falling over
in the process
you looked at her there
in a white towelling gown

the one leg showing
where the gown ended
Sister Paul
ran the bathwater

but left me
to get in and out
but what if she comes back?
you said

she won't
she gone off to prayers
in the chapel
Anne said

now come on Kid
let's to action
and she stripped off
the gown and holding

on your arm eased
herself into the water
with a slight splash
you stood there

trying not to notice
her *******
gazing at the white tiles
with ducks on each one

at the curtains
white and flowered
she began to wash herself
with a pink sponge

oozing soapsuds
her hand moving swiftly
over her parts
here and there

her stump visible
just under
the water's skin
does your leg hurt?

you asked
she looked up at you
now and then
she said

some nights
it hurts like ****
and when I go to rub it
it isn't there

now stop gawking
and start to rub my back
you took the sponge
from her hand

and began to push
the sponge over
her back nervously
her dark hair

over her shoulders
her head downward
her hands pushed
between her thighs

you felt embarrassed
moving over her flesh
seeing the curves
of her waist

sensing the sponge
wash over her
under her arms
you moved

OK OK that's enough
she said who do you think
you are
some ****** explorer?

I got carried away
you said
you will get carried away
in a fecking coffin

she said
right listen out
for the *** starved nuns
you gave her back

the sponge and wiped
your hands on the towel
by the bath
your ears strained

to hear any footsteps
of nuns
you lowered your arm
so Anne could pull

herself up and out
of the bath
and you wrapped
the big towel about her

shall I go now?
you asked
no
she said

stay until I’m done
in case if fall
so you stayed
looking at the walls

and ceiling
and the bath
with the ***** water
seeing out

of the corner
of your young boy's eyes
her rubbing herself dry
with one hand

while with the other
holding on to wall
just in case she slipped
or began to fall

then just as she turned around
you heard footsteps
and voices
out in the hall.

Whatever you thought
of the modern art
you never said
you were impassive

your eyes or features
betraying nothing
you studied the art work
in your usual calmness

no ****** expression
no raised eyebrows
no tut-tutting
even the dead sheep

in the glass case
didn't put you off
or raise
emotive response

you eyed everything
walking slow
holding the programme
bought at the door

looking at each
as you went by
after a while
we moved along

to the small café
in the gallery
and had drinks
and sandwiches

and you talked
in your soft
open manner
not of art

or what we'd seen
but of work
and what you did
and unfolded things

like a magician
without revealing
secrets of it all
then we moved on

and you
were silent again
into the other rooms
of modern art

the Picassos
and Mondrians
and others
you taking photo shots

with your mobile phone
eyeing all the art
showing no emotion
no tilt of head

or wide-eyed
revelation
of surprise
just your own way

of appreciation son
your own
gentle way
of moving between

what is good or great
or seemingly crap
with the calmness
of a swan

through water
your depth
drinking it all in
with no pretence

or show
just that inner knowing
what you liked
and didn't

I am glad
you came with me
that day
the Tate Modern

wouldn't have been
the same somehow
your silence
your calm taking in

of art
your secret
appreciation
made it all

worth while
some way
but now
your untimely death

my son
makes it seem all
the more worth while
that day

that art
the shared time together
but I'd give
any Mondrian

or Picasso art away
just to be with you again
if only
for one more day.

Miryam walks along the beach
in her swimming attire, some red
and flowered design, Benedict
notes, walking just behind, having

left the two Moroccan guys behind
with the camel, with whom she'd
posed while he took camera shot.
Bet they don't do that everyday, she

says, swaying her delicious backside
side to side. No, guess not, least
not by the look on their faces,
Benedict says. She laughs, does

a Monroe kind of walk and wiggle.
We came down here last night, she
says, it was quite romantic what
with the moon, stars and warm air.

She stops and turns to look at him.
Was it about here? she asks. He
gazes about him, at the sand and
tufts of grass, the sky blue and the

odd white clouds, could be, hard
to say, it being dark and all. You
found your way around all right,
she says, smiling. Well, a guy gets

to know his way around after a while,
bit like a ****** gets to know the sea,
the rough times and the smooth,
the high tides and the low, when

its best to set out and when to stay
in port. She frowns. Is that what it's
like for you guys? Just like that? No,
he says, just being philosophical, in

fact, it was a good evening, a fine
****, he says softly. Is that all? she
asks. She stands there her hands
on hips, her head to one side. No,

of course not, it's just us guys hate
to get all soft about these things,
he says. She pouts. Soft? These
things? she says. Can't you just

say it was romantic? She says, is
it hard to say that? A fine ****?  
Is that easier to say? It's just one
syllable instead of three, he says.

She turns and walks on through
the sand. He follows, taking in
her figure, her side to side ***,
the tight red hair. OK, he says, it

was a romantic night, I loved the
whole set up, the stars, the moon,
you and me, the sand, the soft tufts
of grass, the ***, the kisses, the holds.

She stops and turns and gazes at him.
It has to mean something, she says,
otherwise we waste our lives in such
pointlessness. He nods, zooms in on

her small ****, her eyes, her whole features.
Sure we do, he says, you're right, it
was one fine romantic never to be
forgotten night. She smiles and walks

to him and kisses him and holds him.
He holds her, feels her, senses her lips
on his, and out of the corner of his eye,
he sees the two Moroccan guys and

camel walk away up the beach, they'll
never know this, he thinks, feeling smug,
far beyond their lives or random reach.

She was one of the vaudeville dancers
he supposed. He had drawn back the
curtain and she was sitting there on
the stall one leg crossed over the other,
in that skimpy dress, white lace up shoes.

He had apologised, blushed, was about
to draw back the curtain when she said:
Oh, no leave it be. And he had and stood
there, slightly open mouthed, mind ticking
over, eyes stuck on her fine legs crossed.

They were nice legs he thought. Her dark
hair, parted in the middle was not well
brushed; it seemed as if she’d just got up
from a bed. Maybe she had. She gazed at
him, her eyes looked foreign. Odd to think
that, he thought. He wanted to drink her in.

Take in each aspect of her just sitting there.
I’m on soon, she said. Yes, definitely an
accent, he thought nodding. I’m a dancer,
she said. O right, he said. He thought as
much; the dress and shoes, the way she
had about her. White ankle shoes. Lace ups.

Not the sort to wear out in the street, he
supposed. Are you to watch the show?
She asked. Yes, I am, he said, looking at
her lips, the way they spread under her
nose, held in place by her cheeks, he
thought. What would his mother say about
her short dress? Far too short, shows her
backside almost, she’d have said scornfully.

Yet he still gawped at her. Her ankles, knees,
thighs. What a feast for the eyes, he mused,
trying to look away, but held bound, fixed
as if by some glue. The tassels on the end of
the short dress moved as she stood up. She
stretched her arms. Shook her legs back into
life as if they had died. Must be ready, she said.

Warm ups. Yes, of course, he murmured, and
turned away, walking off, carrying the image
of her and her shoes and dress and her dark
hair into his mind. Fixed there. Captured each
aspect of her being, placed in some room of
memory, for later viewing, in his secret seeing.

I had ridden back from work
that Saturday midday
with Milka's brothers
and we parked our bikes

in the farmyard
and Yaakov said
want to come in
for a coffee?

Sela said
and see Milka
while you're there
he laughed

and we all went in
the farm house
and their mother fussed
and asked me

what I would like
and treated me like a son  
and said
sit down Benny

and so I sat
and waited
for the boys
to change out

of their work clothes
I have made
a fruit cake Benny
would you like some?

their mother asked
that'd be nice
I said
and watched

as she moved
about in the kitchen
is Milka about?
I asked

she's out with her dad
they've gone to market
o ok
I said

they'll be back soon
she said
she handed me
some cake on a plate

and mug of coffee
Milka likes you
her mother said
but I told her

to take things steady
as she's only 16
and there's plenty
of time ahead of her

I looked at Milka's mother
as she fussed about
in the kitchen
putting a ***

on the stove
clearing away others
yes plenty of time
I said

trying not to think
how Milka and I
nearly got caught
in bed the other week

when I was alone
in the farmhouse
with her
she has all these fancies

about her how much
she wants children
where she wants to live
and so on

the mother said
I told her
Benny's only
a young man yet

he doesn't want
all that at his age
I ate the cake
nodded

and thought of Milka
rushing to get dressed
in her room
while her mother

talked with a farmhand
in the farmyard
or the time
at my place

one Friday
during my lunch hour
at my house
while all others

were out
she lying there
on my single bed
and I kissing her

from neck down
plenty of time
Milka's mother said
they've no sooner

left dolls behind
and they want real babies
she smiled
and I smiled

then ate the cake
and sipped the coffee
while Milka's mother
put some things away

trying to think
of other things
other than Milka lying there
completely bare.

You sat with Fay that summer day
on the flat concrete roof
of the World War Two bomb shelter

down below the tall flats
where you both lived
and you said

do you want to go
to the movies with me?
she looked across

at the coal depot
with its trucks loading
and unloading

I don’t have no money
she replied
you looked at her

my dad’ll pay
you said
he’s always giving me money

for the movies
she shook her head
and you looked ahead

at the sun shining above
the rain tracks
over the coal depot

you had on your blue jeans
and white tee shirt
and she you noticed

turning your head
had a red and white dress
which came just over her knees

and she wore sandals
on bare feet
besides my mother wants me

so she can see me
Fay said with a sigh
she raised and lowered

her legs against
the concrete wall
her sandals making

tapping noises
as they hit the wall
and you noticed bruises

along her thigh
as she moved
and her dress rode higher

what are those bruises
on your leg?
you asked

she looked down
and stopped moving her legs
and pulled her dress hem

over her knees and thighs
I fell
she replied

down the stairs
you looked at her arms
where other fading bruises

blended into her skin
like worn-out badges
we can see a Western film

you said
I’m sure
there’s a Jeff Chandler film

so my dad tells me
but she shook her head
too violent

Mother says
Fay uttered looking away
but there’s kissing stuff too

you added
Fay looked at you
her blue eyes

moving over you
like a smoothing
palm of a hand

I’m not allowed
to go to the movies
Daddy says

its sinful and only
wicked people
go there

to be tempted
by the Devil
she sighed

and you both sat in silence
for a while
watching pigeons fly

in the blue summer sky
then she turned quickly
and kissed your cheek

and said
don’t have to go
to no movie

to see kissing
and you thought
of the boring bits in films

where the cowboy
gets kissed by the girl
after a gun shoot out

and having been kissed
by Fay
you were glad

and guessed that kissing
wasn’t at all
too bad.

Christina sat next to you
on the school playing fields
the summer day was hot

and she sat there
cross-legged
her school skirt

touching on her knees
and you looked beyond her
wondering if the girl

who had kissed you
at Christmas
while carol singing

was looking over at you
from a group of girls
across the way

I wish I had
my bathing costume on
Christina said

so do I
you said looking back
at her taking in

her white knees
catching the summer sun
she giggled and looked away

did Cedric tell you about me
and what I told him?
she asked

her profile
like some Renoir girl
yes

you said
remembering Cedric’s words
and his blushing face

he seemed put out
you added
you don’t want to worry

about Cedric
she said
he hates me getting into boys

as she said this
you looked over
at the girl who kissed you

and she was staring
over at you and Christina
and seemed annoyed

and as you gazed at her
you still felt that kiss
on your lips

and that embrace
in the moonlight
and Christina touched

your knee
and said
if you want privacy

we can always go up
into the woods by the fence
and you said

did you hear about Brilton
the teacher of English?
No

she said
what?
he’s been sacked

why? she asked
running her hand
along your thigh

for taking boys home
in the lunch period
you said

oh
she said
removing her hand

what for?
You looked
at her knees

in the sunlight
how the light
seemed to warm them

no idea
you said
and you looked away

with a picture
of her knees
carried in your head.

We came out
of the small door
at the back
of the church

after the Sunday service
in which we sang
in choir
and stood looking

at the gravestones
spread around us
going back
to the river

I guess
we'll end up here
one day
Yehudit said

here amongst the dead
mournful aren't we?
I said
we're only young

not fifteen yet
and here you are
talking about
being here

we walked on
along the path
beside the church
but it's true though

we will one day
she said
one day maybe
I said

but why worry
about it now?
I'm not worried about it
just saying

she said
anyway the news
of Mr M's wife
drowning herself

in the park pond
brings it home
just how fragile
we are

we walked on
past more gravestones
some names
wearing away

with time and age
yes that was
a bit of a shock
sad when people

get to that stage
and feel the need
to end it all
I said

Yehudit's sister
passed us by
with a friend
walking faster

Yehudit held my hand
I sensed the hand there
feeling the warmth
her finger wrapping

themselves about mine
but we must focus
on living
she said

us here now
holding hands
being here
on a bright morning

not about death
or dying
we walked along
the lane away

from the church
between hedgerows
at the side
to avoid

passing cars and bikes
I'll see you
this afternoon
if I can get away

Yehudit said
if Mum doesn't want
this or that done
we walked on

she thinking about
Mr M's wife's death
and I thinking
of the afternoon

by the pond
and a kiss or two
and whatever else
young people may do.

I hugged you
the other night
in my drugged up sleep;
I’d forgotten

until the day wore on
and the drug hangover
settled down
to a dreary hum.

You were not
the young kid you,
but older, mature,
sitting in an armchair,

in one of your
work shirts
open necked
without tie;

and we hugged
as if I knew
in the dream
you were dead,

but it didn't
enter the head;
no words were said.
I wish I could dream

that hug every night,
hold you tighter
as each night
came around,

silent like old movies,
father and son,
living and dead,
in the dream

inside my head.
I don't usually
remember dreams
in my drugged up sleep;

they're just a blur
of nothingness
until the dawn
pushes through

my lids to wake
to a dull day;
but that night
I dreamt I hugged you,

my son,
just us,
alone,
one to one.

Jane and you stood
in the church porch

as rain fell
making large splashes

on the path
that led from the lane

to the church
and the sky was dark

and the clouds heavy
with more rain

like pregnant sheep
and you said

Don’t think
we’re going to make

the Downs today
so what should we do?

she looked out
at the rainfall

the drips from the porch roof
making puddles

by the entrance
and the wind was getting up

and she shivered
and said

Either we go into the Parsonage
or sit in the church

but the church’ ll be cold
and maybe

if we’re not noisy
Daddy’ ll let us sit

and talk in the lounge
and you looked at her

and she looked at you
and you said

Ok let’s go
to the Parsonage

and into the warm and dry
and she nodded

and so together
holding hands

you ran through the rain
to the Parson’s house

and went in
by the back door

and into the warmth
of the kitchen

where you both stood
drench and looking drowned

and her mother
stood there

staring at you both
her eyes on you

standing there
in your old coat and jeans

and Jane wet through
so that her dress

clung to her
outlining her figure

and plastering
her dark hair

to her face
and her mother said

Where have you been
and how wet you have got?

and she looked at you
and said

Best get you dry young man
don’t want you

getting a death
and she smiled

and Jane looked at her
and you and her eyes

sparkled like stars
on a winter’s night

and you smiled too
relieved that all

would be good
and all right.

I found
your Jimi Hendrix
tee shirt, Ole,

while sorting tee shirts
on the hangers
in my wardrobe,

there underneath
them all
it was found at last.

I remember
you wearing it,
remember your body

filling it out,
the Jimi Hendrix image
almost coming to life.  

What tee shirt
you were wearing
that night your heart

stopped the first time around,
I cannot think,
other matters occupy

my mind,
other images fill
my night induced sleep

when sleep comes
finally if at all.
How long

had your heart stopped
before they got it
going again?

Who found you?
3 hours or more or less
after I left

the hospital ward?
I am glad I found
your Hendrix tee shirt;

I hugged it tight,
chocked up a bit,
imagined you

were there inside,
pretended momentarily
you had not died.

Elaine folds
and unfolds
a flowered

handkerchief
in her lap
in the bus

(the school bus)
her sister
beside her

talking to
her best friend
Elaine knows

the boy John
sits near by
she can see

him if she
leans over
the seat top

but she sits
where she is
feeling down

and depressed
she'll tell John
when she can

what they say
the others
Old Frumpy

they call her
her hand smooths
the flowered

handkerchief
in her lap
corners neat

edges straight
it is John's
handkerchief

he gave it
when she cried
the last time

it was clean
and unused
when he gave

smelt of soap
and fresh air
it absorbed

her wet tears
when held there
and John said

at that time
the kiss was
meant to show

what I feel
and she can
(if she sits

quietly)
feel it still
on her lips.

The smell of
fresh coffee
and bacon

Milka's mum
opposite
drinking tea

her dark eyes
focusing
on young me

won't be long
she tells me
but she likes

her warm bed
and mornings
are not her

favourite
time of day
(I knew that

Milka liked
her warm bed
I’d been there

unbeknown
to her mum)
want some toast?

Or more coffee?
No I’m fine
I reply

listening
for movement
of Milka

from upstairs
I recall
her small bed

us in there
(her parents
had gone out

to the shops
her brothers
and my friends

gone fishing)
us warm there
making love

listening
to the bed
for a car

returning
birds singing
cows mooing

from a field
what’s it like
with Milka?

Her mother
inquires
O it's good

(she's broken
my thought chain)
she can be

a handful
don't you find?
Yes she can

I reply
seeing my
reflection

in her left
and right eye.

I saw Enid’s old man
leave the flats

morning grey
chill
sky
cannon smoke colour

he walked down the *****
I gave an
up you finger sign
once he'd gone

and I went upstairs
to Enid’s flat
and knocked
at the door

the door opened
a narrow slit
Enid's mother
peaked at me
through the gap

what do you want?
she asked

can I borrow sugar
for my mum?
I said

she hesitated
gazed at me

guess so
wait there

and she went
and closed the door

I gazed over
the balcony
the milkman's horse
was eating
from a nosebag

some kids were playing ball
by the pram sheds

the door opened
and Enid showed
with a bag of sugar

how much you need?
Enid asked

I gazed at her thin frame
her hand shaking
a slight bruise
over her right eye

I saw your old man go
I said

she looked at me
with wide eyes

had a go at you I guess

she said nothing
offered me
the bag of sugar

aren't you cold
standing there
in that white nightie?
I asked

a bit

can I come in?

she shook her head
best not
she said
Mum's not up to visitors

OK
I said

I took the bag of sugar
and she stared at me

see you at school
I said

she nodded
and closed the door

I walked downstairs
no more bruises
I mused
than I'd seen before.

You turn
and gaze down
at Ness
by the stream,

her back bent,
her arm pecking
at the canvas
like a hungry bird.

You remember one like her,
the long hair
down the back,
the eyes

a piercing blue,
the mouth sensual,
full of words.
She has that sensuality

you fear, mistrust and lack.
You let your eyes
move over
her figure

like a sculptor,
smoothing out,
feeling the rough
and smooth, sensing

the secret places
where darkness looms,
easing out sharpness
and unwanted pieces.

On the day
Mrs Modfig’s husband died

she was being rogered
by a Spaniard

she’d met
in Santa Fe  

staring at
the off white ceiling

with a
I’m being

well taken care of
feeling

and didn’t give
her husband

a second thought
thinking him

back home
working hard

sipping the sherry
smoking the cigar

feet up
watching TV

maybe seeing
that **** from the store

as he had before
no she was content

having this Spaniard
giving her the works

making the night
feeling young again

hoping for more sunshine
far away

from the rain
and her husband

and his moans and groans
and his occasional

rogerings
in their safe

and boring bed
and later

at the funeral
in her black hat

and dress and coat
and matching gloves

she shed
the crocodile tears

remembering
other loves.

Benny's on the edge
and he can't quite
pull himself back
from it

and o sure
Sonya says
it'll be ok
he knows it's

just words
and words are like
spittle in the wind
at the moment

let's go
to the coast
and see the sea
that'll make you ok

sure a bit of seascape
it'll do the trick
and so they go
and it's a long

bus ride away
the other passengers
other riders
of a storm maybe

by the look
on the faces
anyway they go
jogging along

by the bus
he looking out
the window untalkative
she rabbiting on

like talking
was going out
of fashion  
and he shuts her out

just nods his head
now and then
and turns
and smiles

like some broken
hearted clown  
and his mind dark
as one in a storm

shutting up shutters
bolting up doors
then after an hour
they're there

the seascape
the beach full of stones
not sand
and there stand

gaping
she talking
of the time
they stayed before

and had ***
for hours on end
in that cheap hotel
back in town

but he just gazes
lifelessly
with the fixed grin
of a saddened clown.

Fay sat
on the grass
with you
with Banks House

behind you
the windows
with their lace curtains
revealed no spying eyes

and she had her hair
pushed back
with grips
and her yellow

flowered dress
pulled over
her knees
and she said

her father was away
so she could be out
and see her friends
without a third degree

and you watched her
as she spoke
how she gestured
with her hands

her fingers thin
the nails trimmed
and she said her mother
cried in the night

and she had gone
to listen and her father
was bellowing
and she crept

back to her room
and hid beneath
the blankets
in case he came out

of his room and saw
her still awake
and you took in
her pale features

how the skin
seemed transparent
as if you might see
into her heart

and watch it beat
and when she stopped speaking
you said  Moorcraft
had taken you to the Scouts

but you only went
the one night
why?
she asked

I got caught up in a fight
you said
some kid pushed me
off the ropes and I fell

so I went punched him
she sat and stared
at you and was not impressed
that’s not you

she said
be yourself
and she lowered
her eyes

and gazed
at her brown shoes
and you wanted
to say sorry

and take one
of her hands
and hold it
against your

cheek’s skin
but you didn’t
you spoke of
the sword

your old man
had made you
the blue bladed
metal sword

you wore
in the belt
around your jeans
lets talk of other things

she said and she
looked up at you
and said she liked
your patterned

no sleeve jumper
and your neat cut hair
but all you could do
was drink in

her girly beauty
and stupidly stare.

The dark night was out there
even though the shutters
were up at the windows
and the night nurse sat

in the small office
with her coffee
and wearing glasses
and you entered

unable to sleep
you wearing pyjamas
and dressing gown sans belt
in case you tried

to hang yourself again
and you sat opposite
taking in her big blue eyes
behind the lens of her glasses

her hair brown
and well kempt
and you said
when can I go home?

when you’re better
she said
when will that be?
you’ll know

she said
and sipped her coffee
how good does better feel
you have forgotten

but do not ask
her upper lip has skin
from the milky coffee
hanging

and she wiped it off
with the back
of her hand
and Christine stood

by the door of the office
dressed in her nightgown
pale green  
and open at the top

showing the indentation
of her throat
and the small valley
where her ******* began

can’t sleep
she said moving in
and standing by the desk
you looked her

feeling an intrusion
yet glad she is there
her being there beside you
the smell of her

her hands on the desk
tapping
what is it with you two?
the night nurse said

if it’s not one
it’s the other
or both
can’t sleep

Christine repeated
had a nightmare
dreamed I was at the altar again
and he didn’t show again

and it happened again
and again
the nurse said
I’ll get you both something

but if the doctor
hears of this
he may recommend
ECT again

she looked at you opposite
across my dead ****
Christine said
but the nurse had gone

just you and Christine
and her nightmares clinging
gazing out the office
onto the sleeping ward

in semi dark
and the dread
of the ECTs
hauntingly present

remembering the last time
in the small back room
waking with a head heavy
and in pain

and Christine
lying beside you
on another bed
eyes closed

stiff like one sleeping
but acting dead.

Father James took
you and Gareth
and George
postulant monks

to a convent
in Newport
he had mass to serve
and confessions

to hear
so you were all
shown into a parlour
with the smell

of home bake bread
and starched sheets
and a young nun
came in

carrying a tray
with teapot
and cups
and sugar bowl

and jug of milk
all in a dull white
and as she set
the tray down

on the table
her eyes moved
from each one of you
taking in no doubt

young novices
in the training
the plain clothes
the black and white

the neat cut hairs
the shaven chins
and then she smiled
and went her way

no wiggling of hips
or female sway
carrying the tray
and Gareth spoke

of Wittgenstein
and the Tractatus
Logico Philosophicus
while George took in

the tidiness
of the room
the ****** smell
the taste

of aging flesh
while you half listened
on Wittgenstein
and the scent

of passing youth
remembering
the young nun’s smile
awaiting truth.

Fay looked down
at the River Thames
from Westminster Bridge

and you stood next to her
watching the boats
go under the bridge

and disappear from view
and she said
my dad said he’d take me

on one of those boats
and out to sea
but he never has

you looked sideways at her
taking in her blonde hair
and her blue eyes

and the way the wind
touched her hair
and made her dress

move about her legs
I’ve been on boats
on the river before

you said
making conversation
not seeking to impress

or boast
I like the chugging sound
of the boat

you added
Fay touched
the edge of the bridge

where she stood
and said
this bridge was built in 1862

I heard about it in class
Miss Ash told us about it
oh yes she

with her massive shoulders
and arms and *******
you said

and Fay laughed
and blushed slightly
God knows what my dad’d say

if he heard you say that
and me laughing
she said

looking at you
and shyly smiling
probably give me

what’s for
she uttered quieter
ceasing to smile

her eyes taking on
a dark gaze
looking out

at the river again
you’ve got to have a laugh
now and then

haven’t you
you said
wanting to put

an arm about her
but not doing so
just putting a hand

next to hers
on the bridge top
feeling the cold stone

wanting to feel her flesh
soft and warm
suppose so

she said softly
her fingers close to yours
almost touching

you moved your hand
closer across the stone
crablike and touched

her small finger with yours
she breathed in the air
and so did you

and she said
oh to be in London
and out of doors.

Dalya sits
in some bar
beside me

in Oslo
she sipping
a cool beer

me likewise
smoking too
how was she

last night then?
I ask her
what you mean?

you make it
sound as if
I had ***

with the *****
I meant how
did it go?

just the same
on about
the men she's

had *** with
as if I
cared a ****

who she's had
between her
skinny thighs

Dalya says
and how's he
the Aussie

you share with
in the tent?
he's ok

but his talk
is mostly
on good beer

or luscious
hot Sheilas
typical

just like men
Dalya moans
what do you

talk about
to the dame
in your tent?

I ask her
nothing much
certainly

not about
my *** life
she then sips

her cool beer
eyeing me
do you talk

to him then
that Aussie?
she asks me

sure I do
what about?
about beers

of the world
and cricket
and how long

it takes him
to wake up
after ***

you never
she utters
spluttering

a mouthful
of warm beer
over me

I like it
how her eyes
light up bright

like small stars
on a cold
frosty night.

It is you, my son,
my first thoughts think on
at dawn's dull light;

it is you I hope to see
in dark dreams at night,
it of you my last thoughts hold

as I drift to my drugged sleep;
memories of you
I hold and keep;

years of yore,
of childhood days,
holidays and day

to day visits,
wishing things were
as they were before.

It is loss of you,
my son, that wounds
my heart, that tears

open and apart,
that final time
we spoke, solemn,

you in pain,
no light heartedness,
no humour, no joke.  

It is of you my son,
my mind returns to,
and the loss reminds me

of our mortal state,
moment to moment
ticking by, taking

for granted each day
we live, each person
we love, each kiss,
each exchange
of words we cast,
not thinking each
may be our last.

Anne didn't like
the sight of the rain
she saw from the upper bedroom
she stood supported

on her crutches
gazing out
through the net curtains
look at that ****** rain

she said
I suppose we'll be stuck
in here all day Kid
you stared out

standing next to her
we could do jigsaw puzzles
or read books
you said

I don't want
to do any more
******* jigsaw puzzles
I've had enough of them

she said
stomping her crutches
on the wooden floor
I want to go out  

she said
but it's raining
you said
and they won't let us out

while it's like this
who cares about them
she said
I'm going out

but they'll see you
you said
not if we're careful
she said

we?
you said
yes we Kid
me and you

are going out
you stared at her
beside you
her dark hair

brushed neatly
her dark eyes
gazing at you
how?

you said
the sisters are everywhere
they'll see us
she closed her eyes

and stomped to the door
of the room
and pushed it shut
with one of her crutches

we're going Kid
and that's it
you looked at her
standing there

her back to the door
her one leg firm
on the floor
ok

you said
which way out?
we'll go out
by the side door

and along through
the side trees
but you can't get
the wheelchair down there

it's too narrow
you said
we'll walk then
she said firmly

ok
you said
and she smiled
good Kid

now go see
if the coast is clear
and I'll come down the stairs
as quiet as I can

she said
she moved out the way
and you went outside
and along the passage

looking to see
where the nuns were
and if any
were near the stairs

none was there
you walked back
to the bedroom
and told Anne

who nodded
and followed you
along the passage
and down the stairs

her crutches click clicking
on the way down
at the bottom she stopped
and looked both ways

you listened for voices
or footsteps
come on Kid
she said

and crutched her way
along the side passage
which led to the side door
you followed

at the door she paused
and looked out
at the rain
you looked by her

and saw the rain
hitting the glass panel
open up Kid
she said

and you opened the door
and she pushed you out
and followed close behind
her crutches going

at quite a pace
as you walked
through the rain
along through the trees

you sensed your clothes
getting wet as you moved
the raindrops falling
through the branches above

she was just behind
cursing and swearing
her dress clinging to her
as she moved along

then you moved
under the shelter
of the small summer house
at the back of the garden

near the back wall
here you both stood
out of the wet
watching the rain falling

and near by here and there
birds were calling
and there as you turned
to look at her

the dress showing
the outline of her leg
and stump
the dampness showing

her 11 year old frame
and from the nursing home
someone was calling
out her name.

We hid under
the railway bridge
in Arch Road
by the back
of the coal wharf

it was raining
we stared out
at the falling wetness
coming down heavy

just as well
we were near here
Ingrid said
otherwise
we'd have got soaked

I peered out
the sky
was a dull grey
lightening threatened
and thunder

I felt the cold
as I huddled
into my jacket
and shirt
and blue jeans

have to stay here
until it stops
I said

she put her hands
into the pockets
of the green raincoat
she was wearing
her brown hair
pinned back
with hair grips
was damp

suppose so
but it could be ages
and my mum'll worry
if I’m too late
Ingrid said

I peered at the sky

hopefully won't be
too long

I looked at her
standing next to me

we  could always
start a fire
if we get too cold
I said
I''ve got matches
and there's
an old newspaper
over there
and bits
of old wood
from the bomb site
and coal over there

she didn't look
impressed

we can wait
and see
she said

I've lit fires
before here
I said

she looked
at me doubtfully

over there
in the corner
a fair size one

she looked
at the corner
how did you
put it out after?
she asked

I peed on it
I said

she gazed at me
her mouth open
her mildly
buck teeth smiling
at me

what if someone
saw you?

no one can see
from here
not under
this bridge
apart from tramps
or hobos
who hide here
sometimes at night
but it was daytime then
I said

she stared out
at the rain

sometimes Benedict
you are not good
to know
she muttered

I smiled
gazed at the sky

two 8 year olds
hiding
from the rain
and I said
I wonder why?

And it was the first time,
that kiss, that Christmas.

You and she were walking
just behind the other members
of the church choir, carol singing,
the parson, conducting the members,
he in overcoat, hat on, scarf
against the cold, the evening air.

And she said, softly, so only
you could hear, softer than
the snow that threatened to fall,
I think I love you.

You, looking at her there,
standing inches away,
her breath high-lighted
in the light of moon
and the houses near by,
said, I love you, too.  

Words, spread, as if
on free rein, like little children
off on some adventure,
some new game,
came quick and fast.

Then, she leaned in,
and kissed your lips,
pressed them so gently
on yours. So gently
that it seemed they met
yet seemed not to
in same breath.

You embraced her,
arms about her,
drawing her nearer,
her body, into yours,
warmth and warmth,
like two planets colliding,
not in crash, but as if
merged, entwined, as if one.

The sound of some carol
being sang breathed
on the air, floated there,
held in balance
by the gentle wind.

You and she parted lips
and bodies, but held hands,
a new love had been born,
a new fire started, feeling
erupted along the strings
of nerves, set mind on fire
with a new, unknown, never
before experienced,
out of this world desire.

The milkman
let me and Helen
ride on the back
of his horse-drawn

milk wagon
through the Square
stopping here and there
to deliver milk

and eggs
and orange juice
Helen had got caught
in a downpour

of rain
and her thick lens
spectacles
were smeary

where she had wiped them
on her dress
her hair
had been plaited

into two plaits
over her shoulders
soggy looking
ought to

go back home
and change out
of the wet stuff
I said

or you'll catch
yourself a cold
Mum's out
Helen said

gone shopping
up the Cut
with the others
the milk wagon

moved on
the horse trotting
slowly forward
the man with a boxer dog

walked by
and gave us
a stare
sitting there

you could go
to my flat
my mum'll
find you

something dry
I said
I’ll be all right
Helen said

I'll dry out
the milkman
stopped again
and we got off

and walked through
the side
of the flats
and crossed Bath Terrace

and into Jail Park
you sure
you're all right?
I said

your dress
is clinging
to your legs
she pulled the dress

from her legs
I’ll be ok
so we went
into the area

where the swings
and slide were
and got on
the swings

for big kids
and pushed ourselves
high into the air
holding on

to the chains
at the side
our shoes trying
to touch

the grey clouds
then we went
on the slide
but Helen got stuck

half way
because her wet dress
held her there
so she climbed down

and we walked back
to my flat
where my mother
got her some

dry clothes
of my sister's
and put Helen’s clothes
in front of the fire

to dry
and we watched
the steam rise
from them

into the sitting room air
as we sat
on the sofa
with our bemused stare.

Bob West said
why are you always

looking towards
the girl’s playground?

Looking for someone
you replied

who? Bob asked  
A girl who gets

on my school bus
Bob pulled a face

and combed
his black oily hair

is she good looking?
Like an angel

you said
and peered

at the playground
across the way

where girls were
skipping or walking

in pairs
See her yet?

Bob asked
no not yet

you muttered
wishing you had

hoping she'd come
into view

don’t see any point in girls
Bob said

putting his comb away
in a top pocket

wiping his hands
on his grey trousers

my dad said
they’re only after two things

money and babies
steer away from them Bob

he said
you watched

as girls moved
about the playground

each dressed in grey skirts
and green tops

haven’t you ever
been moved by a girl?

You asked
moved? Bob said

moved?
Ain’t no girl

going to move me
he muttered

spit hanging
on his lower lip

like a suicidal
waiting to jump

what’s this angel girl got
that’s so special?

He said taking out
a handkerchief

and wiping his brow
I don’t know

you replied
and as you said it

you saw her
come in to view

outshining the sun
more beautiful

than summer
and staring at you.

Outside Burgos
in the base camp
after seeing the cathedral
and other sights

and having a beer
and a burger
at the bar
you went to a small disco

and danced a few hours
then went with Mamie
back to the tents
the moon quite bright

like a new coin
on a black cloth
and Mamie said
I can’t remember

where mine is
where what is?
you asked
my tent

my ****** tent
what do you think I meant?
where about were you?
I don’t know

we were only there
half hour or so
she moaned
and it was raining

and I was cold
and the girl
I was sharing with
was one hell of a misery

you could with me
but I’m with that young army guy
she looked at your tent
and said

where is he now?
inside maybe
you said
or out getting plastered

can’t he find
someplace else to sleep?
she said
don’t think he’d do that

some how
you said
well help me find my tent then
she moaned

ok I will
you said
and off you went with her
in the semi dark

walking between tents
trying to discover
her tent
out of so many

wait
she said
after five minutes
I remember we were near

an outhouse
because she moaned
about the smell
of ***** and such

and she pointed to a tent
over the field
near a small outhouse
where people

were coming and going
that’s it
she said
there

and so she ran ahead
to the tent
and unzipped it
yes this is it

she said excitedly
but she’s not here
do you want to come in
for awhile?

you studied her face
and eyes and that
hair of hers
and said

sure why not
maybe she won’t be back
maybe she’ll fine
some other tent to sleep

not her
Mamie said
she’ll be back
the moaning cow

but why she’s out
we can at least
get down to kissing
and things

sure
you said
entering the tent
behind her gazing

at her pink hot pants
whatever fate brings.

We camped outside Kiel
and Dalya was not
at all happy
sharing her tent
with the leather wearing
Yank girl
who joined us in Hamburg

I was in the base canteen
drinking coffee and smoking
Dalya sat opposite me
having bought
a bowl of cereals and coffee

that's all I need
on this holiday
a Yank who never stops talking
she said

what's she talk about?
I asked

men and men
and who she's seen
and who she's
had in bed and how
and most of the time
chewing gun

I inhaled
and thought of how
she looked quite pretty
when angry
it seemed
to brighten her up
maybe she'll grow on you

I don't want her
to grow on me
I want her to go
elsewhere
why can't she share
with the girl from Yorkshire
she has a big mouth too
they’d be good together
Dalya moaned

I looked at her
tight curled dark hair
her dark blue eyes
the way her  mouth moved
as she spoke
I sipped coffee

plus she makes
the mini-bus
more crowded
10 of us
squashed together

I didn't mind
too much
as I was next to Dalya
and she was closer
her perfume almost
oozing on to me
as we drove along
through Germany

chill out
I said
enjoy the holiday

she pouted her lips
and took a cigarette
I offered and lit it
with my red cigarette lighter

all right for you
sharing with the Aussie
bet he doesn't
talk about ***
all the time
or who with

no mostly
about beer and rugby
I said
(he did talk about girls
but I never told her
about that)

typical
she said
wished I never came

what about me?
don't you like me either?

she exhaled
you're all right
she said
but I don't share at tent
with you

no shame
I said

she said nothing
but sipped her coffee
and inhaled her cigarette

I looked at her
sitting there
with her dark
blue eyes
and tight dark
curly hair.

Coming out
of Mr Dubbin’s room
you saw Sophia
standing there

with mop and bucket
and that Bardot smile
I thought you’ be
up here somewhere

she said
putting down
the mop and bucket
I’m busy Sophia

I need to get baths done
before lunchtime
she placed a hand
across the doorway

to block you in
surely you don’t want
to rush off
without being with me

a few moments?
she said
moving in closer
her perfume hitting you

her eyes focusing
on each feature
and muscle move
not just now

you said
maybe later
she stood nearer to you
her thigh blocking

any further movement
without you touching her
what would people think
if I said you tried to kiss me?

she said softly
but I haven’t
you said
we know that

but others don’t
she said
but that would be a lie
you said

sure
she said
but all is fair
in love and war

they say
you felt the door handle
behind you
and pushed it down

and the door opened
and you walked back
in the room
and she followed

and closed the door
behind her
and stood there
the Bardot smile

in place once more
I’ve got work to do
you said
baths to do

she pushed you back
on Mr Dubbin’s bed
and moved on top of you
and lay there

gazing down at you
isn’t this nice?
she asked
isn’t this better

than bathing
old men?
or wiping
old men’s arses?

I’m paid to do that
not this
you said
feeling her taut ****

pressing into your chest
her hands each side
of your head
on the bed

kiss me
she whispered
not now
you said

I have only to scream
and people will come running
and see you
on the bed with me

she said
her blonde hair caught
sunlight from the window
across the room

her eyes studied you
reflecting your image
in both pupils
you kissed her lips

sensed the skin
the waxy lipstick
the parting of her mouth
the red lips

ah
she said softly
that was good
was it not good?

she asked
you nodded
wanting her
to get up and go

and yet
as she moved off
and stood
by the door

and smiled
her Bardot smile
you wanted
(much against

your better judgment)
for her to stay  
and kiss some more
awhile.

Outside Oslo
in the base camp
after showering
you met Moira

in the cafe
for breakfast
and coffee
she was in a mood

about the Yank girl
and having to share
a tent with her
(when she wasn’t off

someplace being *******
Moira said)
and always chewing gum
and those *******

she wears
I’ve seen more cloth
on a finger cut
she said

I’ll take your word for it
you said
she pouted
and stared at you

the finger cut I meant
you said
by the way
are you into

Oslo today?
you asked
mind if I hang along?
sure as long as you don’t

talk about the Yank
or football or Mahler
or whoever else
is hid up

in that brain of yours
she sipped her coffee
and ate her breakfast
saying nothing more

and you watched
as she ate
her eyes dark
and deep

her hair frizzed up
after the shower
her tee shirt
holding tight

her ****
and her blue jeans
hugging her thighs
as you’d like to do

later in Oslo
you toured about
the streets
saw the sights

had a beer or two
while you sat
with her
in some bar

she talking of Glasgow
and her job
and her brother
and his girlfriend

and how
she had this awful
wiggly ****
and floppy *******

and large eyes
like cow pats
soft and brown
and she laughed  

and you liked it
when she laughed
it made her seem better
more human

less grumpy
less critical
and had you been
more brave you might

have kissed her
there and then
but you didn’t
you just ordered

another beer
and talked of Nietzsche
and Mahler
just to watch

her lips move
and incidentally
bore her.

We stopped at some café
just outside Paris
the coach parked
along side the road

our first meal
since getting on
the ferry across over
I still had

that Beethoven
piano piece
in my head
and Miriam

laying her head
on my shoulder
in sleep
her red hair

like an explosion
of redness
her eyes closed
her mouth ajar

small white teeth
shallow breathing
small cleavage
what are you having?

Miriam asked
I looked at the menu
in French
you speak French?

I asked
not much
apart what I learnt
at school

she said
she scanned the menu
I think that's beef burger
she said

pointing at the list
that's egg and something
and curry?
I asked

don't know French
for curry
she said
she raised her hand

Garçon!
she said
a thin guy
came across

with a droopy moustache
and looked at us
you do curry?
she asked

the guy gave
a blank gaze
she fanned her mouth
with her small hand

and lifted her eyes
towards the ceiling
and blew outward
curry

she mouthed
the guy looked at me
sympathetically
I poked a finger

at the list randomly
and the guy
looked intently
I showed 2 fingers

and pointed
to Miriam and me
he smiled
and went off

what did you order?
she said
looking at me
then the menu

God knows
but at least
we'll eat
I said

she shook her head
and stared back
towards the bar  
how about a beer?

she said sure
I said
and as we waited
I felt her hand

on my knee
making
circular motions
and giving

the occasional squeeze  
and I hoped
she'd do the same
to both knees.

Outside school by the steps
leading down
I wait for Helen
I'd seen her in class

but I want to walk home
with her
as she said
Cogan pulls her hair

if I’m not there
it's dampish
the sky is grey
the sun is weak

I watch other kids
go by down the steps
and off to their homes
then she comes

sees me and smiles
her hair in two plaits
and her thick lens glasses
slightly smeared

thank you
for waiting for me
she says
Cogan said

he was going to pull
my hair and put worms
down my back
well I’m here

so he won't
I say
she looks around her
and we walk off

and down St George's Road
why is he
so horrible to me?
she asks

because he can
or thinks he can
I say
bullies are like that

he said I was a fish face
she says
as we go onward
you're pretty

I say
don't take notice
of him
am I?

she says
really pretty?
of course you are
I say

she smiles
we go under the subway
and I sing so
that my voice

echoes along the walls
she seems happier
join in
I say

I can't I’m too shy
she says
I like her simplicity
her innocent being

we come up
the other side
onto the New Kent Road
and walk by

the Trocadero cinema
what are you doing
after tea?
I ask her

have to see
what Mum says
she says
she may want me

to help her bath
the baby
ok
I say

if you can get out
I’ll be on the bomb site
off Meadow Row
she nods

and I walk her
to her home
and then walk along
Rockingham Street

to Banks house
for some tea
and see Mum
and change

and then off I go
to Meadow Row.

After tea
you went out

into the summer evening
without cowboy hat

or rifle
but your six shooter

tucked in the belt
of your jeans

to meet Helen
under the railway bridge

next to the Duke of Wellington
public house

I thought you weren’t coming
Helen said

standing in her summer dress
and holding her favourite doll

Battered Betty
my horse refused to come

so I had to walk
you said

Helen smiled
my mum knows I’m with you

but I mustn’t be out late
Helen said

where shall we go?
you asked

let’s go and see
what’s on at the cinema

Helen said
so you both walked

along the back streets
until you came

onto the main road
and studied the cinema billboards

I saw Davy Crockett here
you said

who’s he?
Helen asked

he was a frontiersman
who fought Indians

and wore a bearskin hat
you said

was he here?
Helen asked

it was a film
you replied

oh
she said

she swung Battered Betty
behind her back

from hand to hand
I haven’t been

to the pictures recently
mum said we can’t afford it

what about Saturday matinee?
you asked

you could come to that
it’s for kids only

and it’s fun
Helen brought Battered Betty

into her arms
I’m not sure

she said
I could asked your mum

you said
I’d take care of you

I’ve got my six shooter
Helen put her hand

in your hand
and said

ok she’d listen to you
Helen said

you felt her hand in yours
and hoped no boys

who knew you
saw this or

the following
small lips kiss.

Miss Cleaves says,
come over,
bring a bottle,

I’ll put on some music
we can smooch to( Mahler?)
so he goes over,

picks up a bottle on the way,
medium priced,
not the top shelf,

and rings her bell.
Glad you could come,
she says,

her voice silkier
than silk,
warmer than hell.

He follows her
to the lounge,
takes off his jacket,

undoes his tie,
slips off his shoes
(new carpet).

Take a seat,
she says ,
I’ll get us some glasses,

he watches her move,
the best of all *****,
he decides, glancing,

taking in,
******* in air,
sitting there.

On goes the Mahler,
the 1st, the Titan,
she said it was, last time,

the time he had
a *******
before the 2nd movement,

had his hand
up her skirt,
feeling around.

In she comes,
swaying, smiling,
carrying the *****,

big eyes,
blue like lakes,
her bust,

busting to get out,
and flop about.
She talks of work,

business doing ok,
could be better,
if only and so on...

He senses her hand
on his thigh,
rubbing back and forth,

fingers walking,
her voice yakking on,
and the music

piping through,
he thinking
of that time

she had him
do her good,
eyes shut,

seemingly blind,
taking her
from behind.

Then the doorbell chimed,
in mid game,
who the heck is that?

she said,
getting off the bed,
walking to the door,

leaving him
buck naked on the floor.
There was laughter;

about to take a bath,
she said,
to whoever.

A painting on her wall,
foxhounds, chasing a fox,
horse riders on a hunt.

He thought, laying back,
relaxing, thinking of her,
wanting her, her lovely

buttocks and ****.
More laughter, more talk,
the whoever was still there,

while he lay **** naked
as mother nature
intended, bare.

That was then,
she never came back
for 15 minutes or so

and he had gone to sleep
on her bed, pillow
holding his head,

seemingly dead.  
Now she's on the ball,
getting him fired up,

getting his pecker going,
smiling, music piping,
but outside there's snow.

Ann has long
brown hair
and a wide spam
of forehead
and deep eyes.

She's Jimi's sister;
he's my best friend,
she has a temper
like a wild horse
and I avoid her
when she's moody.

She opens the door
to her parent's flat.

Yes?

Is Jimi home?

He's out,
gone with Dad
for a while.

When will he
be back?
I ask.

When he arrives.

I look pass her shoulder;
look for her mother.

Can I come in?
Or do you
want to come out
and go to
the bomb site
or park?

What for?
She looks at me;
hands on her hips.

Something to do,
something to pass
the time.

She looks at my clothes
and says:
do you have only
the one pair of jeans?

No, but I like
theses best.

What’s to do
on the bomb site?

Light a fire;
pick small stones
for my catapult;
play cowboys
and bad guys?

Have you got
a spare gun?
I'm not just being
a silly saloon girl;
I want a gun
to blast
the baddies away.

I pull out one
of my 6-shooters
from my S belt;
here have this one;
I hand her a gun.

She holds it
in her hands
and spins it
round her
plumpish finger.

Ok, but I’m
Annie Oakley.

Sure, you be her,
and I’ll be
Wyatt Earp.

So I wait until
she's got her
shoes on
and her cardigan
with flowers on.

We go through
the Square
and down the *****.

She rides her
brown horse
(so she says)
I ride my black horse
across Rockingham Street,
gun at the ready
for the baddies
we might meet.

I met Helen
by the Trocadero cinema  
after school
after tea

I mustn't be late
must be home
by 7 not 8
or my mum said
she'll tan my backside
a bright red
Helen said

ok I'll walk you
home in time
I said

we looked
at the photos outside
on the walls
and inside
in the foyer
of the film
and film stars
the coloured pictures
the bright lights

then we walked down
the road
to the subway
and down and up
the other side

and looked
at the photos
at the ABC
cinema

it was smaller
more compact
the glass doors
open
the inside
inviting

the bright lights
and large pictures
of the actors
and actresses
Robert Taylor
Doris Day
John Wayne
and others

then we walked
down the road
to the fish and chip shop
and looked in
through the window

what can we afford?
I asked

I have no money
she said

I've 6d
I said
that'll but us
some chips to share

so we went in
and asked
for 6d worth of chips
and the guy gave us
some crackling too

and we went over
by the wall and seats
and sat
in the warm
and ate our food

and she said
that boy Cogan
said I looked
like a four eyed chimp
do I?

no you look pretty
I said
he can't talk
he has glasses too
and looks
like a chimp
not you

she smiled
and took off
her thin wired
NHS glasses

and wiped them
on with the hem
of her dress
then put them
on again

and as we
looked outside
it was gushing down
with dull grey rain.

I was sitting
in my favourite café
sipping an iced coke
when this dame

behind me
(in conversation
with some guy) said
and he already

owes me
a thousand pounds
in maintenance
for the kids

(the kids came
into view now
and then
as they played

around the tables
nearby)  
and he wanted them
as much as I

the guy she was with
pumped her questions
about the marriage
(maybe he was a friend

or perhaps
he was hoping
to get his leg over
somewhere

along the line
of time)
and he seldom visits
she said

and every child
needs a father
but they
rarely see him

and I say to him
you need to see
your children more
(the guy's voice

behind me is soft
and concerning)
children need a father
need that security

he said
I tried not to listen
just sipped my coke
looking at the people

nearby who I could see
but all the while
this dame's voice
opens up and continues

mind you
he never was
much of a lover
no?

the guy said
well not
100% committed
she said

there was always
something else
going on his head
you know what I mean?

she said
mm-mm
the guy said
and I imagined

he nodded his head
(maybe thinking
I'd be a much better
lover than he)

I allowed
a cube of ice
to enter my mouth
cold it rattled

against my teeth
how long is
he going to leave it?
she said

the back payments
are already a thousand
and I have the kids
to feed and clothe

and the mortgage to pay
and Daddy
will only pay so much
she said

the guy fed her
more questions
I didn't quite catch
the words

(quiet speaker
unlike her
who spoke loud)
she laughed

and I sipped
more coke
trying to listen in
on the words

of the joke
jazz was being played
from the in house radio
some Miles Davis

I think
early stuff
I drained the remains
of my coke

and got up
put on my cap
and grabbed my stick
and as I turned

I casually gave
the dame a look
(a kind of fill in
for my picture book)

a blonde
thin
young
and the guy

plump
older
balding
in a tee-shirt

and jeans
as I walked off
with my stick
and a head full

of information
I gave them
one last look
back at their table

I couldn't see them
as bed fellow
least not
in my book.

He’s only just sat down
in the cafe when she enters
and stands at the counter

waiting to be served. He lets
his latte settle. Allows his
eyes to scrutinize. The waitress

serves the woman in the white
hat and black dress. He notes
her fine figure, the low cut at

the neck, the thin straps over
shoulders. He tries to breathe
in from where he sits her perfume,

but it doesn’t come. The woman
orders an espresso and says it
with an Italian accent. He follows

her with his eyes as she walks
to a table alone. She looks like a
girl Modigliani would have painted.

She looks at her watch and then
around the room of the cafe.
She crosses her legs, one over

the other, thigh revealed. He sips
his latte. Wipes his lips with the
back of his hand. Bad habit, mother

would have slapped his hand as a
child once. The waitress delivers
the woman’s coffee; he notes the

waitress’s fine behind, the hands
serving, the legs touching together.
Then she's gone. Just the woman

in the white hat to study. The way
she lifts the small white cup to her
mouth, her fingers holding delicately,

as if afraid to break. Get a life Brody
would say if he were there. But he’s not;
he’s away with that girl from the office,

having a lay. The woman in the hat
stares at him, her eyes devour, her lips
part like legs before ***. She looks boringly

away. He sips more latte. He doesn’t like
her white hat or black dress anyway.

I sat on the bank
by the pond-
or lake as Yehudit
termed it-

Yehudit lay on her back
with one leg stretched out
and the other bent
with the knee
pointing skyward

I watched dragonflies
skimming
the water's skin
then taking off
zig-zagging
then off
out of sight

that cloud
looks like a swan
Yehudit said

I looked up
looks like your mother
I said

that's not nice
she said
saying my mother
looks like a swan

it's the neck
that does it
I said

she looked at me
smiling
her neck is not
like that at all
she said

or maybe it's the beak
like her nose?

she slapped
my arm playfully
that neither
she said

now the clouds changed
I said
the swan has dissolved
or moved on

she became serious
I thought
I was in trouble
last week
she said

I gazed at her
why was that?

I was late
she said
looking at me
seriously

late for what?
dinner?
school?
lessons?

no I mean my...
you know...
my thingy

I watched
as a duck landed
on the water
and swam towards
the edge

thingy?
I said  

it was green
and yellowy feathered
it had a sense
of gracefulness
as it swam

my periods
she said

and that means?
I said
turning to gaze
at her

she sat up
and sighed
I thought
I was in
the pudding club
she said

o I see
I said
taking in
her features
the brown hair
a few loose strands
over one eye
her thigh visible
where the skirt
had moved down

but I was just late
it's ok now
she said
turning on her side
back to normal

I said nothing
it was a science
beyond me
another duck landed
on the water
skimming along
like an airplane
crash landing

must be careful
she said

guess so
I said

the image
of the duck's landing
and her thigh
stuck inside
my 14 year old head.

The parents row again, but
You just sit in a corner like

The good little girl you are,
Watching shadows cast by

The sun flow through the
Kitchen window. Your dolls

And toys are in the other
Room where the row is;

So you just sit and listen
To birds sing from outside

The house, like the patient
Little girl you’ve become,

Playing with dark dancing
Shadows in the cold hall.

The words of rows seem
Harsh and loud and vibrate

The walls causing your ears
To ache and invisible friends

To depart. The words are
Unknown to you: the ****

Yous and cruel ***** fill
The air; the loud blows will

Come next and Mother will
Cry and the rows will stop

And the there theres and oh
I’m sorrys will flow along

The walls where you sit and
Watch the shadows on the

Cold linoleum floor play
As you and they have before.

That year
in Paris

you took
Dostoyevsky’s novel

Crime and Punishment
to read when

you weren’t touring
the sites

and you became
so immersed in the book

that you became
Raskolnikov

and killed
the old woman

and her half sister
and looked about the streets

you looked for the detective
Porfiry whom you suspected

was following you about
and as you sat

in the Champs-Elysées
or stood by

the Arc de Triomphe
you thought of all

the famous
who had stayed here

in this fine city
Henry Miller

Ezra Pound
Hemmingway

Debussy
Van Gogh

and that fanatical
conqueror ******

with his sick smile
under that

silly moustache
and that evening

your brother
in the hotel room

puked in the bidet
after sour wine

or too rich food
as you looked out

the window on
the Parisian street

to see if Porfiry
was out there

waiting for you
to charge you

with the murderous crime
you didn’t do.

Sonya
that Parisian street
is still there
no doubt

although whether
that cheap hotel
is still there
is another

question
but we were there
back then
the double

old bed
the bidet
the sink greasy
and the toilet

well less said
the better
but Paris
was good

and we walked
its streets
and ate and drank
in its restaurants

and cafés
and saw
the art galleries
and rode the metro

sometimes for free
avoiding
the ticket collector
and the room

and that bed
and us lying there
the window open
the street sounds

and the smell
of the City
and I
with my Dostoevsky book

and you saying
can't you read
something
more cheerful?

and you lying there
with your blonde hair
spread on the pillow
on the bed

and you talking
of Kierkegaard
and Either Or
or something

about a leap
of faith
and you puking
into the bidet

after the cheap wine
and I reading
and saying
serves you right

but sorted you
later that night
and how we love
the early morning

feel of Paris
the opening
of the window
and wow

there we were
in the city
where Hemingway stayed
and Ezra Pound

and Henry Miller
and others
worth their salt
and we kissing

and embracing
and making
the long love
with moon and stars

and the night sky
up above.

Tucking Dostoyevsky’s
Crime and Punishment
into the bedside cabinet
of the cheap

Paris hotel
having cleaned
the greasy sink
and bidet

you walked out
on the street
breathing in
the Parisian air

smelling the perfume
of the restaurants
on the side walks
seeing the sights

taking photographs
as memoirs
drinking the wines
and beers

and that fish
with eyes still there
putting you off
you tried to get out

of the cheap cafe
but paid for the meal
you couldn’t eat
the fish eye

gazing up at you
dead eye
battered fish
and the Left Bank

and night
and you taking in
the sights and lights
and those ******

sitting in windows
like gifts
to have wrapped
but not take home

or the **** films
you never
went to see
in those cinemas

you just walked by
or the Eiffel Tower day
right to the top
the view splendid

the sight historical
or those rides
on the Metro
riding the wrong carriages

looking out
for the train inspector
pretending to be Aussies
giving it the yak

and later
in your hotel room
taking out
Dostoyevsky

and entering
the Russian world
of ****** and deceit  
and being followed

you imagined
by the detective
looking out
onto the Parisian street

from the open window
of your room
gazing at street corners
and shadows  

or remembering
that French girl
in the cafe
who served you

with bright eyes
black and white dress
and white apron
the fine long legs

and wiggling behind
recalling the old priest
who once said
too much ***
will make you blind.

Natanya threw a cup
and *** and saucepan
and I stood there
wondering what the heck

what this outburst
was all about
but a knife
whizzed by my ear

and I shouted at her
but she wasn't listening
she fled upstairs
cursing

babbling about
some girl
whose name
she had found

in a notebook of mine
and address too
she said
who is she?

Who?
This girl here?
What girl?
This one here

she shoved
the notebook at me
O her
I said

she was a girl
I stopped for shop-lifting
the other day
and I had to note

her name and address
for the police
Natanya stared at me
her dark eyes

bright and sharp
likely story
she said
you've been

seeing her
behind my back
and probably
bedded her

in that ****
workplace of yours
there was spittle
on her lower lip

ask Ron
he was there
he saw her too
he has her name

in his book too
O sure
he probably
had her too

she said
that is scraping
the bottom of barrel
I said

ask the manager
he saw
the notebook too
or do you think he

had the girl too?
Natnaya shut up
and looked
at the bed

behind her
I suppose
I made a mistake
she said quietly

yes
I said
I don't suppose
you have time?

she said
looking towards
the made up bed
not now

not after this
maybe later
I said
giving her a parting kiss.

Lydia
unwraps her
Kit Kat bar
and breaks off
a finger
and eats it

I watch her
like some pup
hoping she
will break off
a finger‭
for Benny

it's morning
the sun bright
coming through
the narrow gap
between flats

she bites off
more finger
her small teeth
less white now

want a bit‭?
she asks me
offering
half finger

that'd be nice
I reply

I take it
and mouth it
and eat it
explosion
of biscuit
chocolate
and sweetness

she eats more
as we walk
through the Square

my sister's
Lydia
informs me

you stole it‭?

borrowed it
I’ll buy one
just for her
when I can

does she know‭?
I ask her

not just yet
but I will
I promise

she gives me
a finger
of chocolate
I’m paid off

now she eats
the last piece
******* up
the paper
she puts it
in the small
dress pocket

it's all gone
we the two
partakers
of the crime
lick our lips
and walk on

it was nice
the feeling
the warm taste
chocolate
crisp biscuit

won't she know‭?
I ask her

not just yet
too busy
in our bed
she tells me
with the Spiv
smart boyfriend

we walk down
the wide *****
from the Square
gazing up
Meadow Row
where the Sun
smiles at us

There's a hair on your old shirt
part of the dead you.
It's there still: black against blue.

I passed Enid's father
on the stairs
of the flats
gave him an icy glare

he was ******
so didn't care
he went down
and I went up

he was whistling
some song
I knew he was a prat
but what was wrong?

later that day
I met Enid
in the greengrocer shop
in Meadow Row

getting potatoes
and greens
for my mother
not to forget carrots

which I almost did
she came in the shop
in her faded red dress
her hair in a mess

red marks on her arm
one eye closing
as if half dozing
what did you want

young girlie?
the greengrocer
asked her
she gave him a list

and he sorted it out
I carried my bag
to the door
I saw your old man earlier

I said
gave him an icy glare
she looked at me
then at the carrots

orange and raw
then at the door
didn’t say anything
did you?

she asked
no I kept shtum
would have done
if I didn't think

he'd take it out
on you
I said
is this 3 pounds

of spuds?
the greengrocer asked
can't make out
the figure writ

she gazed
at the piece of paper
and said
yes 3 I think

and off he went
shoulders stooping
head bent
what happened

this time?
I asked
what did he do?
he said I slept in

too late or spoke
out of turn
Enid replied
belted me

thumped me
then I cried
the greengrocer
filled the small bag

she held
in her small hands
and took her coins
and gave her change

deep inside
a child wept
near to me
but out of range.