I waited by the pond-or lake as Yehudit called it being a romantic- staring across the skin of the water. Dragonflies hovered over the still surface like miniature helicopters, then took off zigzagging this way and then that. Ducks swam by on the other side gliding on the surface and now and then ducking under the water like upturned boats. Yehudit said yesterday to meet at the lake. I'll be there, Baruch, she said-she Herbrewizes  my name sometimes, most call me Benny-, even if I have to sneak out of a window. Some days her mother makes it difficult for her to get out before chores, and as it was the start of the summer school holidays, she was more firmer than ever about getting chores done. I looked at the bushes across the water leading into the woods that way. Behind me were more bushes and trees of the other part of the wood. There was an area secluded from the rest behind me where Yehudit and I had made love a couple of times. Even though it was secluded we were always on the listen for sounds, for foot steps or human voices. One time a grey squirrel spied on us as we were making love, stood on a branch and watched us for a few moments like some hairy voyageur. I stood with my hands in the pockets of my blue jeans, my white shirt open at the neck and loose from my jeans trying to act the cool kid. On the way to the pond I had passed cows in a field, avoiding cow pats, unsure if one of them might be a bull. I walked past the secluded area wondering we could have been seen by anyone passing by. I couldn't see in so I guess no one would if we were silent and not going it some. I thought it was silent, but it wasn't, there were birds singing, a woodpecker was hammering away in the woods to my left. There was no breeze, the air was still, it was balmy. Then she was there, coming out of the woods by a narrow path. Been waiting long? She asked. No, not long, I said. She was dressed in a black skirt and green top. She stood there staring at the water. Had a job to get out with out too many questions, she said. Where are you going in such a hurry? Mum asked, and so on and I said, meeting Baruch and she said who? Baruch or Benedict, I said. What'd she say then? I asked. Third degree questions where and what are you doing kind of stuff. What'd you say? Yehudit sighed and sat on the grassy bank and pulled her skirt over her knees- spoilsport- I sat next to her. I said I was going with you butterfly watching, Yehudit said. Did she believe you? I doubt it. But she let me go eventually. She lay back on the grass, looking up at the blue sky. I turned and lay on my stomach studying her. So what now? I asked. Have to see, won't we. I eyed her lips. Red, pink, slightly open. She spoke. What if she comes and looks for me? The lips moved opening and closing with each word. I loved her chin, the curve of it, the redden cheeks. Why would she? I asked, lowering my eyes to her neck. I'm fourteen as are you, and I think, she thinks things about us. Such as? Her neck was creamy white, soft, kissable, but no love bites were visible, thank God. She thinks we're having ***, I think, Yehudit said. We are, I said, looking at the swell of her *******, snuggled away like small babes. But, she shouldn't know that; she ought not to even think of that, Yehudit said angrily. Did she say as such? No, but I felt  as if she thought we were or had. Yehudit looked at me. Her bright eyes searched me. So she just might come here, she said, spy on us. I laughed. It's no laughing matter, Baruch, what if she does? We're just sitting here; no harm in that, I said. Anyway, I said, did you tell her where we'd be? She nodded. I had to or she'd not let me out. She'd walk half a mile to catch you being ******? I said. Someone may have seen us last time, Yehudit said. Who and where? She closed her eyes. I wanted to kiss her *******, but they were wrapped away like gifts. Don't know, but someone my mother knows. So we just sit here until it all blows over, I said. How long? Baruch, I can't just sit by a pond all day waiting to see if my mother turns up. I kissed her neck. Soft, velvety. She opened her eyes. That doesn't help. I kissed her chin. Nor does that. I kissed her lips, she murmured then was silent. We kissed. Warm, sticky, tongues touching. She hugged me close to her; I touched her hair with my left hand and her thigh with my right going beneath her skirt. She pulled away. What if she come? What if she does? What then? I said. I'm for it, Yehudit said. We kissed again. My hand touched her *****. She giggled. Stop or she'll hear me, Yehudit said. The pond was still; ducks swam on their way. Dragonflies hovered and took off. I turned away and lay back on the grass, staring at the sky, feeling dampness on my fingers. It's too risky, she said. She may come. I watched white clouds drift by. My pecker had stirred. My heart was thumping fast. Sorry, she said, want to, but I'd not relax thinking her near listening. I closed my eyes, recalled the last time. After church, before she went home, us coming to the pond and it just happened. Us in the secluded area, the sound of the Sunday hymns going round my head, the bushes our shelter, the soft grass our green bed. Not your fault, I said, musing on the last time ******* on our soft green bed.

The soft machine is my body, said Sonia, it gives pleasure to men. I sit in my bath, rinse away the touch and feel of them, while in the other room Dimello lies upon my bed, gazing up at the ceiling, smoking his fat cigar, singing between puffs some song he thinks I like, some verses he’s remembered from some former times. Mi máquina suave, he calls me, his soft machine, supple, malleable machine. He knows little of me; his mind is of lower things, of orifices and *******, of *****, drugs and ***** deeds. He knows nothing of my needs, my little wants and desires. I lay back in my bath, let the water soothe me, my ******* sit upon the water’s skin like dolphins about to skim the waves, but these just sit and wait, two small whales, my fingers touching them as if some lover had felt and loved. Sometimes I embrace this soft machine, my hands around me as if some secret lover held me close, or I kiss my arms with my soft lips, mocking Dimello with his damp thick lips, his ***** breath in my ears, his words like pinpricks on my flesh. Besaré la máquina suave, he says, I will kiss the soft machine, he repeats, his smile oily, his eyes dark as prunes. Last night he made love to me, his body like some pounding shark, his teeth nibbling my flesh, his fingers entering, feeling their way in the dark, his coarse voice mumbling his words of lust and love. My uncle loved this soft machine, he would tickle and touch in the summer days when I stayed for the holidays when my parents were away on their business trips abroad in other climes in my childhood times. Nuestro secreto, Uncle said, our secret, none must know, he would whisper, his hands seeking  smooth my flesh, to soothe my troubled mind and me. The water in my bath grows cold; I hear Dimello singing from the other room, his head on my pillow, his cigar smoke invading my space. I arise from my bath; look at my soft machine, my body, with its suppleness, its litheness, its agility. I know each inch of this machine, feel it with my finger’s touch, hold it in embrace, kiss it with a self-love, a tenderness lacking in other’s touch. Dimello calls, his patience lacking, his lust returned. Apresure mi máquina suave, he calls, hurry, my soft machine, my body awaits your return, he says. I want him gone, want his body from my bed and home. He does not love as I wish to be loved, his love is of a lower kind, his wants and lusts feel me with dread. I look out of the window and see the morning sun, see the day coming with its freshness blooming, the birds singing from some nearby trees, and Dimello singing like some strangled cat, his voice echoing through the walls of my one roomed flat and lowering my lips I blow a kiss to the birds in flight trying to forget Dimello and his lustful night.

The Chopin piece played
still pays in my head
as I kiss her shoulder,
soft, hard, my lips
brushing, moving in,
my tongue tasting,
snake like.

She enfolds me
with her arms,
her hands on my back,
holding me there,
capturing me lest
I seek escape(as if),
her hands, fingers
run upon my skin.

Far off, voices,
laughter, coming back
from the hotel restaurant,
late hours;
we engaged
in love making,
uncaring, dismissing.

Lips kiss her neck,
touch, brush, wet,
sensual; I move my hand
along her thigh;
watch her eyes open wide,
her mouth forming
a small O and moving
into harbour the small O
becomes more oval
as if to swallow whole.

I loved the Chopin
Abela whispers
such a soft touch.

Mmm,
I say,
so good, so much.

She's in love with love.
She loves love’s weblike
Entanglements, its
Holds, its deep woven

Intricacies. She
Loves the waiting for
Him, the hour to come,
The time to tick fast

Away until his
Return, the sight of
Him once more, the scent,
The feel, the hold. She’s

In love with his hot
Embraces, kisses,
Touches, exchanges
Of juices, love filled

Words and gestures and
The unfolding of
Love and love’s fond tale.
She loves the place in

Bed where he may lay,
The pillow where his
Head shall be, the bed’s
Impressions where his

Body’s humanness
Laid the flesh and bones
And dreams and ***. She
Loves the unfolding

Unspokenness of
That hour, those still
Moments, that just them
Laying there, just them

Embracing, that just
Sensing him being,
Him breathing, him just
Being him, being

There waking, sleeping.
She loves by love’s deep
Hold, by love’s profound
Entanglements. She

Wants him there always,
Always in each time’s
Ticking of the clock,
The two hands of time’s

Turning, she wants his
Fingers to explore,
To delve, to stroke, to
Run across her lips

Before a kiss. She’s
in love with love of
Him. She remembers
The first lip to lip,

The first time making
Love, the first row, the
First return. She now
Recalls his last words,

His final gaze, the
Back of him leaving,
The turning of his
Head. She’s in love with

Him even after
Death, following his
Dyingness, despite
Him long being dead.

So long sucker
she called out
but the guy had

gone long before
her words would
have reached him

but still she had
to try each punter
who came by and

she hoped would
hire her for the
quickie which kept

her fed and watered
and the roof over
her head and she

was reminded of
that young guy she
once stopped in the

city by the bridge
and asked Have you
got the time kid?

and the kid looked
at his watch and said
It’s quarter past two

and looked at her so
innocently his hand
on his coat sleeve

the watch on his
wrist so cheap a
thing bought from

some street schmuck
and all she asked
was a simple question

in a roundabout way
do you want to ****?

Shlomit (whom most
of the boys disliked)
stood in the playground
holding one end of the

skipping rope while another
girl held the other end as
another skipped. Her wire
rimmed spectacles stayed

in place as she moved, her
holey cardigan had seen
better days, her grey dress
had been handed down so

often that it shone like steel.
Naaman stood and watched
her from the steps leading
down to the playground. She

sometimes smelt of dampness
as if she’d been left out in the
rain and brought in to dry over
a dull fire. He looked at her dark

hair held in place with hairgrips,
the hair band of a dark blue
remained unmoved by her motions.
Some girl pushed her away from

the end of the skipping rope and
she walked to the wall and stared.
That seemed unfair, Naaman said,
you were doing your bit ok. Shlomit

looked at him with her nervous eyes.
They always do that, she said; never
let me play for long. He stood beside
her; he could smell dampness mixed

with peppermint. Maybe you’re too
good for them, he said. She smiled and
pushed the hair band with her fingers.
Her nails had been chewed unevenly,

he noted, her fingers were ink stained.
Would you like a wine gum? he asked.
He held out a bag of wine gum sweets.
She put her fingers into the bag and

took one and put it in her mouth.
Thank you, she mouthed, her finger
pushing the sweet further in. Naaman
walked with her up the steps that led

up from the small playground and stood
on the bombed ground and looked down.
There used to be a house where the
playground is now, he said, it got

bombed out. The playground was
once the cellar. Oh, she said, I didn’t
realise that. The bombs missed the
school, shame, he said, smiling. Daddy

said I ought not talk with boys, she said,
looking at Naaman then quickly around
her. Why’s that? he asked. She looked
at her fingers, the thumbs moving over

each other. He said boys were rude and
mischievous, she said. I guess some are,
Naaman said. She looked at him. You
seem all right, she said. But you are still

a boy and he might find out I talked to you
and then there would be trouble. How
would he find out here in the playground?
Naaman asked. Someone might tell from

here that saw me, she said anxiously.
Last time someone told him he beat me,
she added quietly. She pushed her hands
into her cardigan pockets. Best go, she said.

I like you, Naaman said, you remind me of a
picture I saw of a girl standing beside Jesus
in that Bible in the school library. Do I? she
said, did she have wire-rimmed glasses?

No, Naaman said, but she had a pretty face
like yours. She laughed and took her hands
from her pockets. He saw two reflections of
himself in the glass of her spectacles behind

which her own eyes gazed out. Maybe it was
me, she said playfully. Oh, yes, he said, taking
her thin ink stained fingers in his, no doubt.

As you took
old Mr Wheale
to the lavatory

and sat
and watched
he didn’t fall

or slide
you recalled
the night before

lying in Mrs Tuba’s bed
the curtains drawn
against the night

the street lamps
shining through
the bed soft and wide

and she turning up
the Mahler 5th
and you thinking

of the parish priest
and what he’d say
if he could have seen you

there smoking
naked and bare
the book you’d bought

on the side
the Solzhenitsyn
gulag book

she wanted to read
the dresser
and chest of drawers

and photos
on the side
nearly done

Mr Wheale said
breaking through
your thoughts

his cataract eyes
staring into space
and you remembered

Mrs Tuba coming in
the room
dressed in her pink

dressing gown
open down the middle
her ******* inviting

her big blues eyes
smiling
turned up

the Mahler
she said
bought these two whiskies

and she laid them
on the side
and climbed

into her bed
I’m done
Mr  Wheale said

and so you did
what was needed
and helped him dress

and on his way
his metal frame walker
shuffled along

the passageway
the music of Mahler‘s 5th
a memory

Mrs Tuba
gone to sleep now
you guessed

the whiskies drunk
the *** forgot
a new day entered

the window on your right
swift it had gone
that ****** night.

Some days after school
having slipped by her mother’s vision

she met you in the back woods
by the pool

and you were there
in the your tee shirt and jeans

and she stood there
for a moment

in her blouse and skirt
and you stared at each other

taking in the beauty
you saw there

enjoying the moment
the big now

shutting out the bird song
the rabbits by the trees

the far off sound of traffic
and she broke out and said

had a job get by her scanner eyes
had to slip out

before she gave out the chores
and she came over to you

standing there
and stood real close

so that you could sense her body
just about touching yours

her perfume teasing
your nostrils

stirring your body
and then she closed her eyes

and kissed your lips
and it was like

a first day of creation
as if God had said

there you go
feel the love

sense the glow
and you did

and it seemed an eternity
but was merely minutes

glued and touched
and wet and warm

then you sensed
the rain coming

and distant storm
and then the raindrops

hit the pool like small bullets
and grabbing her hand

you ran through the trees
away from the pool

carrying the memory of a kiss
and a bird’s lone call.

Some days,
my son,
I think I'm getting

to see some kind
of horizon
without you,

but then it all
comes crashing down
and the scene's

the same,
the big hole
where you were,

the horizon
still out of reach
to any real sense,  

and you,
you the one
who was always there,

no longer,
least not
in this sphere,

not here.
I still talk to you
of course,

knowing you're around,
invisible to me,
but shaking your head

if I put on
a rock CD,
thinking the old guy

still has it,
despite the aching limbs.
I know you're around,
my son, but some days,
the light and life dims.

They would
have shared that-

the hands
embracing his-

she looked away,
her eyes full

as water basins.
He let his lips

brush against
her *****,

soft as peaches.
I closed the book,

let the air
pushed from pages,

kiss my brow.
He loved her

to a sea depth;
she loved him,

too,
some how.

Some nights, my son,
I stare into the dark,
replaying those last scenes
by your hospital bed,
over and over,
inside my head,
like a gum shoe detective
searching through the debris
of memories for clues
to a hideous crime.

Some nights though,
I sleep right through,
looking in my dreams
for images of you.
What else
can a father do?

Some nights are sleepless
to a great degree,
twisting and turning
like a boat at sea,
rising up and sitting
in another place,
putting together,
like a jigsaw,
piece by piece
your smiling face.

Some nights
I want to drift away
and be where you are,
to hold and talk again,
whether near or far,
or just to sit and stare
and just be pleased
to see you and be there.

Some nights, my son,
I lay awake
waiting for the new dawn
and light to break,
recalling to mind
your young days,
the mischievous boy,
the teasing little brother,
the young Sky-walker,
the adventure lover.

Some times on the odd night,
I just get up
and sit and write,
tap in the words,
trying to pin it all down,
trying to get through
the dark waters
and not slip off
into the dark depths
and drown.

And Baruch met Yehudit
by the pond
through the woodland
over a few fences

and through fields of cattle
avoiding cow pats
the morning air warm
and she waiting there

gazing at the pond
at the ducks
swimming there
birds flying across

the water's skin
the trees in full leaf
and she turned
when she heard him coming

thought you might not come
she said
she was wearing
an old green skirt

and white blouse
and her brown hair
was held in place
by a green band

I said I'd come
he said
yes I know
but people sometimes

let you down
she said
he stood beside her
at the water's edge

have a problem getting out?
he asked
a bit
she said

Mother insisted on me
doing this and that
and where
are you going anyway?

she asked after
I did the chores
to see Baruch I replied
oh him my mother said

she sat down
on the grass
and he sat next to her
she sat cross legged

he sat with his legs
out straight
looking
at his old shoes

not impressed by me then?
he said
not impressed
with any male

she said
except her sons
and even they
have to meet

her standards
nice legs
Baruch said
pointing to her thighs

showing
where her skirt rode up
she pulled it over
her knees

you don't help your case
she said smiling
she watched as a swan
landed on the water

and swam as if it
owned the pond
beautiful isn't it?
she said

almost like you
he said
I'm being serious
she said

so am I
he replied
she didn't stop
you coming though

he added
it was close
I had to promise
not to get into mischief

she said
o that's messed up
our day then
he said smiling

she looked at the trees
above her head
I think someone
told her

about seeing us here
she said
what just sitting here
watching ducks?

maybe not just sitting
she said looking at him
her eyes light blue
in the sunlight

had that
draw me in
and see Heaven look
about them

her lips parted
the tip of tongue
ah then
he said

maybe
she said
not impressed?
he said

no don't think she was
who saw us?
God knows
she said

probably does
but He won't tell
Baruch said
you shouldn't blaspheme

she said
he kissed her lips
as she spoke
the words being swallowed

and she closed her eyes
and lips kissed lips
and the swan flew off
the wings breaking

the still air
but they still kissed
as if in someone's Heaven
there.

Janice of red beret fame
with fair hair
to her shoulders
and dressed slightly better

than the rest
of there about
invited you
(with your mother’s

permission
and her gran’s invitation)
to tea after school
in the upstairs apartment

not far away
what did you want
for eats and drink?
Janice asked

bread and jam
you replied
bread and jam?
she repeated

as if you’d asked
for caviar on toast
no you must
have more than that

she said
Gran what’s for eats?
and her gran
came into the lounge

where the cosy furniture
was set out in place
neat and tidy
with a canary

in a cage
on a stand
and her gran related
a list of things

you could have
far exceeding
what you usually
had at home

cheese and cress
sandwiches
you said
please added on

as an afterthought
and Janice
had the same
to be like you

and her gran went off
and Janice said
she likes you
says you have more breeding

than some round here
o
you said
thanks

and you pushed
your hand
through your hair
and pulled

your school jumper
in place
and tightened
the tie

we’re going
to the fairground Saturday
will you come too?
you hesitated

and took in
her fair hair
and her fine features
and prim gaze

I’ll have to see
what my mum says
you uttered
o she won’t mind

Gran’s already
mentioned it I think
Janice said
well yes then

you said
I’d like that
she smiled
and spoke

of learning French
at school
and the teacher
who took her

for that and history
she’s a dear
and positively a beauty
I’ve got Ashdown

and she’s plump
and has an ****
like a hippo
you said

Janice choked
and sputtered
with laughter
all at the same time

that’s so rude
she said
putting her small hand
to her mouth

gosh don’t let Gran
hear to speak like that
or you’ll be off
her good boy list

as swift as lightening
you sat bemused
when her gran came in
with two plates

of sandwiches
what’s so funny?
she asked
putting the plates

on the table
o nothing much
Janice said
Benedict told me

a little joke
o well as long
as it wasn’t rude
Gran said

o no
Janice said
and looked at you
o no

you muttered
just a innocent joke
from school
her gran went off

to get the drinks
if Gran heard me
say thinks like that
she’d tan my backside

and no mistake
Janice took a bite
of her sandwich
and you ate yours

listening to the canary
sing and the bell it
rung inside the cage
and her gran singing

from the kitchen
in a soprano voice
and you took in
Janice’s light blue eyes

wherein you thought
but did not say
some good part
of beauty lies.

The black robed monk
walks from the woods
by the abbey

carrying two
dead rabbits,
their head lolling

by his leg.
I wash the pots
and pans

in the abbey kitchen
with soapy water;
I recall her

biting into my neck,
her hands investigating
my fellow,

her fingers
like bird's beaks
reaching for

a morning worm.
The French monk
sits in

the choir stall
in the abbey church
alone with his God

muttering in Latin
some recent sin.

Abela sits on the balcony
she likes the sun
the way the sun
glows her skin

I am inside
reading my book
sipping my wine

why don't you come outside
on the balcony
and feel the sun?
she says

I turn a page
sip more wine
I prefer the shade
the coolness

still reading that book?

I like books

but that book?
What's it about?

It's a philosophy book

I’m out here
on this balcony
on holiday
getting some sun
and you are inside
reading a ****
philosophy book?

It's relaxing

you can read
on a rainy day
come get some sun

I look at her
out on the balcony
in her bikini
her legs crossed
her dark glasses
like  insect eyes

I hate sitting
in the sun
it gives me a headache
and I feel it
a waste of time
I say

she looks towards me
we spent yesterday
walking around old ruins
that was a waste of time
she says

that was good
I say

old bricks
old windows
old relics?
she says
almost
in a sing song voice

I look at the hotel room wall
some water colour painting
hangs there
dull as dirt

I sip my wine
and close the book
and go lay
on the double bed
shoes off
shirt open at the neck
thinking of *** of course
thinking of her
laying there
as had
the night just gone

and she outside
singing some
**** love song.

Abir walked across the playground
with hands in his pockets
chewing gum
head slightly

to one side
where the heck
is Simcha?
Abir said

he said
he'd be in today?
maybe he's ill
I said

giving his cousin one
more like
Abir said
he doesn't like her

that much
I said
like her much or not
he'd poke her one

if he could
I frowned
what's the frown for?
Abir asked

didn't he bring in
that magazine into school
with those naked women?
didn't he have a pair

of his cousin's *******
in his pocket last month?
I watched Abir
spit the gum into a bin

in one shot
his tongue
running over his lips
loads of boys

get hold
of those magazines
with naked dames
just a learning curve

I said
and those *******
of his cousin
were put there by mistake

he thought
it was his handkerchief
I said
O come on Benny

the kid's a *** fiend
I wouldn't trust him
with my sister
Abir said

you haven't got a sister
I said
well if I had
I wouldn't trust him

with her
Abir said
we stood by a wall
hands in pockets

ABIR
Simcha called
from across
the playground

ABIR
well look you’s turned up?
Abir said
Simcha raced over to us

his blonde hair
in a mess
his school tie loose
about his neck

how are you doing?
Abir asked
greeting Simcha
with a smile

O the trouble
I've had this morning
that cousin of mine
hours in the bathroom

never known anyone
spend so much time
in a bathroom
he said

that's girls for you
Abir said
they spend more time
in a day in there

than we do
in a year
I looked at Simcha
there was a love bite

on his neck
beneath his left ear.

Let me take you out to lunch
Mrs Bryce said
(she was a middle aged dame
old enough to be his aunt)

o.k if you like
he said
but her friend Lilly
didn't like the idea

(some jealousy
of the lesbian kind
maybe he later thought)
and was quite reserved

as they went to
the posh upstairs restaurant
he one side
and they opposite

Lilly giving him
the cool stare
her pinched mouth
wrinkled forehead

Mrs Bryce studied
the menu
her glasses on
her eyes focused

what you having Lilly?
she asked
and Lilly scanned
her menu and picked out

something in French
and then she asked him
and he said
o the stew will do

and the waitress came
and took their orders
and went off
wagging her behind

which he noticed
but they didn't
being that part
sexually blind

and then came
the small talk
the casual chat
or this and that

and Lilly straight faced
thin lipped
and icy eyes stare
but he knew

what Lilly didn't
she had no idea
about the ***
or how the middle aged

dame had it still
could still turn on the fire
could **** off his desire
but Mrs Bryce

never said a word
not a hint
she wore her middle age
and middle class morals

very well
a mask of gentility
or cultured good humour
good manners on show

but he knew
she was hot
and could go
(her husband

some middle aged guy
with sourness
and boredness
in each greying eye)

and she sat there
giving it the small talk
sipping the wine
one finger raised

her eyes pure
as cut glass
behind the specs
and Lilly listened

in soft admiration
wanting to be nearer
breathing in
Mrs Bryce's scent

dreaming of the two of them
doing whatever in
some bedroom spent
but he had the real

not a dream
and as he watched
Mrs Bryce sipping
her wine

thin lips
on thin glass
he remembered her
that time lying there

bright eyes
greying but dyed hair
he bringing her
to a seventh heaven

of yes and yes
and more
and Lilly sour faced
sitting and listening

to the small talk
but wanting
something other
for sure.

Sometimes,
my son,
I just want
to be numb;
I want to wake
to bird song
and fresh morning air,
not human voice,
not the distant traffic's hum.

Sometimes,
my son,
I want the numbness
to envelope me,
to swallow me whole,
to keep out
the hurt and pain,
the breaking up
of heart
and ache of head,
pretending
you're not dead.

The numbness,
my son,
how it seems
to put things
in perspective,
allows the past
to dissolve
into a vague series
of images,
hoping to be lost,
forgetting the cost.

Sometimes, Ole,
I want to be numb,
need the feelings to go,
the pain to ease,
the last words
to freeze.

Only the drugged
sleep aids,
my son,
only the dreamless sleep
like sister death,
helps me
for a few hours
to unwind
the inner clock's
wound up spring.

Sometimes,
my son,
the drugs don't work,
the pain remains,
and I don't want the drink
to take hold again
to numb the pain.

Sometimes,
my son,
I just want
a numbness to ease,
the words be
temporally forgotten,
the visions seen,
packed away
for another day,
when I feel stronger,
when the loss of you,
hurts less(if ever),
and the night to day
questions come less
or do so no longer.

Some days,
my son,
I just want
to be numb.

Jeanette looked
back at me in class
I was at the back
with Reynard

focusing
on the history lesson
as best we could
the text books open

before us
some colour picture
of a cave man
with a spear

and dressed in fur
and some cave girl
standing beside
looking **** ugly

Reynard said
in whispered breath
Jeanette’s eyes
were focused on me

dark looking
her hair long
and dark
thin hands

and frame
she looked away again
her narrow shoulders
full to view

the teacher
was chalking words
upon the board
sentence

after sentence
in a measured script
I thought about
the quick peck

on Jeanette's cheek
at lunch recess
just so
quick in and out

before she had time
to say or breathe
or feel the affects
to make her swoon

or sick or both
I scribbled
on the exercise page  
in untidy scrawl

Reynard muttering
comments
about the cave girl's ****
about hair

under her arms
but I was focused
on Jeanette’s line
of curve

the way her
narrow waist
went in and out
so narrow

I’d get my arms
all about
dark hair
on her shoulders

smooth
well brushed
or combed
the head

at an angle
as if to scrutinize
the writing
on the board

take in the words
and sense
and write it down
in her (I imagined

far finer hand
than mine
going by the smooth
movement

of her fingers and pen)
maybe I could
kiss her again
I thought

some place
some when.

Her breath smelt of peppermints
she leaned over you
on Mr Spark’s bed
where she’d pinned you

after creeping into the room
as you made his bed
her blue eyes
peered into yours

I want you
take me to cinema
she said sultrily
you felt her ****

pressing
into your white shirt
her hands either side
of your head

I’m kind of busy Sonia
you said
you can spare time
take me to cinema

she stated
you tried to move
but she’d
pinned you well

maybe at the end
of the week
you said
you say that

but you could be lying
she breathed
peppermint
invade your nose

her red lipsticked lips
opened and closed
I promise you I will
you said

your body
beginning to numb
you promise?
yes I promise

she lifted up a little
so you could breathe
if you lie to me
I will scream

and say you throw me
on bed for ***
she said
but I didn’t

you said
I know and you know
but who they believe?
she uttered softly

you tried to ease her off
but she pushed down harder
promise me?
yes

you said
what we go see?
whatever you like
she smiled

small white teeth
showed
anything I want?
yes anything

she moved off
of you and sat
on the edge
of the bed

as you got off the bed
and brushed down
your white coat
and straightened

your red tie
and smoothed down
the bedcover
that’d become creased

she sat looking at you
her blonde hair
pinned back
with hair grips

one leg crossed
over the other
a foot dangling
the black shoe

rising and falling
where you take me?
the Ritz cinema
there’s a good film on

you said
is *** film?
no war film
you muttered

looking at her
wondering
if you could make
the door before

she jumped you again
war film?
she said
is good?

is *** in it?
I guess so
you said
watching her foot

dangling up and down
good
she said
getting off the bed

we go then
at end of week?
yes
you said

and she kissed
your lips
with her bruising lips
of bright red.

Sonia closed
the door
behind her
and leaned

against it
you go out
with me?
she asked

her Polish/English
grated on your ears
look I can’t
I have other

things to do
you said
running a hand
to smooth

Mr Dubbin’s bed
she looked around
the room
and said

what if someone
come in
and see you
here with me?

what if they think
you been having me?
but it wouldn’t
be true

you said
standing up
and moving away
from the bed

you know that
and I know it
but others
they do not

she said
her voice
crisp and cool
what if I undo

my uniform
and show my *******
and say you did it?
you blushed

at the thought
look
just leave me be
you said

she stood firm
against the door
her hands
on the lapels

of her uniform
you could say yes
she said
you could take me

out to cinema
and then
it would be good
huh?

you watched
as she undid
one button
at a time

you watched
her fingers undo
each button
with deliberate

slowness
if I say yes
you’ll stop this folly?
you asked

if you mean it
I will walk
from the door
and we can leave

and I do up
the buttons
before others see
she stared at you

her pale blue eyes
on you
her lips parted
just so

you could see
her small white teeth
where do you want to go?
you asked

cinema is good
she said
in the dark
we can kiss yes?

the buttons
were undone
to reveal
her compacted ****

ok ok
you said
the cinema
it is promise?

she said coolly
you make promise
and keep?
yes I make promise

and keep
you repeated
she began to do up
the buttons

her eyes
looking at you
and she smiled
and said

good boy
we have fun no?
you breathed out
the held in breath

sweat dampened
the back
of your shirt
and trouser legs

but if
you do not
show up
she said

brushing her uniform
I’ll say you make love
to me on this
Mr Dubbin’s bed

and I make bed
look all untidy
and they believe
me yes?  

I’ll be there
trust me
you said
just let me go

I need to get
the other beds
made before lunch
she moved aside

and opened the door
her perfume
filtering your nose
off you go

she said
and be good
you went off
to make the beds

and show up
that night
as she knew
you would.

Some days
it seems
so unreal-

your demise-

as if it
hadn't happened
at all,

was just some
weird dream
that repeats
night after night

and that when
you awake
every thing's all right;

but it's no dream-
a nightmare maybe-

because it's real-
your demise-

I saw it all
before my eyes

my son-

the bright lights
within you

going out
one by one.

I can't now
recall your
first spoken

words to me
probably
mummy or

mum or words
similar
but I can

remember
your last words
that you spoke

back to me
-that Sunday
as I left

that useless
hospital-
you said so

softly -your
breathing bad-
all right or

maybe or
was Ok
after I

said I'd see
you on the
next morning

I didn't
know those would
be your last

spoken words
on parting
2 hours

after that
your heart stopped
the first time

and even
though they got
it going

on the beat
for a while
you never

spoke your words
anymore
just silence

memories
flying round
like dark birds.

Sonya loved Paris
loved the cafés
the streets
the Tower

the people
the ideas
the artists  
and we stood on a bridge

looking
at the river below
she dressed
in that pink dress

with patterns
her blonde hair
in a pony tail
her blue eyes

drinking in
the scene  
we'd just been
to the art gallery

and studied
the Impressionist painters
Monet is my favourite
she said

I could drink him in
all day
the way he paints
soothes me

and at the same time
stirs me up
I was dressed
in pink flared trousers

and white
open necked shirt
with the sleeves
rolled up

I like Van Gogh best
I said
his passion touches me
we moved off the bridge

looking for a café
for a coffee
Vincent drove himself mad
with his search

for truth
she said
too uptight for me
too deep and dark

we found a café
and sat outside
and ordered two coffees
we lit cigarettes

and smoked
and talked more
she about Kierkegaard
the philosopher

and Either/Or
I sat watching her
taking in her hair
the way

she moved her jaw
as she talked
the fine lips
her eyes

that Vincent
would have loved
and how
the night before

we lay in bed
looking out the open window
at the Parisian sky
and the moon

and us and ***
and wanted then
to be back there
all too soon.

Sonya was in a mood
because it was raining
and we were in Paris

the hotel room
looked out
on the Parisian streets
wet and shiny
people passing by

she at the window moody
I on the bed
reading Dostoevsky

we should be out there
she said

well go out there
I said

it's wet
my hair will look terrible
why does it rain
while we're here
on holiday?

maybe the rain didn't know
we were on holiday

funny
she said sulkily

I glanced over at her
standing there
by the open window
arms folded
her red shorts
and pink top
long legs

we can go out
once it stops

I want to go out now
she turned
and stared at me
how can you read a book
at a time like this?
and a Russian book too

it's about a guy
who murders
a couple of women
I said

and I’m supposed to care?
she looked at the streets again
hissing at the rain

the book takes you
right there
makes you feel
like you witnessed
the murders
like some snoop

**** the rain
she said

when I read
Solzhenitsyn's book
about a day
in a labour camp
in Russian's cold
and snow and such
I felt I was actually there
I said

she leaned out the window
and put one
of her hands out
think it's stopping

I felt I knew
the main character
in the novel
like an old friend

I want to go out now
she said

I closed the book
and sat
on the side of the bed

she came away
from the window
arms still folded
eyes blue and stern
and hair fixed
into a blonde
pony tail

we had good ***
the night before
but that's
another tale.

Sonya liked the Eiffel Tower,
the art galleries,
the Arc de Triomphe.

We met in a café
in a back street of Paris,
coffee, small cream cakes,
she smoking
her French cigarettes.

You have regrets?
She asked.

Most of us do,
I said.

When my father died
I regret things
I didn't say to him,
she said,
always the regrets,
and when Mother go
and leave,
I thought it was
because of me,
I regret not trying
to find her
when I was older,
she added.

I sipped the coffee,
taking in her blonde
pulled-back-in-a-tight-pony-tail hair,
her red lips,
opening and closing with words.

Regrets are useless things,
I said,
you can do nothing with them,
they change nothing,
don't make one
feel better, only worse.

She looked at me,
her steely blue eyes
sharp as blades.

One cannot choose
to regret or not,
it is there, like scar,
one cannot push out,
she said.

I regret having regrets,
I said,
if I counted up all my regrets
and could turn them
into coins I’d be a rich guy.

She inhaled on her cigarette;
her fingers were browning
where she held
the cigarette so often.

I regret my first boyfriend,
she said,
he wanted *** all the time,
like animal, always
the wanting *** *** ***.

I looked at the waitress
passing by the table,
tight black dress,
white apron
tight about her waist,
nice legs.

Yes, that can be a problem
I guess,
I said,
awkward on dates;
when or do you
get down to ***
on the second date
or third or not at all?

She sipped her coffee,
looked at me,
blue eyes to sink in.

Not have ***,
she said,
until both are ready,
until both agree
time is right.

I noted the waitress
pass by again.

Nice behind,
I thought.

Regrets,
Sonya said,
always there,
like sin,
once it bite into soul
hard to get out.

Yes, I guess so,
I said,
I've been in
the confessional more times
than a *****
drops her draws.

She flushed, looked away.
I put a hand
to my lips;
the things(regretted),
I thought,
I say.

Sonya posed
by the Eiffel Tower

I had my box
Brownie Cresta camera
I took a photo or two
trying to get her in focus
bring in the Tower
behind her

she smiled
and put her hands
on her hips
as dames do

her blonde hair
was bunched
behind her
in a ponytail
her face looked drawn

afterwards we went
for a coffee
at some bar
down by the Seine

and she sat there
with one leg
over the other
the foot dangling

I sat opposite
******* through
the French money
looking at the notes

you should read
Kierkegaard
she said
leave Nietzsche
to the Germans

I prefer Nietzsche
he's more realistic
I said

Kierkegaard
is more religious
and more positive
she said

the waiter came
and we ordered our coffees
and he went off

Kierkegaard
is Danish like me
she said

not so good looking though
I said
and he's been dead
sometime

she lit up a cigarette
and offered me one
I took and lit up
and inhaled

there's something
about Paris
I like
the atmosphere
the way these people
just live here
all this history
all the art
I said
as I exhaled smoke

cultural capital
of the world
she said

I listened
as she went on
about this artist
and that
and who did what
and when

as she spoke
the waiter returned
with our coffees
and went off again

I sipped mine
remembering her
coming out
of the bath
the night before
like some Venus
all stark and bare
shaking her head
letting loose
the water
from her long
blonde hair.

Sonya sleeps
I watch her
laying there

beside her
the moonlight
highlights her

pale features
we'd made love
more than once

now she sleeps
solo dreams
I'm awake

watching her
wondering
whom she loved

before me
she doesn't
speak of one

in her past
maybe I'm
the first one

whose made love
to this dame
maybe not

just unknown
just out there
another

in his arms
but I'm here
watching her

as she sleeps
the hot ***
simmering

on my skin
as she dreams
her hot ***

deep within.

Sonya spoke
of Kierkegaard.
I sat enthralled,
not by the Danish philosopher

or his philosophy,
but by her,
the way she sat
outside the Parisian café,

her long blonde hair,
her blues eyes
like deep fires,
awaking

my ****** desires,
the way she waved
her slim hand.
She was eating

her second croissant.
I liked the way
she licked
her fingers after,

each one
at least twice,
as if they
were small penises

waiting in turn
to be done,
one by one.  
She sipped her coffee,

licked her lips.
I studied
her small ****,
firm and tight,

waiting to be touched
or ******.
She spoke
of Kierkgeaard's books,

of the leap of faith.
I thought of her
secret garden
waiting to be dug

and ******.
I sipped coffee,
held it on my tongue,
around my mouth,

savouring it all,
the taste,
the warmth,
the slight bitterness,

sweetness,
each in turn.
She spoke of
Fear and Trembling,

Either/Or,
The Sickness Unto Death,
and other books
he'd written,

that Kierkegaard guy,
while I sat there,
drinking her all in,
hair,

eyes,
**** and hands
and fingers
licking and *******,

while sat dreaming
of bed and her
and digging
and *******.

We had been
to the Impressionist gallery
in Paris
been to the Tower
seen the views
had coffees
and seen street artists
and Sonya was wanting
to see an American film
at a cinema with sub-titles

I’m not keen
I said

why not?

I can see it
once back in the UK
without having to read script
on the screen
at the same time
watch the action
anyway seeing Clint Eastwood
speaking French
is off putting

she pulled a face
and went sat down
on a seat of some café
and I sat next to her

you always have to spoil things
she said
reading the menu
it's in French
she said

we're in France

so how am I to know
what to order?

point at it
and ask what it is

she looked at me
with her icy-blue eyes
she tossed back hair
from her face

I went with you
to the art gallery
she said
to see all those boring Impressionists
but you can't go with me
to see Clint

a waiter came up to us
and she asked him
if we could
have two coffees with cream
he nodded and smiled at her
and went off

he's ****

I didn't notice

had lovely eyes
dark and deep

he's a waiter and French
I said

I can imagine him
beside me in bed
breathing on me
with his breath

oniony and garlicky

she tapped my hand
jealous is what you are
she said

I don't want him
you do
I said

I didn't say I wanted him
I said I could
imagine him in my bed
she muttered

she looked around her
at the other tables

I looked at her profile
the curve of neck
the run of her jawline
her ear visible
through her blonde hair
momentarily
I felt like a vampire
wanting to sink
my teeth
into the soft flesh
of her neck
and **** her sexily

she looked back at me
you owe me
she said
having to go
to that boring art place

ok
I said
what do you want?

I want to see the film
with Clint Eastwood

ok
I said
thinking of the bed
and her
and do what I could
if she would.

I sat opposite Sophia
in the staff room

she crossed her legs
looked at me
smiled
her eyes twinkling

O I know
I thought
I know what this
is all about

but the others
in the staff room
didn't know
(thank God)
they chatted
amongst themselves
as women do
(I was the only male
in the nursing home)

but Sophia had that look
that look that said
I nearly had you
in that old guy's
bed upstairs
just now
nearly kurwa
as she
would have said

I sipped my tea
and ate the cake
cook had left

it had been
a near thing
the way Sophia
had thrown me
on the bed
with all her
Polish determination

I had to struggle
(yes struggle-
what was wrong
with me?)
off the bed

you not like me?
she said

course I do
but not here
not now
I had said

she uncrossed
her legs
then crossed
them again slowly
wanting me to look

but I looked
at the teapot
cheap
battered
steam pouring
from the spout

you want more?
Sophia said
across the room
more tea?

I shook my head
and all looked
at her
then at me.

Sophia was out of luck
if she thought Benedict
was going to fall for that
that mid morning ****

and on
old Mr Atkinson's bed
(how he liked
his Wagner)

creeping up
on him like that
grabbing him
around the waist

and pushing him
to the bed
and saying
O come on

just a quickie for me
(Polish accent
not shown here)
no no

he said
not here and now
I’ve jobs to do
baths to attend to

old men
to get ready
and she lay over him
spread out on him

her bulging *******
kind of pinning him down
but it is my birthday
she said

it is good to do
the unexpected
now and then
her breath smelt

of peppermint
her body
eased on him deeper
he kept his hands

away from her
at his sides
best he could
all temptations

held in check
you can do
what you like
she said

good then
let me go
and I’ll go run
some baths

he said
anyway
it's near morning
coffee break

I need my fill
of coffee
you could take me here
she said

from the front or rear
no no
he said
trying to get off

the bed
his hands attempting
to push her off
touching her body

soft and supple
her breast touched
accidentally
what if I scream out

and say you tried
to have me?
she said
go ahead

he said
they know me
they know
you're always after me

I’ll say you tried
to have me here
on Mr Atkinson's bed
they believe me

she said
I'm the female
go ahead then
scream off your head

he said
but she moved off of him
and arranged
her clothes tidily

pushed her hair
into shape
and said
I’ll have you next time

Benny boy
next time
we have it quick
and on some other bed

and he rearranged
his shirt and tie
and watched
as she walked off

down the passageway
her fine behind
giving it
that **** sway.

Sophie stands
at the top
of the stairs

her blue thin
uniform
unbuttoned

revealing
a white top
and blue jeans

she waits there
listening
for voices

a duster
in her hand
pretending
to polish
the hand rail

where is he?
she wonders

she pushes
her fingers
through her hair
long and blonde

in the lounge
of the home
for old folk
I'm waiting
while Mr
Mash sits down

OK George?

yes I’m fine
he replies

so I go
up the stairs
to make beds
before baths

Sophie hides
by a wall
as I pass

got you now
she utters
behind me
slipping her
Polish hands
quickly round
my trim waist
nibbling
my right ear

not right here
I tell her
not right now

she nibbles
even more

Sophie go
I’ve got work
to do now
beds to make

I help you
she suggests
make the beds
try them out
we have ***

I remove
her small hands
from my waist

Matron could
come along
and see us
I tell her

she not come
Sophie says
she busy
with others

holding her
narrow wrists
for safety
my safety
I look at
her ice blue
open eyes

go polish
some hand rail
wash a floor
I suggest

we have ***
on a bed
she mumbles
which bed best?

I don't know
none of them
I tell her

I release
her thin wrists

she stands there
watching me
her blue eyes
searching me

she puts her
hands on her
narrow waist
her tight ****
bulging out

go Sophie
do some work
I suggest

she just stares

I go off
to the men's
corridor
to make beds
leaving her
behind me

I go in
to Bob's room
smell of soap
and *****
windows shut
curtains drawn

I draw back
the curtains
and open up
the window
let air in
and town sounds
and traffic

I make up
and tidy
old Bob's bed

I help you?
Sophie asks

I turn round
and she's there
by the door

we make bed
then we ****?

no such luck
I tell her
beds to make
baths to do
take the men
to the loo

you bathe me?
Sophie asks
together
be quicker

I smooth down
old Bob's bed
pump pillows

she watches
from the door

I need ***
she whispers
we do it
on Bob's bed?

got to go
empty this
bedside pan
I tell her
holding a
commode pan

she moves back
from the door
lets me pass

***** smell
filters out

it stinky
she tells me
old men stink
make me sick

best go then
I tell her
waving the
commode pan
towards her

she goes off
in a huff
her fine ****
swaying fast
as she's off
and away

I return
to my work
safe at least
for an hour
or a day.

It was near Christmas time
and you went along
to see old Pete
who lived alone

in a two up
two down house
not far
from where you lived

he was about 96 or so
and still went
to mass each day
and did the collection

at mass on Sundays
dressed in his best
suit and tie
you knocked

on his door
and after a while
he opened the door
come in

he said
and you followed him
into the main room
where he had a fire going

and sat
in an old armchair
sit down
he said

so you sat
on a chair
beside him
there was a cat

on the mat
in front
of the fireplace
sleeping

want a whisky?
sure
you said
( you used to drink

back then)
the bottle's
in the sideboard
over there

there's a glass
in the kitchen
so you went
to the kitchen

and took a glass
from the draining board
and took the bottle
out of the sideboard

pour yourself a drink
he said
what about you?
you asked

can't drink
I'm on too many pills
ok
you said

and poured
a couple of fingers worth
more than that
he said

what are you
some kind of woman?
so you poured
half the glass

and put the bottle
on the small table
beside you
Pete sipped

his milky tea
well here's to Christmas
he said
and raised

his mug of tea
you raised your glass
and said
here's to you

and you sipped your drinks
he talked of his wife
who had died
some years before

he spoke of his son
(without much affection)
and his grandson
whom he seemed

to speak well of
and his grandson's wife
who he said
was quite pretty

but not as beautiful
as my wife
Pete said
she was one

in a million
he went quiet
he sipped his tea
and you sipped

your whisky
he talked about
his master builder days
when he worked long hours

and over six days
and saved money
where and when
he could

he became silent
my son is always
on the want
he knows

I have money
and he is always
asking
for this and that

he drained
his mug of tea
you drained
your glass of whisky

want another?
he asked
I must be going
you said

have another first
he said
so you poured
more whisky

into the glass
( half a glass again
he having insisted)
and he talked

of the women he knew
and how he teased them
and flirted with them
and made them laugh

you know those old dears
like to be flirted with it
makes them
feel young again

he said
when they laugh
you can see the light
flash in their old grey eyes

and their dead dugs
tremble with memories
and he laughed
and drank

from a bottle
of mineral water
by his armchair
he sat gazing

into the fire
you sat draining
the whisky
from the glass

the room smelt
of cooking meat
and wet cat
and you said

look Pete I best go
the wife will wonder
where I've gone
OK

he said
and so you washed
the glass in the sink
and put the bottle away

in the sideboard
and patted his shoulder
see you around
in church

he said
sure
you replied
and walked swaying

up the road
you'd only went
to Pete's
to wish him well

and to deliver a card
and framed picture
of a female saint
he liked

but the whisky
had been a bonus
a kind of
THANK YOU

for being
a friend
to an old man
it was the sort of gift

you liked back then
the whisky kind
sorting the boys
from men.

Sound me out with the hammer.
Hollowness may be in these bones
That gives structure to frame and flesh.

Sound me out with a tuning fork.
High notes sharp major or minor
Vibrate the strings of my nerves.

Sound me out with crashing cymbals.
Shattering the dreams built on sands
Rebuild the house of my hope and faith.

Sound me out in this silence.
Tune me to the orchestra of the universe
With stars moon sun and galaxies for an audience.

Evenings were sandwich time
brought in by big Ted
sandwiches cut in triangles
in white and brown

and he laid the plates down
on the center table
and the patients
bored out

of their fragile brains
pounced upon them
and ate ravishingly
as if time

was running out
to eat
but  
Yiska nibbled hers

took small bites
her finger tips
holding the brown bread
her white teeth

nibbling gently
Naaman watched her
his sandwich held
but uneaten

smelt
viewed
but held away
from lips

he took in
Yiska's nibbling
the way her fingers
held as if a holy host

not fish paste
and her lips
parted just so
her tongue seen

the white teeth
and her eyes
unfocused
her nightgown

buttoned at the breast
with a missing button
and he wanted
to be that sandwich

in her fingers
wanted her lips
to feel him
her teeth to nibble him

but then
the foreign woman
distracted him
by taking

her sandwich apart
opening it
between fingers
sniffing the contents

******* up her nose
muttering something
in her foreign tongue
throwing it on the plate

and picking up another
don't waste them
a nurse said
ask if you don't see

what you want
the foreign woman
chewed on the sandwich
she'd picked

the nurse removed
the torn open sandwich
Naaman ate
a small portion

viewing Yiska meanwhile
licking her fingers
******* the ends
in and out

and he wished
it he she was doing thus
he looked away
the evening sky

was darkening
through the locked
ward windows
the bright electric lights

above their heads
made mirrors
of the windows
and Naaman saw himself

in his blue dressing gown
sans belt in case
he tried to string
himself again

and he gazed at Yiska
once more nibbling
another sandwich
the same *******

technique
the similar lipping
routine
and the missing button

on her nightgown
revealed a small portion
of flesh viewed
her small *******

pressing the cotton cloth
of the nightgown
and he ate unceremoniously
the last of his bread

watching her fingers
licked again
while outside the window
the sound of fresh rain.

Yiska sits
on the grass
for the school

photograph
with others
looking out

at the man
with the box
camera

calling out
watch the bird
or say cheese

but she thinks
of Benny
and her at

lunchtime
behind the
maths classroom

sitting there
on a wall
both kissing

and holding
and tonguing
and touching

getting hot
and alive
with each their

desire
on fire
then someone

knocked on glass
to alert them
and shoo them

off from there
some teacher
mouthing words

gesturing
so now she
sits brooding

not smiling
no longer
being kissed

or embraced
or close touched
just posing

so undone
no pleasure
no fun.

I went to watch tennis
with Fay
on the South Bank
by the Thames
(amateurs but good)

we sat in the stands
it was warm
the sun was out
in the sky
like a big boy
showing its muscles

I shouldn't be here really
Fay said
I should be home
studying the letters
of St Paul
Daddy wants me
to know them by heart

why's that
why learn them
by heart?

he said
the nuns at school said
I don't seem
to know them
that well

do you?

I thought I did
but he thinks not
she said

we watched the players
and the tennis ball
going left to right

I only learn by heart
what I like
my old man tests me
sometimes on
who was in what film
because he's
a film buff
but he don't worry none
if I don't know
and I usually don't
or I pretend I don't
because I'm too lazy
to tell him

o you are naughty
she said
my father wants me
to know things
wants me to know
the Pater Noster in Latin

Pater Noster?
What the heck is that
when it's at home?

it's the Lord's Prayer
but in Latin

o that
I know that mainly
because we have it
day after day in assembly
at school
I said

we do too
but in Latin
she said

there was cheering
from those around us
as a player
won his match
and we clapped too
even though we'd not
been watching
that closely

fancy ice cream?
I asked

sure that'd be nice
she said

so we walked along
the South Bank
to some guy in white
who was selling some
from an ice cream van
and bought two

and stood by the Thames
and watched
the water and boats
and such passing
us by

she reciting
the Pater Noster in Latin
I thinking
of pirate ships
at sea
which were
really tug boats
below me.

It is spider time again.
Last night
as I was going

upstairs to bed
I saw the big spider
that had been spotted

by my son
but had escaped.
It was sitting

on my white coat
and so I opened
the front door quietly

and then
grabbed him
and gently

put him out
into the night air
alive and well

if a bit confused.

How was it for you?
Uncle asked, lying
Slumped across Auntie,
Some small-beached
Whale, his voice escaping
His lungs as would air
From a punctured tyre.

Fine, it was fine, Auntie
Sighed, her soprano
Voice easing beneath
His sweaty soft bulk,
Unaware their young
Niece was standing silent
By the half open door,

Capturing them in the
Semi light, waiting small
And innocent to ask for
Water, dithering, unsure
Whether to ask and stay
Or simply to close the
Door and walk away.

Doronit would spit fire
and Baruch knew it
he'd had it before
that time she'd gave him

the hard time because
he'd sat watching
some dame
in a caravan opposite

hanging out washing
on a make shift line
fancy her do you?
Doronit said

why don't you go over
and chat her up
but Baruch told her
he wasn't interested

and that he was just
observing the washing
hanging process
looking at her smalls

I suppose?
she said  
no he said he hadn't
but he had been looking

at the fine movement
of the dame's ****
but he never told
Doronit that

yes she'd spit fire
she'd lay the words on him
and that time
she saw this

other dame's name
in his note book
and when he came home
for lunch

she said
who's this then?
you having it off
with her?

Baruch told her
it was some dame
he was watching at work
all about

security and such
and she began
throwing stuff at him
shoes coat hangers knives

forks and spoons
whatever she could lay
her hands on and some
of it came down the stairs

like missiles
and he went up
and pinned her down
on the bed to calm her

and she relaxed
and said
was that all? no affair?
no

he said
no affair
nothing
just security

at work
and she smiled
and kissed him
and that was that

all over
fire spat and done
but this time
the fire

would be for real
and Baruch knew it
and he watched her go
about her work that day

hoovering dusting
cleaning the floor
and he waved goodbye
at the door

and never looked back
all over
no more fire
no more

Doronit had done it
for the last time
and he recalled her
that last moment

she with her cigarette smoking
her hair tied back
her eyes full
of dull fires

burning embers
and that is all
looking back
he remembers.

Lizbeth insisted
on us going
to the small church again

we walked
as she had parked
her bike
by the shed door
at the back
of the cottage

it seems longer
when you walk it
she said

same length
different speed
I said

she'd put on
her short black dress
for some reason
not fitting
for this kind
of countryside
her shoes had mud
on them already
where a tractor
had deposited it
all along
the narrow road

don't you have
buses here?
she asked

once a week
I said
Saturdays
2 hours
to do your shopping
in town
then back

2 hours?
she said
I need longer
than that to shop

that's all there is
I said

I hate the countryside
she said
the smell
the quiet
the emptiness
the silly blue sky
and those puffy
white clouds
she seemed annoyed
Benny
how do you stick it?

it's ok
I like it
it has a sense
of peace here
and there are birds
to study and butterflies

O my god
Lizbeth said
I’d die
of boredom here
you'd find me stiff
in some corn field
or whatever ****
grows in these fields

we walked on
in a uneasy silence
for a while

what's she like?
Lizbeth said

who?
I asked

that girl
who lives near you
the girl with
the long straight black hair
and a face like a ******

I knew who she meant
but I said nothing
but pretended
not to know
she lives near me?
I said

yes
well she gets on
your school van
in the mornings
and afternoons
always dresses
like she's going
to a funeral
I see her
in the girl's playground
little Miss No Mates

O you mean Jane
I said
she's good
we have long walks together
and she knows a lot
about nature and birds
and butterflies and beetles
and so on

you walk with her?
Lizbeth said

sure
we often go for walks
when its fine and warm

what do you do?
is she up for it?

up for what?

you know
***?
Lizbeth spat out
the last word
as if
it were too hot
for her tongue

we don't think
about that
kind of thing
I said

Lizbeth looked at me
with raised eyebrows
thought not
she said

we walked up
the narrow lane
to the church
sunlight warming
our heads and backs

if the church is empty
maybe we can
she said

can what?
I said

you know
have S E X

I looked
at the church
appearing above
the hedgerow
and hoped to God
someone was there
some visitor
or vicar
or anyone
to save my day
and stop her fun.

It was sports day
at high school

and the field and tracks
were crowded with

teachers and kids
and the sun was out

causing sweat
and heat rash

and Reynard said to you
that girl who fancies your ***

is waving to you
over by the small wood

of trees and bushes
so you looked over

and saw Christina
waving a hand at you

leaping up and down
her short gym skirt

rising and falling
as she leaped

showing off
now and then

her dark green *******
mind she don’t eat you

Reynard said
and walked off

to watch the races
as you wandered over

to where she stood
at the edge

of the small wood
don’t you look

the **** beast
in your black shorts  

she said
eyeing you over

her right hand smoothing
down your white tee shirt

are you running?
she asked

yes a short sprint
you replied

anything more than that
and I’m buggered

she looked at the field
holding her hands

in front of her
and you gazed

at her white legs
and white ankle socks

and black plimsolls
I’m in the relay race

she said
I‘ll have to watch

to see when my turn comes
then she turned to you

and said
have you been inside the wood?

you looked behind you
no not so far have you?

yes we went there
in science looking for bugs

and such
she said

maybe you could show me
you said

what?
bugs and flowers

and butterflies
you replied

she smiled at you
maybe but teachers might be watching

or other kids or prefects
and what if my brother Cedric

sees us enter
and tells my parents?

just a science tour
to see all nature’s gifts

you said
tell them that

if any see us go
and you watched her

fumble with her fingers
looking around the field

and whispered softly
no.

I stood next to Jeanette
on the sports field
it was sports day
and she was in

her gym skirt and top
and I was in
black sports shorts
and a white shirt

what are you in?
I asked  
she looked at me
100yards run

and a relay
she said quietly
are you any good?
I asked

I can run ok
her friend Angela
next to her
a blonde haired girl said

she's fast
is she now?
I said
yes

Angela said
she'll get us house points
that's for sure
what are you in then?

Jeanette asked
I’m down for the 100 yards
that's all
and that was a mistake

as I didn't mean to run
as fast in the trials
but the other kids
were so slow

she nodded her head
and said
but at least
you'll get your house

some points
I couldn't careless
about house points
I said

she looked away
a race was about to start
girls were lined up
at the lower end

it's being apart of a team
Jeanette said
doing one's best
if I was in your house

I'd run every race
I said
but you're not
she said

no that's why
I don't give a ****
the girls were off
down the track

a lean tall girl
was ahead of them
a lone tubby girl
brought up the rear

there was cheering ons
and shouts
of COME ON
RUN RUN

from the crowds
I looked at Jeanette
beside me
she was calling out softly

moving her hands
she was thin
and her legs were long
but more shapely

than I’d thought
she looked along
the other end
where the lean girl

came in first
come on
Angela said
and taking Jeanette

by the hand
they ran down
to the line
for the next race

I watched them go
the girl Angela
dumpy and blonde
and Jeanette

thin and tall
with a lovely sway
which I thought
capturing it

in my mind
with my camera eye
would stay with me
all day.

Isn't it a lovely day
and O look at this snow
and how it covers
everything like

a huge great cloth
and the birds still come
to the bushes for food
and I love it

Jane says
and I meet her
by the back gate
of the cottage

and I look at her
standing there
in a woollen hat
and scarf and gloves

and a grey overcoat
and boots
and she's happy
and her eyes sparkle

as if candles
had been lit there
it's a bit cold
I say

opening the gate
and watch as the snow
that was sitting on top
falls to the ground

O you townie boys
this is how it is
in winter
here in the countryside

and where's your
big coat?
I have a jacket on
and an old scarf

and gloves
my mother knitted
and my jeans
and two jumpers

I haven't got one yet
I close the gate
behind me
so that next doors mutt

doesn't get out
onto the country lane
don't you have
winter in London?

sure we do
but it seems different
like an invasion
not a bit natural

as it seems here
I say
we walk down the lane
beside the cottage

the high hedges
are covered in snow
the ground is inches deep
in whiteness

I feel the coldness
bite at my toes
I look at her
as we go down

the winding lane
and she's so happy
so alive
and I want to hold her

and seep some
of that warmth
into me
but I don't

I just look out
at the fields beyond
like a spread
of white sea.

It was Saturday morning
and Fay stood beside you

on the balcony of the flats
looking over the Square

she pointed at the baker
and his horse drawn cart

down by the wall below
my daddy says he’s Jewish

she said
those who asked

for the death of Christ
you followed the baker

as he made his way to the stairs
carrying his bread basket

I don’t think he was involved
you said watching the baker

until he disappeared up the stairs
she looked right over the balcony

gripping the brick wall
with her hands

I don’t think he’s Jewish at all
she said letting her feet

drop back on the floor
and it doesn’t matter if he is

I think he’s a nice man
she added

looking at you
with her bright blue eyes

and you gazed at her
standing there

her flowered dress
colourful and coming

just below her knees
her battered sandals

having seen
better days

and her fair hair
tied into a ponytail

at the back
she looked over

the balcony again
I like to feed his horse

with sugar cubes
I get from home

she said thoughtfully
you lean over the balcony

beside her
your elbow touching hers

the pulse of her being
vibrating into your arm

you imagine
don’t your parents mind

you taking their sugar?
you asked

she looked guiltily away
they don’t know

she said softly
daddy would punish

if he knew
she paused and then said

you won’t tell them will you?
the baker came along

the balcony behind you both
whistling happily

of course not
you said

taking in her
trembling jaw line

her blue eyes
and her lips slightly open

her words gone
it’s a nice day  

the baker called
yes

you both replied
I don’t think he’s Jewish

she said
anyway.

The well-spoken
English monk
sits

in the porter's lodge
reading his breviary;
he turns the pages

with a thin
white finger.
I watched the ships

passing by
the window
of the abbey latrines,

the moonlight
on the water;
I recall how her lips

bit into me;
her arms
enfolded me

like a Black Widow spider.
Dom Pierre sits
in the refectory,

head to one side,
his eyes staring
into the blue

(or was it an empty black)
as if God
was staring back.

Yours was the bed
at the far end
of the ward.

Seems darker now;
the end of it all.

I walk that path
to your bed
in my dreams;
wanting to reach
you again;
wanting to be able
to hold you tight
night after night.

Dreams betray,
they never fulfil;
never bring up
what they promise.

I see you there
puffed up and breathless;
hear your words
fight through
a tightness of lungs
already closing down
(although
we didn't know).

I felt along your arm
and touched,
sensing the puffiness
of skin,
the tired look
in eyes,
the fight for words.

I asked you questions,
sought for an answer
as a father does,
looking for the purpose
of a hurting son.

I argued with the nurse,
pointed out
your fading state,
your puffed up
skin and frame,
how you could
hardly hold
the mug in hands,
barely talk
through hard to
catch breath.

Unknown
to us then:
the start of death.

And he said
I’m going to
bust your nose
and I said

you and whose army?
And he said
I don't need no army
with you Benny Coles

I could take you
with one arm
tied behind my back
take your glasses off

I said
then you'll see
just the one me
and did he?

Janice asks
no he threw a punch
but he missed
and I caught him

a left to his right ear
and he folded up
like an old tent
she laughs

shouldn't laugh really
Gran said fighting is brutal
and so lower class
but you make it

sound funny
his glasses fell off
and he couldn't see
to find them

so I picked them up
for him
and he put them on
and the wire

behind the ear
was bent
so I straightened it
for him

and he threw a punch
to my head
but caught
my shoulder instead

and so I poked him one
on the chin
and that packed him in
and he walked off

calling me names
but fighting is
a rough thing
she says

I know
I say
I prefer stamp-collecting
or going to the cinema

and seeing cowboy films
but sometimes
a kid's got to do
what a kid's got to do

and she seems impressed
and we walk along
the road from school
to meet her Gran

by the subway
don't tell my Gran
she says
sure I won't
I say no way.

Who's she then?
Netanya asks
as I sat in the bar
of the local
beside her
at a window seat

who?
I ask her

that fancy bit
with the ****
sticking out a mile
who smiled at you

where?

there at the fruit machine
putting in
her ill-gotten gains
Netanya says
nodding in the direction
of the newly installed
fruit machine

I eye the woman
standing there
she smiled at me?

yes she ****** well did
didn't you see?

no I was looking
at the dart players
I say

dart players my ****
you were gazing at her
and all that
she flashes at you

I look away
from the woman
and stare at Netanya

never seen her
before in my life
I say

she stares
back at me
her eyes boiling blue

if you're going
to accuse me
all night about women
who may or not
smile at me
then I'm going
I say
taking a sip
of my beer

she pouts her lip
then sips her cocktail
with the cherry
on a stick

every time I go out
with you
you think women
are making eyes at me
or that I'm having
an affair with
one of them
I say

don't come to me
tonight for the ***
because there won't
be any
she says

very encouraging
I say
lighting up
a cigarette

she smiled at you
Netanya says
I saw her
with my own eyes
it was that
come to bed eyes
look and smile

I'm not familiar
I say
maybe you are

she slams her glass
on the small table
and her cocktail
cherry stick
jumps out
AND WHAT'S THAT
SUPPOSED TO MEAN?
she says loudly

people stare at us
from around the bar

I sip my beer
and take a drag
on the cigarette
and stare at the floor
if the hat fits
I say

she picks up
the cherry
and ***** it
off the stick

she sighs
then sips her drink
where we going
after this?
she says
leaning into me
and damaging me
with a sticky kiss.