The enormity
of the grief
pushing down

on the aged shoulders.
Words fail me
seemingly,

one word in front
of the other,
like one learning

to walk again;
word utterances,
seem so banal,

so ordinary,
do not do justice
to the feelings felt.

Your words,
last of which,
ok or don't know,  

are kept in mind
or memory or on
cell phone click.

You-
the best of-
to go

in such a way.
Dark ward,
lone bed,

at the far end.
What philosophy,
what faith,

what hopes
can make amend?  
We were there

at the final sail
of ship's departure,
my son,

hand holding,
arm stroking,
whispered hopes

sent to air's feel.
Your death,
untimely,

unbelievable,
in comprehensive,
still.

Still born. The words stick
In the throat. Even if she sees
It someplace in a magazine
Some medical journal it hits home.
Some nights she wonders if the
Imaginary kicking she thinks she
Feels is her phantom babe or
Senses her dugs go hard at the
Mere mention of the word on
The tip of her tongue: still born.
Born still or pushed forth lifeless
But wanted and needed and lost.
What really sticks in her throat
Is seeing babes in passing prams
Or backyards unwanted unneeded
By mothers who **** and shuck
Without concern while she sensing
Her heavy loss and a vacant womb
Can only look on and walk away
Or sit and weep in a darkened room.

Still born babe coffined.
Mother broken heart and head,
her first baby dead.

The ward is still
and quiet.

Yiska slips
out of bed
and tiptoes
to the window
and looks out
at the coming dawn.

A few snores
and moans of sleep
are behind her
from the other beds.

She feels empty.

She wants something
to matter,
but nothing does,
not the dawn light,
not the other patients
in their beds,
not she herself.

A light filters through
the trees outside.

The sun is weak,
the moon is fading.

She pulls the nightgown
tight around her.

The carpeted floor
beneath her feet
is cold.

She feels tired,
but cannot sleep;
sleep seems elusive
as if
it were hiding
from her.

The night nurse
is in the small office
off the ward.

She is typing.

The tap tap
of her fingers
on the keys.

She hears the tap tap.

She wishes Baruch
was there.

He is asleep
in the men's ward.

Sometimes they meet
at this window
and watch
the dawn come.

Last time they talked
in hushed voices.

How are you?

Low.

Me, too.

Have you tried to hang
yourself recently?

No, not recently.

That caused panic
the last time.

I wasn't aware.

I was; nurses
running around
like headless chickens.

Baruch had smiled.

Didn't think
of consequences.

There are always
consequences.

He nodded at the window.

You slit
your wrists again?

She looked
at her bandaged wrists.

Yes, but did it wrong,
so they told me.

He stroked
her bandaged wrists
with his thumb gently.

Why?

Why what?

Why do it?

Same reason as you,
I guess.

Yes guess so.

Now her wrists
are unbandaged.

Baruch sleeps.

She is alone.

The nurse still taps.

Someone whimpers
in their dream.

The ward
is still and quiet.

She slips back along
to her bed
and lays there
counting sheep.

But still no sleep.

We lie there
on the grass
in the park
of St James

young Nima
and young me
both smoking
looking up
at the sky

you know what?
she utters
if I don't
get a fix
pretty soon
I'll dry out
be withered
like a nun's
******

you won't get
out of that
hospital
or get those
mind quacks off
of your case
if you get
more fixes
I tell her

I know that
my parents
tell me that
when they come
to visit
both doctors
of a kind

what about
having ***?
are you up
for a ****?
she says loud
disturbing
the wild ducks
near by us
and others
passing by

not right here
I tell her

of course not
some place else

what place else?

some hotel
some cheap joint
like we did
a month back

not today
getting late
you've to be
back in that
hospital
before long
I inform

she looks round
stares at me

can't go on
not like this
I'll go slit
my **** wrists
if I don't
get a fix
or a ****

she lies back
on the grass
cigarette
held aloft
like some young
movie star
in a role

I lie there
watching clouds
and birds fly
and thinking
of the ***
that we had
in that cheap
hotel room
on that bed
that made sounds
like migraine
in the head.

Saw you
go in
those *** shops
in Stockholm,
she says.

We sit outside
a café in Oslo
drinking coffee
and eating
creams cakes.

Just looking
at the books.

Why?
What so good
about the *******
in the books
and not us
other girls?

I sip the coffee
and light up
a cigarette
from a pack;
she takes one, too,
and looks at me.

It's a matter of posing.

Posing?

Yes, how they pose.

She frowns,
sips her coffee.

We can pose
like they do;
it's more than that.

I study her features,
the eyes focusing,
the lips part open,
her hair curly and tight.

It's the way
they look at you
from the photographs.

How do they look?

Haven't you seen
those kinds of books
or mags?

Why would I?

Curiosity?

Never looked.

I inhale cigarette smoke.

I saw my first girly mag
when I was at high school,
when a friend brought
one to school,
and I thought:
what the heck's that?

Don't you find
it belittles women?

Some I saw weren't
belittled any place.

I mean
as a ****** gender,
Dalya says,
grabbing me
with her eyes.

No, it's just dames
posing in the ****
or in skimpy gear
showing what God
gave them,
I say.

It cheapens women;
makes them objects
for men to pore over
with their eyes
and see as just that:
objects,
she says.

I drain my coffee
and put the cup down.

Another coffee?

No, I’ve not done
with this one.

I raise a hand
and a waitress comes
and I order
another coffee;
the waitress walks off,
her black dressed ***,
swaying.

What was it
you were saying?

Baruch laid stone
upon stone
on the grave.

Still warm;
dry weather for weeks.

Deganya put down
a stone gently,
placed it just so,
next to his.

They stood looking
at the stones
on the grave.

Flowers stood *****
in a vase, pink,
white and red.

Hard to believe
she's dead,
Baruch said.

Deganya stood
with her thin hands
at her sides.

Always
she survived things,
always the joke
of immortality,
Deganya said.

Mortality reminds us
who and what we are,
Baruch said,
kneeling down
arranging the stones.

That last time she knew,
Deganya said,
no joke that time.

She put her hands
together prayer-like.

Baruch gazed sideways
at the girl.

We had
our good times
together;
bad times, too.

She never
spoke of it,
Deganya said,
looking
at the flowers.

You made her happy
for years.

Baruch said nothing.

The stones were
as they should be now.

The girl's mother
had been a love of his.

Time had separated them;
the rows too frequent
at the end to repair.

Deganya looked at him
then at the sky,
sniffed the fragrant air.

Sophia sits
on the end
of Mr Haff's bed
as I am at the sink
tidying his towel

shouldn't you
be cleaning
the other rooms?
I ask her

she looks at me
with her icy blue eyes

przelec mnie
she utters in Polish

I look uninformed

**** me
she translates

I cough and look
at the sink
a stain
by one
of the taps

this sink
needs a good rub down
I say

you not fancy me?
she says
ignoring my statement
about the sink

sure I do
but not here
not now
I say
wanting her
to move
so I can make up
and tidy
the old man's bed

why not now?
we should live
for the now

I am busy now
and this is not
the place

she pouts
pushes a hand
through her blonde hair

you take me
to pictures?
see film?

maybe
if you go
clean elsewhere
I say
hoping she'll move
from the bed

good film on
we can go see
she says

ok we can see it
but now
can I have
the bed clear?

she gets off the bed
slowly making sure
I see plenty of leg
in the process

there is your bed
she says

thank you

I go clean
other rooms?

yes
go clean
I say

tonight
after picture show
we have ***?

I wanted to stay in
to wash my hair
but sure ok
I say
wishing her to go

she smiles seductively
and wags her behind
as she leaves
the bedroom
of Mr Haff

silence and peace
and the impression
on the blue cover
of the bed
where she had sat
on the bed

I brush it away
smoothing it out
but the image
is stuck
in my head.

On the beach
in the sun
Anne sits

in her chair
her one leg
hanging down

her leg stump
out of sight
she's beside

Skinny kid
who reclines
in a small

blue deckchair
other kids
sit around

fussed over
by three nuns
from the home

the tides out
so some kids
paddle out

ankle deep
listen kid
I hear one

of the nuns
had you in
to question

in secret
what'd they ask?
Anne asks

it's secret
Benny says
I know that

but tell me
I'm your friend
Anne says

Benny looks
around him
about you

they asked me
about you
Benny says

Anne frowns
about me?
Benny nods

what'd they ask?
what you did
what you  said

and did you
make me do
anything

Benny says
what'd you say?
I said you

were my friend
my best friend
Benny says

what'd they say?
Sister Blaise
the fat nun

said it was
a big sin
to tell lies

what'd you say?
Anne asks
I told her

I guess so
was that all?
can I go?

Benny says
Anne smiles
good work Kid

keep the ****
penguins stumped
and things hid.

Such games they’d play
and it all mattered

not a fig
the bedroom romps

the bed making
just so to survive

the latest fashion
in the art

of making love
and she saying

let’s try this
and him saying

if you like
and the handcuffs

and the little
weedy whip

and the nakedness
and oh

she’d say
let’s pretend that I’m

the naughty one
and you’re

the master
and he kept

a straight face
as best he could

and not let her see
he saw through

the ****** games
and that time

she’d had him
tied to the bed

and they heard
her parents’ car

in the drive
and how she fumbled

to untie the twine
and he wanting to die

and him naked
as the day he was born

and the key
in the lock downstairs

and her fingers fumbling
and he saying

covering with hairy hands
his manhood pride

where can I hide?
and she finally untying

took off the twine
and he leaping from bed

put on his clothes
and so did she

and she whispering warnings
and pulling on her dress

his tee shirt
hanging out

her hair in a mess
and her mother calling

are you up there Chloe?
and he thinking

of the weedy whip
and unmade bed

and love making mess
and Chloe shouting out

yes mother
yes yes yes.

Gareth skimmed a stone
from the beach across
the incoming waves.

That's how you do it,
he says, following
the stone's ride.

The Prior sitting
on the beach
in his black habit
and brown sandals,
stares, unperturbed.

That's how
some people see life:
something to slim over,
not delve into.

I sense the wind
touch my hair;
a bell
from the abbey
bell tower rings.

She wanted
more of me;
I sensed her
**** me off.

The Belgium monk,
lights candle
after candle
by the abbey altar.

His tonsured head,
his deep set eyes,
scanning the high hung
Christ hanging there
by two chains;
outside
the downfall
of heavy rains.

After the snow
had cleared
Miss Billings said
hey kid you got

a girl friend yet?
you said no
although you did
in a kind of way

but she needn’t
know that
you thought
why’s that?

she asked
why haven’t you
got a girl friend?
you said you needed

a rest from girls
but she just laughed
and said girls
had had enough

of you I expect
anyways look out
for incoming cars
this is

a petrol station
not a love nest
and she wiggled
her backside

back to her office
a poor man’s Monroe
and the door closed
and you wondered

what the guys who came
to the petrol station
saw in her
and how they

drooled over her
when they dropped
in now and then
and she lapped

it up putting on
her Marilyn thing
that blonde hair
bright eyed stare

and a laugh
that would undress
a man’s mind
not that you’d

say no but there you go
you mused
standing in
the small front office

waiting for a punter
to come get
some petrol
or oil

or have their tyres
checked and blown
and looking out
the window

at the passing traffic
you wondered
how many men
she’d bedded

and what she
looked like
without her
white overalls

and red dress
and black stockings
and ankle boots
and sans her spectacles

and thought how
she’d ****** you dry
right down
to your 15yr old *****.

Suddenly it is
Like the conversion
Of St Paul: the rain
Has stopped falling and

You feel that moment
Of dryness, that sweet
Second when the rain
Ceases hitting your

Face, when the wetness
On your brow (despite
The umbrella) stops
Running down your nose.

You stand still; take in
The sharp sight, the feel.
People still walking,
Carrying on, still

Going about their
Lives, stepping around
Or over not through
Puddles, thinking their

Thoughts, unaware the
Rainfall has come to
An end. You breathe in
The air, that after

Rain smell that stink of
Wet cloth, that sudden
Realization
You want to ***. You

Hold the umbrella
Over your dry head
Uncertain if the
Rainfall will come once

More and catch you out.
Father would allow
You to stomp through small
Puddles as a child,

But Mother would not,
She’d steer you around
Them with the calm
Carefulness of a

Saint, gripping your arm
As if you were in
Danger and about
To drown. Dead now, both

In their separate
Graves, separate as
They were in life, he
Just her husband, she

Just his woeful wife.
The rainfall is now
Returning, just a
Short reprieve, like a

Life between two deaths,
And the need to ***
Just as powerful,
The realization

Of being, the wet
And the clinging damp
Clothes, the sneaky wind,
The people passing,

And you still standing
There, breathing in the
After rain smell and
Raining again air.

Fay met me
off the bus
after school

she looked pleased
to see me

her hair
was bunched up
in a ponytail

her school uniform
looked well worn

how was your day?
she asked

boring
I said
being educated
by the unwilling
to the uninterested
and Old Thompson
was as cruel as ever

we walked along
to the crossing
and crossed

how was your day?
I asked
how were the nuns?

it was about suffering today
she said
Sister Bede said
suffering was a gift
from God
it was our way
to suffer
for the souls
in Purgatory
so that they
may be freed

sounds kind of dark
I said

what do you mean?
she said

well that God
should give suffering
as a gift
so that it might
free others
from this Purgatory place

some of the saints
have been honoured
to have been chosen
to suffer
she said

we passed
the greengrocer shop
I looked in the window
the young guy
was serving
some old dame
with potatoes

I suffer from boils
on the *** sometimes
does that count?
I asked
does that get
some soul
out of Purgatory

she looked perplexed
I guess so
she said

ask the nuns tomorrow
if boils on the ****
count

she smiled
don't think I will
she said

we passed
the public house
the smell of beer
oozed out
from the open door

Daddy said
that these places
are the roosting places
of the ******

plenty of ****** then
on a Saturday night
I said
pretty packed
when I passed
on my way
to the cinema
last week

I guess
we should pray
for them
she said
Sister Bede said
our prayers
are worth more
than gold
do you pray?
she asked

only for the school
to fall down
or Thompson
to catch leprosy
I said

she frowned
that's not good
she said
we should pray
for good things
to happen

I liked her hair
and eyes
especially when
she gazed at me
as she spoke
her bright eyes
warming me
against the cold

ok
I said
I suppose
I could

we walked on
and across
Rockingham Street

I liked her
careful way
of walking
and her fine
small feet.

Sophie Syncope
suffocated

her sixth child,
placed the pink pillow

over the small head,
held it there, against

the struggling for breath,
until still, until dead.

Sophie waited, listened,
held her breath,

watched for movement.
None came; she removed

the pillow, stood holding
it by her side. The sixth

child lay closed eyed,
opened mouthed, small

hands in tight fists.
Sophie dropped pillow,

put child’s hands crossed
one over the other. Dead child,

crucified mother. Pushed
mouth closed, moved head

upright, steadied. She placed
her palms on the child’s cheeks,

felt smooth skin, knew
the stilled cancer within.

Cut short
the suffering,

snuffed out
the cancer’s route,

released her child’s spirit
to boot.

She plunges into the hot water
and begins to scrub. Brush and
soap on skin. She wants him off
and out of her. Undo him from her.

Unkiss his kisses, untouch his touches.
She breathes in. She reeks, stinks
of him. He seems to have penetrated
every orifice on her body. She pushes

herself under the water, holds herself
there, opens her eyes even the sting
brings no purification. She sits up and
holds the sides of the bath. Calm down

she tells her shaking hands and legs
but they disobey and carry on like
disobedient children in play. She tries
to think of other things. Think of

somewhere nice, some time once
enjoyed, some pleasure once had,
sipping of the best wine, greedy
eating of caviar or grape. But no.

Everything is focused on him and
the ****. She rubs and scrubs until
she’s red and raw. Stop stop her
inner voice screams. Nothing is

what it seems. He pushes his way
even into her every thought now.
He seeps into every pore. The water
fails to clean. She sits there naked,

undone, brush in hand, hair in a mess.
This is not real she says, but knows
it is, she in the bath, wet, raw, sore
and sullied. Yes that’s a word mother

would have used: sullied. Tainted,
tarnished, degraded or as Mother
would have said: dishonoured. She
focuses on each aspect of her flesh

as if seen for the first time. What
you focus on is your reality. Who said
that? Does it matter now? Dostoevsky?
The Idiot, that book. Who cares who

said what. The water is no longer hot.
He is still on skin and in orifice in spite
of the rubs and scrubs and tears and curses.
No longer the innocent, no more the

sipping of wine or eating of grape.
Just him and memory of the ****.

We sit and stare
at the pond.

Summer day;
warm and
almost airless.

She has a white blouse
and blue skirt, sandals,
her toes visible.

I'll be glad
when school's over,
she says,
get a job
and earn some money.

Can't wait,
I think I can get a job
at the garage down
by the crossroads,
I say.

No more ugly
green uniform
and white socks;
can wear clothes
I like, not what
my mother chooses,
Yehudit says.

She turns to me
and her eyes
search mine.

Remember our
first kiss?

Yes, took
my breath away,
I say.

Wasn't here though,
was on that
Christmas carol
singing night,
under moon
and stars,
she says.

We did things
here though,
I say,
looking at her eyes,
how sunlight
brightens them.

And there was that
guy over there fishing
and we didn't see him
until later,
she says.

Maybe he never saw us.

Maybe he did.

He never told no one,
least not that
my mother
ever found out,
she says,
looking back
at the pond,
where ducks swim
and a swan floats by
over the other side.

Just as well
or I'd have been for it,
Yehudit says.

I kiss her cheek.

She looks at me,
her eyes burning blue.

That's how things start.

Guess so.

She kisses me
and we kiss more.

We lay back
on the grass
embracing and kissing.

A blackbird sings,
a woodpecker pecks
on a tree in the wood
near by.

I see a new world
in the beauty
of her eyes,
in the touch
of her skin.

I can enter
that new world
if she'll let me in.

It was the summer of love,
at least that's what they said.
There were guys with long
hair and beards and beads,

with wide trousers, and loud
shirts, and girls with long
hair, and dresses like nuns,
or short skirts, showing off

their not so good legs or thighs.
There was Hendricks, Beatles
and Stones and playing, music
loud, live. Julie was out for

the day; the hospital quacks,
giving her a day pass, no
shooting up, no pill popping.
She met Ben in Trafalgar

Square, tight skirt and top,
hair held in a ponytail, bright
eyed, big smile. He was
by the fountains having a

smoke, eyeing the girls,
listening to some long
haired guy strum a guitar,
his skinny girlfriend doing

a dance, her bony legs
looking breakable, ****
non existent. Been here
long? Julie said. No, just

a few moments, he lied,
not wanting to give her
reasons to moan or row.
She wanted to go for a beer.

So he took her to the bar
off Charing Cross Road
and ordered two cold beers
and lit up some smokes.

She spoke of some nurse
who almost lost her her pass,
all about some **** up, over  
drugs, she’d forgotten to take.

She said the quacks were ok
with it, the tall one is hot,
she said, shouldn’t mind him
poking around in my parlour.

He told her about the Charles
Lloyd jazz album he'd bought,
how he'd met him outside Dobell's,
got a sign copy of the new L.P.

She drained her drink and he
ordered another two, she took
one of  his smokes and lit up
and sat back, crossing her legs,

her black short skirt riding her
thighs, ******* in his eyes.
No place for ***, she said,
unless you know of a bed

and room going cheap for
an hour or so?  No luck,
he said, wishing he did,
remembering the fast shaft,

the quickie in the hospital
broom room, amidst brooms
and brushes and buckets
or boxes and all. She said

her parents rang, and they
argued, and she slammed
down the phone. They said
it was the summer of love,

but where they sat, boozing
and smoking, it fell pretty flat.

Summer rain came suddenly
and you and she

had just got off the school bus
and had to run for shelter

and so entered the wood
and settled beneath some trees

which at least kept off
some of the rain

and as you both stood there
looking about the woodland

and listening to the rain
fighting its way through

the overhead branches and leaves
smelling the rain smell

hearing the sound
of rain falling

she said suddenly
That was unexpected

one minute the sun’s shining
the next the downpour

and she turned
and looked at you

raindrops falling down
from her hair onto

the side of her nose
and sitting there

for a few moments
then sliding down

and moving along
her cheek

and you wiped
the drops off

with the end of your finger
and she took your finger

and mouthed it
and licked off the rain

and held your finger
in her hand

and said laughing
That was my raindrop

and you saw
how her lips parted

and in such a way
that you sensed

an inner explosion
of what you thought of

as love and said
Rain is rain

it’s got its own smell
and touch

and feel
and she moved her lips

to your finger
and licked it once more

and you laughed
and felt your heart leap inside

and she said
releasing your finger

Love is love
something like rain

something you feel
and sense and know

and she kissed you and said
Mum’ ll wonder where I am

we’d better go
and moving out

from beneath the trees
you ran off together

into the falling rain
all over again.

We lay in the long grass
summery flies
bees

butterflies
Jane named them
one by one  

I lay
watching her finger move
pointing them out

cotton wool clouds
water colour
blue sky

the best scene
my father says
the sky

above our heads
she said
he says some painters

study skies
to soak them up
into the art

I watched
as her hand turned
palm towards me

the headline
heart line
then down

beside her
in the long grass
out of sight

London skies
were pretty much
grey with smoke

or ***** blue
like soiled linen
I said

you must be glad
to be out
of London now

she said
looking at me
her dark eyes

lit up
like black olives
in cream

yes I am now
after this
I said

not saying
how her presence
made it more so

I love this
she said
this air

this scene
these butterflies
us being here

her fingers
reached out for mine
in the grass

fingertips touching
a Gatekeeper
she said suddenly

her finger pointing
skyward
as a butterfly

touched
the water colour
blue sky.

And there
by the water tower
Jane stood
and I was thinking

of how I'd helped
my  father saw the logs
for the fire and stove
and the sun was beginning

to open up
and bring more warmth
and she was standing there
and I felt a glow

of happiness fill me
and she waved
as I approached
and I waved back

and as we got near
I said she looked
a sight for poor eyes
and she smiled

not knowing
what I meant I think
but anyway
she said that her father

had asked her to help
do the flowers
in the church
as there was to be

a funeral that afternoon
so she had helped
and I asked
who had died

and she said
an old parishioner who
had been a regular
churchgoer

and we walked on
along Bug's Lane
between the hedgerows
and bird were singing

and flying overhead
or from hedge to hedge
or over fields
and she asked me

how I was and I said
better for seeing you
and she laughed
and said so was she

and I was tempted
to hold her hand
but didn't want
to be seen

as presumptuous
and so I didnt
but I did smell
the scent of flowers

on her
and it drew me
to her even more
and I said what's

the scent you're wearing
it smells nice
and she said it
was she mother's

that her father
had bought her
and her mother said
she could wear some

and so she did
and we walked on
towards the small church
a good walk away

that warm
flower smelling  
sun pouring down
summery day.

Jane opened her hands
and the butterfly
fluttered off

across the grass
and you watched
and she told you

what its name was
and its colouring
but you

were more focused
on her hands
the fingers held so

as if Michaelangelo
might have
painted them

in a creative urge
to pin down
an example

of beauty
and as her voice
spoke on

you saw the hands
come together
and embrace

and caress
each other
as you both walked

along the lane
between
high hedges

first this finger pointed
then that
gesturing towards

this flower
then that
names came

and colouring
and her voice sang
as she talked

the words
being flung
in the air

like a juggler's *****
and you reached out
to catch each word

and place
its meaning
but her eyes

caught you
the colour
the brightness

and fires flamed there
and they grow
only here

she said
so I’ve read
her words said

and the lips parted
just to allow
words to go

like busy bees
to work
and the glimpse

of teeth and tongue
and what do you think?
she said

beautiful stuff
you replied
not quite

the words
you wished for
but which came

like lazy boy's
to school
they are

she said smiling
her hands parting
one reaching

for yours
O that
may have been Heaven

for all you knew
a bright
sun-blessed smile
out of the blue.

The plump lady
who occupied
with her behind
the front two seats

of the green bus
has passed away
and no one went
to her lonely

sad funeral
except a priest
and the lady
from the sweet shop

who sold Sally
the plump lady
dark chocolate
bars each morning

and cigarettes
and the old man
who lived next door
who used to peep

through net curtains
as she undressed
in the evenings
and others sit

where she once sat
and sunlight shines
into the bus
where she once sat

and others sense
the morning heat
that she blocked out
by sitting there

whom none talked to
but all would stare.

So what others may say
and she can hear them
thinking that or maybe

inside her head hear their
voices say as such as she
sits on the stone steps of

her apartment thinking of
him and his thoughtlessness
and sure it’s what most

people think is the norm
guys being guys thing but
she can’t help being saddened

by his forgetting it being their
fifth anniversary since the
first day they met at the gallery

looking at the modern art the
Mondrian’s and Rothko’s and
her favourite Lichtenstein’s

and how he had been all over
her that day being all knowledge
and kindness and fussing over

the smallest detail and taking
her to that restaurant he knew
and the music he put on in his

classy apartment and how he’d
been quite the gentleman that
night not pressuring for *** no

expectation of anything except
her happiness and now sitting
watching the early morning slow

ride by of Sunday traffic and the
odd passing person and their
usual rest day greetings she feels

depressed that he has forgotten
that he has not called and breathing
in the morning air she wonders

now if he really ever did care or
maybe he’s grown sick of her and
her wants and ways or has found

some other woman to love and
caress and kiss and take out and
maybe he’s in some other woman’s

place lying asleep lying body next
to body face to face and she hopes
maybe he’ll ring or text or better

still come round with chocs and wine
and suggest they go and dine but
she’ll not text or ring him to remind

or find out where he’s gone or
whereabouts he slept the night
before no sir she mutters I’ll not

lower myself to do as such full of
cares sitting on her apartment stairs.

That Sunday after church
after singing in the choir
after getting off the bus

and walking into
the small woods
behind your house

the skies opened
and rain fell
and you and she

ran for cover
beneath the trees
the raindrops slipping

through the leaves
and branches
and dropping

on your heads
and clothes
and she said

what will Mother say
this is my best dress
and she laughed

and you looked
at the beauty of her
and the freshness of rain

washing away
whatever sins
may have lurked

on her youthful flesh
and you kissed her lips
and she hugged you close

and the rain fell heavier
and you didn’t care
just standing there

hugging and kissing
the clothes becoming heavier
with wetness

and her dress
clinging to her
revealing her shape

and the outline
of her underclothes
and as you stood back

and gazed at her
and she at you
there was the distant sound

of thunder
and she looked up
and away and shivered

and said
let’s run let’s go
and what may have happened

if the thunder never sounded
and you hadn’t run
you’ll never know.

We walk along the lane
from the church
after the service;
high hedges,
fields beyond,
warm sun,
birds singing.

Can't meet you
this afternoon,
Yehudit says.

Why's that?

She looks at me
with her big eyes.

Mother says
she wants me
to do some chores.

After the chores?

She shrugs
her shoulders.

Don't think
she'll let me out then.

Be a good
for a walk
by our lake
(her name
for the pond).

She looks away.

I study her profile;
drink her in.

I think some one
may have told her
about us
by the lake.

What about us
by the lake?

You know
the other week.

I look back
at her sister
walking behind
with another.  

Who said anything?

I look at her.

Don't know,
she didn't say
she knew
just the way
she looks at me
and how
she's been recently.

So someone
has been spying
on us?

Looks like it,
but I don't
know who.

I like our lake,
like the whole
scenery there,
the birds,
the ducks,
swans.

I know,
she says,
but I can't go,
least not today.

A car passes us,
a ****** goes,
a hand waves.

Maybe we can
make a quick detour
before you go home?

Not with her with us,
she says,
pointing to
her younger sister
behind us.

Will she talk?
I ask.

She always talks.

Let her go in front
of us for a while.

So we hang back
and her sister passes
talking to another.

She's prettier than I am.

You're pretty enough
for me.

I take her hand
and draw her
into a gap
in the hedge
and we kiss.

Lips on lips stuff,
hands caressing
each the other.

Nice body,
lovely lips,
shame about
your mother.

Sunday was visiting day
the day when briefly
as the visitors arrived

the locked ward
was unlocked
nurses on edge

eyes on the doors
patients on beds
or in chair

in the lounge
drugged up
or not so

depending on mood
or demons or how
far down

the deep pit
they’d gone
you can’t recall

Christine’s visitors
can’t remember
anyone there

but your mother
came through
the unlocked doors

carry smiles
and pinned in concerns
soft voice

smelling of perfume
or fresh air coming in
standing there

then sitting in the chair
by the bed
handing over sweets

or books or wash stuff
conversations
of how are you?

and what’s the food like?
are you feeling better?
were noted

and exchanged
your mother worried
lines on her face

in her eyes
swan deep concern
you saw Christine

over the way
standing by the window
looking out

then by the doors
waiting
arms folded

her nightgown
held tight
about her

her slipped feet touching
then the visitation over
the visitors gone home

the doors locked
the ward quiet
the patients subdued

staring into space
or at each other
gazing

into eyes
as blank as each others
depression deeper

nurses doing rounds
giving out drugs
listening acutely

to souls in torment
with their sad
silent sounds.

The sun shone bright
on the Saturday afternoon
as Helen put her doll
Battered Betty

on the bombsite rubble
off Arch Street
near the coal wharf
and sat down beside you

(crossed legged)
peering
at the bombed out ruin
of a nearby house

wonder what it felt like
being bombed?
she said
I mean

one minute
you’re trying to get
the kids to sleep
next minute

a ruddy great bomb
blasts you all
to Kingdom Come
you offered her

a sweet candy cigarette
from a blue and yellow packet
don’t know
you said

but my mum said
that when she was home
with my gran
during one bombing raid

they hid under
the kitchen table
with her baby niece Carol
Helen sat opened mouthed

her hand holding
the hand
of her battered doll
anyway

you went on
my mum’s stepfather
( her dad having died
from TB in 1936)

was under there too
but my mum said
he had his backside
sticking out

from under the table
as if
that was unbombable
Helen laughed

and so did you
bet it was horrible
to be bombed
she said

but I would have hated
being evacuated
from my mum
even for a day

she ******
on the sweet cigarette
held between *******
and stared

at the ruin
with half a roof
and two walls standing
revealing wallpaper

on the inside
of one wall
my gran said
you continued

an old couple
next to them
on hearing
the air raid siren

began to run
toward the bomb shelter
in the garden
when the old lady stopped

and the old man said
what you looking for?
my teeth she said
and he said

they’re dropping
ruddy bombs
not mince pies
Helen spluttered

into laughter
almost on choking
on the sweet cigarette
don’t

she said
I near wet myself then
and she clutched her doll
to her chest

patting its back
there there Betty
she said
it’s only a story

and you looked
at her small hand
tapping the doll’s back
the fingers tight together

love in each tap
a good mother
she’d make
you thought

with schoolboy love
looking at her profile
the thick lens
spectacles

the plaited hair
and her small hand
going tap tap
on the back

of the battered doll
in her flower skirted lap.

Anne,
one legged,

crutched herself
through passageway

and hall,
passed kitchen,

leg stump swaying,
green dress flowing,

out through
the French windows,

moving by me
in the doorway,

pushing by
the boss-eyed nun,

out into the garden,
shouting loudly:

WHERE’S
THE ****** SUN!

O’Brien took
the comic
Sutcliffe was holding
and said

what the ****
you got here Sutcliffe?
give it back O’Brien
he went to ******

back the comic
O’Brien held it away
hey Davies
see what Sutcliffe’s

got inside
the comic cover
and he showed Davies
the magazine

of women
in all states
of undress
look at the **** on her

Davies said
give it back
Sutcliffe said
O’Brien showed you

the centre fold
of some woman
posing in a position
you thought

most uncomfortable
come on O’Brien
give it to me
in case a prefect sees it

and we're hauled
in front of Thompson
and get caned
O’Brien scanned

through more pages
with Davies looking
over his shoulder
where did you get

this magazine from Sutcliffe?
found it
he said
where?

Davies asked
somewhere
Sutcliffe muttered
where somewhere?

O’Brien said
Sutcliffe looked at you
then around
the playground

of the school
under my old man's shoes
in the cupboard
he said quietly

you looked at O’Brien
gaping at the magazine
his eyes peering intently
look at her Davies

fancy waking up
with her beside you huh?
Davies grinned
and pulled the page

to show you
the woman had a mole
on her left breast
you noticed

Sutcliffe snatched back
the magazine
and pulled
the comic cover

back in place
Davies laughed
and O’Brien said
you're a *****

young man Sutcliffe
you enjoyed the look
Sutcliffe said
as he stuffed

the comic into
his inside
coat pocket
and buttoned it up

any more under
your old man's shoes?
O’Brien asked
no

Sutcliffe said
just that one
shame
Davies said

you noticed
Mr Austin’s
sports car drive
into the playground

his pockmarked face
staring at you
from his car seat
Austin’s arrived

Sutcliffe said
you all watched
as he parked his car
then looked away

as he made his way
towards you all
the sky was grey
the start of Fall.

Janice
sans red beret
walked with you
to Bedlam Park

where you swam
in the open air
swimming pool
(she swam

you tried
but failed)
there in her
green swimsuit

her arms pulling her
through water
her hands
pushing away

the water’s skin
while you stood
waist deep
gazing at her skills

her wet hair
her bright eyes
you gingerly standing
feet on the bottom

feeling the water’s
pull and push
come on
she said

try to swim
be brave
and you dived forward
into the water

and splashed
and sunk
like some broken boat
water in your eyes

and ears
you rose
helped by Janice
to the surface

choking
and spluttering
wiping water
from your stinging eyes

she had her hand
in yours
holding you steady
keeping you balanced

she apologised
for not helping
should have helped
she said

not just stood
and stared
and you gazed at her
through wet eyes

forming an image
making sense
of the shape of her
her eyes on you

her damp hair limp
against her skin
o mermaid of the deep
you said

where is your tail?  
and she laughed
and took you
by the hand

into the shallower water
her warm hand
in yours
her thin fingers

clutching
her damp swimsuit
dripping
try here

in less deeper water
she said
and let go
of your hand

and she lowered herself
into the water
and showed you how
to put your body so

and hands and arms
to move and legs
to kick and push
but all you could hold

in mind
could bring to bear
was her beauty
swimming there.

Brody's mother
was quite the dame
she had this way
of inviting you in

after school
and offering things
to eat and drink
and hey boys

she said
why not try out
the outside pool?
Brody said

OK
and so you followed him
but what do I wear?
you asked

O nothing
he said
no need
it's only us

and well
the neighbours
can't see ****
and so you went

with him to his room
and undressed
and he gave you
a big white towel

and you went
downstairs with him
to the outside pool
his mother was there

and said
how about a drink of pop?
sure
Brody said

and you nodded
holding tight
to the towel
and off she went

in her red
two piece swimsuit
her **** quite neat
in the sack

of the suit
come on in John
Brody said
don't be shy

and so you dropped
the towel
and climbed in
the pool

and the water
was warm
and came up
to your chest

he swam around
but you just stood there
with arms folded
over your chest

after few moments
his mother came out
with a tray of pop drinks
in glasses with straws

gosh John
she said
looking at you
you sure are white

do you hide your body
from the sun?
Brody laughed
guess so

you said
she smiled then put
the tray on a small
white table

by the pool
and climbed in
the pool
her top piece floating

like pink piggies
you looked
then looked away
she talked

of Brody's father
how he liked to
just lounge
on the water

like a lily
Brody guffawed
some lily
he said

his mother smiled
as she looked at you
her eyes blue liquidy
as if they were

of water
she swam towards you
you afraid of the water John?
can't swim

you said
can't you
she said sexily
Brody you never said

John couldn't swim
didn't know
he said
swimming off

to the other end
of the pool
I’ll have to
show you how

she whispered
would you like me
to show you how?
she came nearer

her piggies seemed
pleased to see you
it's all a matter
of confidence

she said
trust in yourself
and the water
you looked at her

liquidy eyes
she put her arms
under the water
and held you

lift your feet
off the bottom
of the pool
she said

you tried but your feet
wouldn't move
here
she said

and she uprooted you
and you fell
into the water
and splashed

and flapped your arms
like a drowning bird
she held you tight
and said

relax your body
in my arms
you stiffened
then slowly relaxed

in her arms
holding you
to her
the piggies brushing

against you
her breath applely  
and perfumery
right

she said
slowly flap
your legs
in the water

and move the water
with your hands
and arms
and so you did

slow but with a kind
of nervous pleasure
feeling her there
her hands and arms

holding you
and Brody up
the other end
flat on his back

looking at the sky
like some thin lily
as you lounged
with his mother

and her piggies near
getting to trust
the water
and the new acquired

skill she'd shown
and you wished Brody
was gone
and you had her

to yourself
all alone.

Janice adjusts
the red beret
on her fair hair
and pulls at the hem
of her dress
as she sits
on the wooden seat
of the swing
in the park.

I sit on the swing
next to her,
ready to kick off,
my feet on the tarmac,
my eyes glued on her.

She winces.

Gran spanked me last night
for saying
that four letter word
you taught me.

You weren't supposed
to tell your gran.

You never said
not to tell;
I didn't know
what it meant.

Sorry,
I should have
told you.

(I didn't know,
but I don't tell her that).

She pushes off
with her feet
and she's air borne;
her sandalled feet
high in the air
as the swing goes backward
then forward.

I push off, too,
holding tight
to the steel links
on each side of the swing.

Maybe your gran
should have washed
your mouth out
with soap
instead of a spanking.

I wish she had, too.

My old man's aunt
swears like a trooper;
I used to go
to Sunday tea with her
and her husband
and my Nan used to say:
that's enough
of that language,
there's children present.

What did did she say?

They don't know
what it means,
she used to say;
but Nan'd say, no,
but they might repeat it
to people who do.

And did you?
Janice asks.

No, at least not
if my parents
were around.

I am swinging higher
than her now;
my feet seem to reach
the nearest clouds.

She tries to swing higher,
but I am still higher,
by swinging backward
and forward on the seat
and the holding tight
to steel links each side,
I am up there
with the gods.

Have you ever
been spanked?

I look at her.

Once when I peed
in my toy box
and my cousin
told my mum.

She pulls a face.

How ***** of you.

Yes, I guess;
Mum thought so.

I feel a breeze
in my hair and face
as I ride high,
swinging back and forth
on the swing.

She's beside me
trying hard to reach
as high as I am;
her feet reaching up,
her legs swinging madly;
her body going
backward and forward;
her red beret,
clinging on
for dear life
on her head.

I reach my maximum height;
my feet touching
Heaven's gates
or so seems,
my body going
back and forth
as much as it can.

She’s almost there,
smiling,
the wind riding
through her flowing
fair hair.

And she likes to ride
on the swing and rise
higher and higher and
see beyond the hedges

and see houses and trees
and people passing
and wonders if it’s always
so and as she rises higher

her hands gripping the
ropes of the swing she
feels her stomach turn
and turn and remembers

when her mother’s new
boyfriend pushed her
on the swing a few years
ago how he would say

how high you want to
go Celia? and he’d push
her higher and higher
and she called out I’m

frightened slow me down
but he just stood there
laughing and waving his
hands and gawking at her

legs as she went up and
down and she tried to slow
herself down but he just
pushed her high again and

she said I’ll tell on you
pushing me too high but
he just shook his head
and pushed her instead

and then once he felt he
wanted to he pulled on
her ropes and slowed her
down and put his hands

on her thighs and squeezed
and held her there for a
moment or two staring
into her eyes and said that

wasn’t too bad was it?
And he grinned and she
wanted to say something
to her mother but never did

and when she got home
she said nothing and just
went to her room and stared
out at the park with its swings

and slides and the innocent
children laughing and smiling
and full of joy unaware as
she was then and knows now

how touches and suggestions  
can end the innocence of
childhood in a single moment
once and for all and to no good.

You were with Janice
in Jail Park

two kids
looking for kicks

and Janice said
Can you push me

on the swings?
and you said

Sure if you like
and got behind her

as she sat on the swing
her hands holding

the small steel rings
that held the wooden seat

of the swing in place
her legs kicking outward

like some young bird
about to take flight

for the first time
and you heaved

the seat of the swing forwards
you then let it go

and off she went
upwards and downwards

her cry of exhilaration
filled your ears

and you pushed her
more higher and higher

to her cries of
Higher and higher

then you stood back
and walked around

the front of her
as she rose up

her legs pushing
into the sky

her black shoes
touching the cloud’s skin

and you called out to her
Don’t let go

or you’ll fall
and she gripped

the small steel rings tighter
with her whitening hands

and her eyes
were wide

and her mouth opened
in a small O

and as her body
went by you

you pushed her once more
your hands pushing against

her summer dress
covered ****

and you sensed
the warmness of her

and the air
and her flying

like some young bird
way up there.

Once a child's
childhood

has been tainted
it cannot

be repaired
or wiped clean

or swept away
it remains

like a scar
which always shows

and may fade
or fester

depending
if it is

picked at
or not.

I thought
I had you

for always;
I was mistaken.

Some God,
or not,

as the case
may be,

has for some reason,
unknown to me,

has you
from me,

hurtfully
taken.

Who's the ****?
Reynard asks
as Yiska
walks away
her bottom
cool swaying
her grey skirt

a girl friend
I tell him

another one?

who's counting?

what's she like?

innocent
as flowers
(she wasn't
but said so
to no one)

time wasters
Reynard says
watching her
join her friends
on the grass
of the field
by the school

I watch her
different
year younger
than I was

football then?
he asks me
turning round
while there's time?

I smell her
still near me
OK then
I reply
walking on
to the game
just started

blow a kiss
back to her
she catches
with both hands
to her heart

here Benny
someone calls
throws a ball
I take part.

Sonya says
the Dostoevsky book
I’m reading
is a depressing read.

Read something
more joyful,
she says,
something less dark.

She's laying on the bed
in the Parisian hotel;
her blonde hair spread
on the pillow;
her hands holding
a book;
her legs crossed
at the ankles.

I look at her book cover:
Either/ Or.

What's that book?

Philosophy book;
by Kierkegaard.

Is that any more cheerful?

Depends on what
you mean
by cheerful;
it's not
a bundle of laughs.

She closes the book
and place sit
on the small table
by the bed.

Come lay here;
forget the book.

I put my book
on the dressing-table
by the window
and lay on the bed.

She uncrosses her legs
and turns to face me.

You need to lighten up;
life is too short
to spend time brooding
on the dark elements.

I look into
her icy blue eyes;
there's a new world there.

Kiss me;
hold me.

I kiss her
and hold her close;
I sense her breathing
on my cheek;
her ******* nudging
my chest;
her hands running
along my spine.

How are you feeling?

Fine,
I say,
feeling along
her thighs,
moving her skirt
as I go.

What do you feel?

Excitement and warm.

This is life;
this is living;
taking hold of the now
and holding on to it.

I sense my pecker stir;
my eyes widen;
I see her lips
readying
to kiss again.

She kisses;
no more words;
no more lectures
on life or living;
just a time
of taking
and giving.

We sat on top
of the old bomb shelter
on the grass
outside Banks House

evening was creeping in
sky darkening
moon showing
lights on
in the flats
above us

Lydia said
I’ll have to go soon
or my mum'll be
on the  war path
me being out still
and school tomorrow

just a few more minutes
I said

a steam train
went over
the railway bridge
over the way
by the Duke of Wellington pub

I love the smell of trains
she said
if I close my eyes
I think I’m on a train
to Scotland or the seaside

we could go
to Paddington train station
I said
I think trains to Scotland
go from there

Lydia looked at me
do they?

yes I' sure they do
I said

she smiled
could we go there
some day?

what Scotland?
I said

no silly
to Paddington station
she said laughing

sure we can
she looked away
and at the moon
above us
stars were visible

best go
she said
or Mum'll
be after me

ok
but we'll make
Paddington
maybe Saturday?

I'll ask Mum
Lydia said
or maybe Dad
he'll know
which trains
go there

we stood up
and climbed down
the bomb shelter
onto the grass
and walked along
by the flats

and maybe one day
she said suddenly
we can go
to Scotland

sure we will
I said

and she seemed happy
about that
and we climbed
the metal fence
and walked up
the *****
and into the Square
and I walked her
to her front door

she knocked
and her mother
opened the door

you're late
she said sternly

we've been talking
Lydia said softly

her mother looked at me
with her stern eyes

it's late
the moon's out
and there's
school tomorrow

Lydia frowned
and walked in
and her mother
shut the door

I walked off
and up the stairs
to my parent's flat
thinking of Scotland
and Lydia and me
and the sky darkened
like a deep moonlit sea.

Janice wore
the lemony dress
her gran had bought her
for being good

at the dentist
it had a bow
at the back
and flower patterns

here and there
I never got a dress
when I went
to the dentist

I said
you're a boy
she said laughing
mind you

I was promised a trip
to the seaside
in the summer
but I think

we were going anyway
so it wasn't much
of a gift or bribe  
I said

we walked on
by the Duke of Wellington
(public house)
and under

the iron railway bridge
which made loud noises
when the trains
went across

especially the steam trains
Gran said
not to get
the dress *****

or I’ll be for it
Janice said
I never asked Janice
why she lived

with her gran
and not her parents
my mother said
best not to ask

so I didn't
where we going?
Janice asked
I thought maybe

Bedlam park
we can watch kids
playing football
or watch those

in the swimming pool
or the tennis players
Janice said
it was a good idea

and so we went
on our way
I can get us
some ices

I said
have you some
money then?
she asked

sure I have
never come out
without a least
a few coins

I said
have to do a few chores
but at least
I get a few coins

to spend  
Gran gives me money
now and then
if I've been good

Janice said
but have you money now?
I asked
no

she said
can't have been good then
can you?
I said smiling

I’m always good
she said
but Gran can't always
afford to give me coins  

we crossed over
by the traffic lights
and went on our way
into St George's Road

I told her about
maybe staying
with my aunt and uncle
in Wraxall

where's that?
she asked
near Bristol
in Somerset

I said
what will you do there?
last time I went scrumping
with my cousin

is it countryside?
she asked
yes
there are cows

and sheep
in the fields
and mushrooms grow
there too

Janice asked about
the place and who
lived there
and asked questions

upon questions
as girls tend to do
once they get going
and I thought

of the chickens
my uncle kept
at the bottom
of his garden

which he let me fed
when I stayed
and fed them worms
and other stuff

Uncle gave me
but I told Janice
about holding the worms
in between my fingers

she ******* up
her nose
and said
she'd never want

to hold
one of those
then we came
to Bedlam park

and went in
and was reminded by her
to keep her
lemony dress clean

so we avoided
the swings and slide
and just looked in
from the metal fence outside.

Janice’s gran
had left the room

to fetch another
*** of tea

and Janice said
Are you coming on

the day trip to the seaside?
I’m not sure

you replied
Oh please do

Janice said
Then we can be together

and I won’t have to spend time
with those giggly girls

from the gospel group
you looked at her fair hair

and the way her eyes
were on you

and how precise
her lips were

when she spoke
I’m not sure my parents

can afford it
you said

Oh it’s free for kids
whose parents are poor

she said
And after all

it’s part of the point
of the whole thing

to show Christian values
and so on

and she smiled
and put her hand

on yours
under the table

as her gran came in
with the teapot

What are you two
talking about?

Gran asked
putting the teapot

down on the table
Janice’s hand

squeezed yours
under the table

Oh just about the day trip
to the seaside

Janice said
Are you going too?

her gran asked you
you hesitated

and then said
Yes I think so

and Janice looked at you
her blue eyes bright

and she said
Isn’t that good Gran?

Yes indeed
her gran said

and poured tea
into your cup

and added milk
and sugar

and Janice’s hand
left yours

and the absence
of the warmth

of her hand
felt like

a dying world
in a vast galaxy

or drowning
in a deep blue sea.

Her mother poured tea

her father sat talking
about his day at work

her sister sat eating
her jam and cheese sandwich

Elaine sat looking
into space
her eyes vacant

cat got your tongue?
her mother said
gazing at her
the teapot mid-air

her father looked at her
perhaps she found herself
a boyfriend
and smiled

some hopes
her sister said
more chance of you
winning at horses Dad

Elaine blushed
and tried to look
uninterested
in the conversation
such as it was or wasn't

so who's the boy
who's in love
with my Frumpy Hen?
the father said

no boy at all
Elaine said
just thinking

that requires a brain
her sister said
with a mouthful
of jam and cheese
sandwich

her mother said
what boy
I never heard
of a boy?

there is no boy
it's just Dad
having his joke
Elaine said
going red
feeling her body
become hot  

I was going to say
you're too young yet
for boys and their
nonsense
you're just 14
why when I
was your age
boys were not
even on the agenda
why my dad'd
strap me one if
he thought I'd been
messing with boys

Elaine couldn't get
a boy to look at her
let alone mess
about with her
her sister said
munching the mouthful

Elaine tried to bring
her heart into
a steady pace
her pulse was racing
she sensed her blood
rushing through her body
like lava down a volcano

I can't imagine
our Elaine with a boy
anyway
her father said
maybe a boy
with a white stick
he joked
with a guide dog

Elaine gazed at her father
and frowned

only joking
my Frumpy Hen
I dare say
you'll get some one
someday

not before she's older
her mother said
sitting at the table
not before she's
much older
can't have a girl
her age with boys
and all they get up to
like that Mrs Kimp's daughter
out all hours with boys
coming along the road
with a boy on her arm
not right and she
no older that Elaine here

Elaine tried to imagine
herself some place else
as she ate a ham sandwich
feeling like gagging
on it

if she was a daughter of mine
I'd give her what for
the mother said
sitting uneasy
on the chair
gazing at Elaine's
young sister
not at Elaine

I'm not thinking
of a boy
Elaine lied
feeling her body unfold
her heart racing along

good job too
her mother said
you're my good girl
giving Elaine a smile
as John crept
into Elaine's thoughts
all the while.

The Mediterranean Sea
caught the moonlight

as you wandered the beach
with Mame

she grabbed your hand
and kissed your cheek

isn’t it out of this world?
she said stopping

and looking into your eyes
and breathing out

her peppermint breath
you smelt the sea salt

felt the slight breeze
coming across the sea

wouldn’t you rather be
with one of the other guys

than be here with me?
you said

gazing at her fuzzy hair
her light blue eyes

oh **** the other guys
it’s you I like

she said
brushing a hand

through your hair
pulling you in closer

to her small tight *******
don’t you like me?

she asked
I thought you fancied me

the way you kept staring at me
on the coach and in Tangiers

you heard the Berber drums
and voices from the camp base

coming on the wind
and wondered if the others

would guess she’d taken you
down the beach

for something romantic
or tumble in the sands

with all lips and hands
well?

she asked
standing there

in her flowered
two piece bathing cloth

sure I do
you muttered

sensing her hand
reaching down

your jeans
seeking an *******

a sign of interest
do you ever think

of those ancients
who may once

have stood
where we now stand?

you said
how they too

may have stood
beneath a sky

and stars
and moon like us?

she stood back and stared
and uttered coldly

no I haven’t
and couldn’t give a cuss

and off she went
up the beach

to the base camp
on smooth sands

and rough tufts of grass
and oh how she knew

to wiggle
her small tight ***.

The tattoo dame
on the tube train

young
skirted

tee-shirted
and those tattoos

all over her
(least where

you could see)
and the pressed up

people to you
the motion

of the train
bodies colliding

smells
odours

perfume
human sweat

and she swaying
holding a bag

between her legs
and you

wanting to snap her
on your

camera phone
but unable

to get
to your pocket

pressed in
from both sides

trying
to remember her

and the tattoos
and where

they were
and what of

and colours
and such

and she
looking down

not up
and the small ****

pressed in
the small cups.

Hedley’s mother had hairy legs.
That’s one reason you liked to

go over for tea some days. That
and the fact she wore the kind

of short dress no other women
you knew would wear at least

not in front of minors like yourself
and Hedley.  More tea? Cake?

she asked giving you the big smile
and oozing her perfume from her

nearby body. Yes more cake please
and are those salmon sandwiches?

Yes dear and there’s plenty more
if you want she replied. She poured tea

and brought more cake and sandwiches
and sat down opposite you and said

how’s your mother dear? Oh she’s ok
you said gazing dumbly at Hedley’s

mother and the way her hands moved
over the plates and held the teapot

with the red fingernails and the rings
on her fingers. Is your husband not here?

you asked. No he’s away business calls
and such like she said giving you the smile

and bright eyes. Oh good glad he’s got
plenty of work on you replied. Hedley ate

and drank and said little over tea. His
mother ate quite daintily her fingers

holding the cup with her little digit sticking
out as she drank. Ah she said suddenly

I forgot the jelly and ice-cream and off
she walked and you watched as she went.

Her hairy legs really grabbed your attention.
Mothers huh? Hedley said. Keeping face

against the odds. Father’s probably
******* his female clients or staying

over in cheap hotels with the red-light girls.
Oh right you said guess some father’s do.

Here’s the jelly and ice cream Hedley’s
mother said on her return hope you like it

she said I like it when it wobbles and the soft
taste on the tongue. Hedley said nothing and

nor did you. You were thinking of Hedley’s father
and those cheap hotels and the girls he’d *****.

Hey Kid
Anne says

Benny follows
to where
she calls him

what is it?
he asks

go get my chair

your wheel chair?

yes my wheel chair
what other kind
of chair do I have

ok
he says
and goes off
over the green lawn

passing kids
on the swing and slide

pass the skinny nun
who has just come
whom Anne says
looks like a clarinet
she's so thin

in through
the French windows
passing a girl
who has ****** burns
but who manages
to smile at him

in down the hall
into the girl's dormitory
and takes hold
of Anne's wheel chair
and is just about he
to wheel it out

when Sister Blaise
stops him
where are you going
with that Benny?
she asks

he looks at the nun
with her stern features
and icy blue eyes

it's for Anne
he says

did she ask you
to get it?

he looks at
the crucifix
on the wall
behind the nun's head

no I saw she was
struggling
and thought it best
to bring it to her
he says

taking in
the Crucified's head
leaning to one side
eyes half open
as if He were
looking at him

is that the truth?
the nun asks

he nods
and puts on
his Mr Innocent face

all right off you go
she says
eyeing him
as he wheels the chair
along the passageway

and out through
the French windows
and across the lawn
at full belt

until he comes
to where Anne stands
propped painfully
on her crutches
any problems?
she asks

no
he replies
trying to get
the nun's
icy blue stare
out of his eyes.

Tessa stirred, lifted her head from the pink pillow, saw bright daylight coming through the gap in the yellow curtains. What day is it? Saturday. Good. No rush. Can lay here for a while. She laid her head down again. She felt beside her with her hand. No one there. Good. Sometimes she invited a man back if he seemed ok and she liked him enough. Obviously, last night she’d not met anyone worth the coming back with. Just as well. She wasn’t in the mood for waiting on them over a breakfast table; talking about the previous night, what it had been like for him or sometimes for her if she had brought back a girl. No one. Just empty space. Although Teddy was there. His one ear was smooth; his fur was thin and sparse. She brought him to her lips, kissed his small head. Hello, Teddy. His glass eye seemed to gaze back at her; the button eye was darker, unseeing. Poor Teddy. Battered and worn. We’ve been together now for…how long? Twenty years? She laid him beside her; kissed his nose. He lay there looking at the white ceiling. Silence. Not a great conversationalist was Teddy. He’d not said a word in all the years they’d been together. Although as a child, she thought he had, would talk with him, play games with him, told him all her secrets and worries. Moreover, of course, he had witnessed things, seen her play with her dolls, with men, the occasional girl, and seen her with all kinds. She brooded for a moment; let the idea of what he may have seen swim around her mind. She had become so used to him being there in her bedroom that she’d given no thought to what he may have seen over the years. Good God. He’d seen all that, never said a word, or moaned or complained or judged her. Too many did that; judged her. But never Teddy. She turned her head, kissed his furry cheek. He didn’t always lie on her bed, when she had company she put him in the armchair in the corner, or on the dressing table by the window. Once one of the men she’d brought back has tossed Teddy across the room, she had become cross, swore at the man, picked up Teddy, kissed his brow, cuddled him against her cheek, told the man to go, leave her because if he could do that to her Teddy he might do it to her. The man shook his head, left thinking her slightly touched, ******* up one of his eyes as if he thought she had lost the plot. Maybe she had, she didn’t care. Teddy had seen her as a little girl, seen her cousin creep into her room, seen him climbed into her bed and do things to her, seen her squirm, seen his hand over her mouth, heard his threats. She hadn’t thought about that; hadn’t given it any thought until now. Remember that, Teddy? He threatened me with all kinds of things if I told anyone what he did. What a *******; what a creep. He’s married now, Teddy; got kids of his own. Poor things. Makes you think. She sat up in bed, stared at the daylight through the gap in the curtains. She got out of bed, sat on the end looking at the wall. Never said a word. Never told anyone, except Teddy; she’d told him. Everything. How it felt; how she felt; how ***** it had made her feel. Teddy listened; never judged. Always there with that look about him, that wise gaze. She sighed. If she saw her cousin now, she said nothing, just stared at him and he stared at her, a knowing look on his fat face. She looked back at Teddy in bed, saw his gaze on her, saw his uncritical gaze. She loved that about him. Loved that look. Breakfast, Teddy? Like I used to make you? She mused on her efforts to get him to eat his breakfast as a child, but he never did. You were awful at eating your breakfast. Mother told me not to give you any, but I always did; always gave you some of mine. It made Father cross, made his face become all stern and cross looking, and he threatened once to throw you out when we moved from that old house to the new one. But I hid you so he couldn’t. You saw him when he spanked me; heard my cries. Mother never came or said anything, but you were always there; I am sure I heard you say you loved me, would always be there for me. She nodded her head. Sighed. The strong silent type was Teddy. Always there. With his one glass eye, his balding fur, his one ear. Haven’t seen them for years now, the parents. They’re in Oxford; I’m here in New York. An ocean between us. Miles and miles. We’re here, Teddy, you and me. Just the two of us. Just us, this apartment, the paintings on the walls, the jazz on the CD player, our secrets, all our own secrets. Just us. Just you and me. Eh, Teddy? Eh? Silence. Teddy, the strong silent type and me the mouthy *****. What a couple. What a pair. Me here, you there. She laughed, looked at Teddy’s moon shaped smile, the smile was always there, a welcome smile, a smile to warm her, to tell her she was good, she was loved. Yes, loved; wanted for whom she was inside, not for what she said or did or didn’t do. Just you and me, Teddy. Just you and me.

That year they gave Tess
her first typewriter. She’d
not need to borrow her
brother’s battered old piece
or write down her fragile
poems in her spiderlike
scrawl as her father called it.

The promise came while
she was getting her mind
together in that mental
asylum, after the mucky
love affair that went no
place and left her hanging
there, like one crucified
for all to see and most
to softly mutter and stare.

Get yourself mended girl,
Father said, and we’ll buy
you your own typewriter,
so you can stab away on
the keys to your heart’s
content and bring out
those poems of yours.

He never read her poems,
never read much apart
from the back page sport
or gawked at page 3 girls
with a tut tutting tongue.

That year she gazed out
of the wide barred window
of the asylum at the snow
on fields, at the seagulls
gathering and feeding behind
the faraway tractor as it
ploughed, at the grey
depressing sky, wondering
what it’d be like to not be,
wondering what the woman
with a cast in her eye, was
doing to herself in the toilets,
one night when she’d gone
in to *** unable to sleep.

The typewriter idea
and promise kind of got her
through the dark hours and
the ECT, and the following day
headaches and numbness.

After slitting her wrists (mildly,
a cry for help) she said on the
phone to her father, Come get
me out of this place, help me
get back together. Ok, he said,
Miss Humpty Dumpty, and he
put down the phone, and she
stood in the hall of the asylum
with the receiver in her hand,
the image of the typewriter
before her eyes, those poems
banging on the inside of her
head, new ones wanting to
get out, old ones left for dead.

Here’s your fare
for the bus to school

your mother said
but some days you walked

and spent the money
on doughnuts at the bakery

on the way to school
and you felt them warm

through the white paper bag
the baker had put them in

and you ate them on the way
then licked your fingers clean

like some fingery *******
and Ed Sutcliffe met you

in the playground and said
You got sugar around your mouth

and he pointed
with his ink stained finger

and so you wiped
around your mouth

with your tongue
until all was clean

and you said
That Ok?

and he stared
at your mouth and lips

and said
Yeah that’s better

and you said
Where’s O’Brien?

He hasn’t come yet
Sutcliffe said

but Austen’s here
he drove up in his sports car

a few moments back
you sighed and looked

towards the place
where he parked his car

red and flashy
I suppose he’ll be

in his usual
bullying mood again

said Sutcliffe
holding up

the clay pots
and saying

Look at this specimen
of a ***

and hold it
up for the class to see

Don’t remind me
you said

Austen’s a fink
with a face of pits

like the surface
of the moon

and Sutcliffe laughed
and it kind of eased

his nervousness
and you saw

in his blue eyes
that sharp fear

that people have
when another dies.