Baruch could hear
Fay's father
bawling her out
along the balcony

his  Catholic platitudes
filling the air
he watched
from a safe distance

as Fay's fair hair
was caught
by sunlight
her father's

dark expression
like black clouds
on a summer's day
Pater Nosters

rose and fell
then he went indoor
and left her
standing there

the echo of his voice
staining the air
Baruch waved to her
and she descended

the stairs
to the balcony below
and along
where Baruch stood

what was that all about?
he asked
the nuns
reported me

meeting you
after school
the other day
she said

your daughter
is meeting the Jew
they'd said
he said

Fay looked back
behind her
as she touched
Baruch's arm

you're not to meet
the Jew boy
he was shouting
said he'd give me

a good hiding
if I saw you again
she said
looking up

at the balcony above
Baruch looked
at her fair hair
let loose

unfettered by bow
or ribbon
over her
blue dress

guess we mustn't
be seen then
he said softly
by Burton's window

in half hour
she said
and fled
along the balcony

and up the stairs
to her father's flat
Baruch watched
her go

the sway
of her dress
the hair in flow
then gone

from sight
just going out
he said
to his mother

at her ironing
in the front room
ok
she said

be careful
and so he
went down the stairs
and across the Square

down the *****
and along Rockingham Street
under the railway bridge
and along by

the back
of the cinema
and on to
the New Kent Road

down the subway
along the echoing passage
thinking of Fay
and her father

and his ways
he whistled
as he walked
his sound echoing

along the walls
a Hebrew tune
he'd heard
whistling loud

like a noisy bird
then up the steps
to the place to meet
by Burton's window

on the corner
of St George Road
traffic
racing by

waiting for Fay
her beauty
to greet
his Jewish eye.

Rochester, public market,
New York, and you see
The woman standing there

With her bags full of shopping
Waiting for her husband to come
And return with the car, with a face

That tells of annoyance and speaks
Volumes. Where the **** is he,
She mutters unaware you can

Hear her as you pack away your
Shopping in the back of your old
Ford. Won’t be long he said,

Be just a moment, she says, her
Voice rising like the fat dame in
The opera house before the curtains

Fall, and here I am waiting and my
Feet aching, my migraine returning
And all he can think about is laying

A bet and going for a drink with that
Logan loon and me here standing like
Some worn out ***** desperate for

A final pickup. She turns around and
Gives you the stare, takes in your skimpy
Skirt, your dyed blond hair, then turns

Away and scratches her *** and moves
Her feet and looks up and down for her
Husband’s returning car. You close

Down the lid of the old Ford and get
Inside and sit and watch the woman
And wonder if she has kids and grand

Kids, or maybe a secret lover, some
Poor schmuck down on his life’s luck.
She swings one of the bags of shopping

In front of her legs, her agitation increasing,
Her face deepening with lines of her frustration.
He knows I don’t like him drinking while he

Drives, I told him if you’re going to drink,
Then I will drive, I don’t want the *******
Cops breathing through the car window on

Me just because of the your drunk reckless
Driving and what does he do? Goes off in the
Car to meet the Logan guy and bet and drink

And me here like some ****** waiting and
My feet aching and the piles giving me hell.
She stops as her husband’s car returns and

He pulls up and gets out real slow and puts
The bags in the back and says nothing, passing
Her by and getting back in his seat and she

Climbing in her side of the car says, Hi Honey,
Did you have a nice drink and bet with Logan?
Yeah, he says, but the horse fell and the beer

Was warm and Logan didn’t show and so I
Drank the warm beer and bet the one horse
And then came here. You? Had a good

Shopping trip? Sure, she says, her voice
Now mellow, a smile on her lips, just got
What we needed and they did my hair.

You watch as off they drive, and as they
Go off the woman gives you the middle
Digit up you sign and a dark black glare.

Rochester, public market,
New York, and you see
The woman standing there

With her bags full of shopping
Waiting for her husband to come
And return with the car, with a face

That tells of annoyance and speaks
Volumes. Where the **** is he,
She mutters unaware you can

Hear her as you pack away your
Shopping in the back of your old
Ford. Won’t be long he said,

Be just a moment, she says, her
Voice rising like the fat dame in
The opera house before the curtains

Fall, and here I am waiting and my
Feet aching, my migraine returning
And all he can think about is laying

A bet and going for a drink with that
Logan loon and me here standing like
Some worn out ***** desperate for

A final pickup. She turns around and
Gives you the stare, takes in your skimpy
Skirt, your dyed blond hair, then turns

Away and scratches her *** and moves
Her feet and looks up and down for her
Husband’s returning car. You close

Down the lid of the old Ford and get
Inside and sit and watch the woman
And wonder if she has kids and grand

Kids, or maybe a secret lover, some
Poor schmuck down on his life’s luck.
She swings one of the bags of shopping

In front of her legs, her agitation increasing,
Her face deepening with lines of her frustration.
He knows I don’t like him drinking while he

Drives, I told him if you’re going to drink,
Then I will drive, I don’t want the *******
Cops breathing through the car window on

Me just because of the your drunk reckless
Driving and what does he do? Goes off in the
Car to meet the Logan guy and bet and drink

And me here like some ****** waiting and
My feet aching and the piles giving me hell.
She stops as her husband’s car returns and

He pulls up and gets out real slow and puts
The bags in the back and says nothing, passing
Her by and getting back in his seat and she

Climbing in her side of the car says, Hi Honey,
Did you have a nice drink and bet with Logan?
Yeah, he says, but the horse fell and the beer

Was warm and Logan didn’t show and so I
Drank the warm beer and bet the one horse
And then came here. You? Had a good

Shopping trip? Sure, she says, her voice
Now mellow, a smile on her lips, just got
What we needed and they did my hair.

You watch as off they drive, and as they
Go off the woman gives you the middle
Digit up you sign and a dark black glare.

Benedict waited patiently(as patiently as a nine year old boy can wait) for Janice at the end of Bath Terrace where she lived with her grandmother in the block of flats behind somewhere on the third floor where he‭'‬d been once or twice to see the yellow canary and stay for tea and why she lived with her grandmother and not her parents he never asked although it puzzled him often especially at night when he lay awake kept awake by the coal shunting railway engine opposite the flats of Banks House where he lived with his parents and sister and brother but Janice's grandmother was a strict disciplinarian and even Benedict was wary of her when he saw her out or when he visited the flat and recalled her saying I’ll slap your behind my girl if you misbehave‭ she would often say in his hearing and he'd see Janice blush and stare wide eyed at her grandmother he stared back up Bath Terrace and saw Janice walking quickly towards him her blonde hair long and fine coming out beneath the red beret her creamy coat buttoned up to her neck he watched her walking she was late she hurried forward he was dressed in his blue jeans and jumper and a pocketful of coins his mother had given him for an ice cream for the both of them sorry I’m late Janice said Gran kept me behind said I had to help with the washing and I had to hold the washing through the ringer while Gran turned the big handle she said I  was too weak to do that bit but I had to do something Benedict nodded he knew her grandmother was a determined woman and knew that when she do something you did it or else‭ does she know where we are going‭? ‬he asked yes I asked her yesterday she said yes if I was with you and to stay with you and to behave don't think she would have let me go if you weren't with me Janice said so they walked along Rockingham Street under the railway bridge and down the street that went by the Trocadero cinema and out into the New Kent Road she chattering about her canary the one he'd seen a few times a yellow bird that sometimes talked if it was in the mood and once when he visited the flat he tried to teach the bird to repeat a four letter word but Janice said don't or I’ll get the blame and be for it so he didn't but he thought it would have been fun have the bird come out with the four letter word to an unsuspecting grandmother are we walking or getting a bus‭? ‬he asked we can walk she said it's just passed our school ok he said so they walked down the subway along the echoing tunnel he singing a few bars of a Frankie Vaughan song she looking at him despairingly he singing it in a country music kind of voice playing an imaginary guitar and making a guitar sound in between singing and then they came out at the other side of the subway and they walked along St George's Road towards the Imperial War Museum where he had suggested they go the previous day‭ ‬he had been there many times especially after school sometimes just to see a particular set of guns or bombs or see the WW1‭ ‬set out in glass cases the small figures of soldiers in trenches and painted backgrounds of trees blown up or no man's land how long are we staying‭? ‬she asked as long as we want he said I may have a go at the air plane controls or see the machine guns and grenades and bayonets she thought it could be boring seeing all that she didn't like guns or bombs or the huge figures of soldiers by walls she only said she'd come to be out and to be him and maybe he would buy her an ice cream or a drink of pop or something she had wanted to go swimming but her grandmother said she didn't like the idea and she thought it indecent to go around in swimwear in the public eye but others do Janice had pleaded I don't care what others do the grandmother said it is you I am thinking about I promised your parents I’d take care of you and keep you safe and I am determined to keep my promise swimming indeed with all those people hardly clothed and some O my God in skimpy swimwear so one can see their parts Benedict laughed when Janice told him his mother had no problems about him going swimming but to be on the look out for children who peed in the water if you see yellow water she said keep away from it get out one can get diseases from *** his mother said but they were going to the War Museum and as they approached the steps he sensed her thin hand reach out for his and he hoped no one especially any boys from school saw him and her and her hand touching his and he hoped that if she decided to give him a nervous kiss it would be the one thing he hoped the boys from school would certainly miss.

Lydia's mother
opened the door
of the flat
after I had knocked

and gave me
a stern stare
is Lydia coming out?
I asked

she looked hard
at me
where?
to the herbalist

get some sarsaparilla
I said
sarsaparilla?
she said

yes it's good for you
they say
makes blood
I said

she looked
at my scuffed shoes
and blue jeans
and the gun and holster

hanging
from the snake head
elastic belt
around my waist

I suppose she can
her mother said
LYDIA
she bellowed

windows rattled
a dog
across the Square
barked

the milkman's horse
lifted its head
from the nosebag
Lydia came to the door

and poked her head
out from under
her mother's arm
Benedict here

wants to take you
to get a sarsaparilla
Lydia looked at you
her eyes narrowing

then widening
ok
she said
can I go?

she asked
course if I say so
as long
as you are wrapped warmer

than you are now
her mother said
Lydia rushed back inside
and her mother

took a long drag
of a cigarette
her yellowing fingers
in a V shape

what's your father
do for a living?
she asked
the smoke carrying

her words to me
he's a metal worker
I said
he makes things

from metal
she stared at me
a few loose hairs
had escaped

the flowery scarf
about her head
I think
he frequents ******

she said
I see
I said
unsure

what she was saying
she inhaled
on the cigarette again
her eyes

gazing beyond me
keep Lydia out
a fair while
she said

pushing out smoke
I want to rest
my eyes a while
ok

I said
she went indoors
and I waited for Lydia
sniffing in the smoke

hanging about
the doorstep
the dog barked again
the horse ate

from the nosebag
the milkman whistled
a few notes
from some tune

I sniffed the smoke again
hoping Lydia
would be out
wrapped warm soon.

You rode the steep hill
on your bike
to get to the farm house
where Jim and Pete were

to practice Judo
in the grass about the house
or in the small hay barn
their sister Monica

was by the fence
when you rode in
the driveway
are the boys about?

you asked
might be
she said
looking at you  

what do you want them for?
Judo practice
you replied
getting off the bike

and leaning it
against the fence
can you teach me?
will your mother let you?

why shouldn’t she?
ask her and see
you said
looking away from her

and gazing at the fields
and woodland all about
she might if you ask her
Monica pleaded

moving nearer
her hand holding the fence
by your hand
when you’re older

you said
I’m old enough
she said
the farmhouse door opened

and her mother
put her head
out the door
the boys will be out soon

she said
do you want to wait indoors?
are you worrying
Benedict again Monica?

no just talking
is she being a pain?
she asked you  
no she’s ok

you said
I’ll wait for the boys here
you said
ok then

but Monica come in
and help me prepare lunch
Monica pulled a face
like ******* a lemon

and sighing
and cursing
under her breath
followed her mother

indoors but before
she went in
the door way
she turned and blew

a kiss from the palm
of her small chubby hand
then disappeared
you caught the blown kiss

in the shell form
of your hands
and studied it
in your palm

then put it in the pocket
of your jeans
where it could evaporate
and do no harm.

Waiting’s worse. She knows it.
That old feeling known since
childhood. Then it was the parent,
the heavy hand, the punishment.

This is like it, but not like it. She
waits for him to come home. His
footfalls in the hall, his voice along
the passage. To gauge the tone,

the loud or softness. She sits, waits.
Be prepared, the mother said,
years back.  The clock in the hall
sounds loud with its tick tock. Puts

hands between the thighs, anxiety
bites. For better for worse, the
vows said.  Bruises like medals,
black eyes as reminders, a colour

ranging from black and blue to green
to brown or whatever it is. She *****
an ear. Him? Maybe. The last time
it was she’d been seen with some

feller. She’d not of course. But it suited
as an excuse. She’d lost the baby by
the fall down stairs. What was that
all about? Was that the time she had

been late with his dinner? Or was that
some other? Baby’d be walking now.
Missed the first steps, the first word,
the live birth. Is that him? She bites a

finger nail. Feelings seem to run along
the nerves. What to say? What words?
The door opens along the hall, his voice
echoes mildly, we shall wait, we shall see.

Benedict watched Christine;
she was applying lipstick
to her lips, gazing at herself
in the bathroom mirror.

She mouthed her lips together
as he had seen his mother
do many times as a child
to spread the lipstick evenly.

That looks better, he said.
She eyed in him in the mirror.
Least I can do to make myself
liveable again. He smiled.

Her hair was brushed, not
messed up as was per norm.

Maybe you’ll be ready to get
out of the locked ward soon,
he said. She lowered her eyes.

Brushing hair and applying
lipstick doesn’t mean I can
forget that *******, she said.

Still have problems inside
my head. Maybe they’ll stop
the ECTs, he said, give you
pills or such. She pushed
the lipstick in her dressing
gown pocket, walked out
of the bathroom on naked feet.

He followed her to the window
of the lounge where other
patients sat or stood and
peered out at the snow.

I want to be out there,
feel that coldness, that air,
that biting chill, want to be
alive, want to feel, she said.

Benedict smelt the scent
of old soap, sensed her fingers
touching along his arm, her
breath made mist upon the glass.

They can stick their ECTs,
she muttered, they do nothing
for me except mess with my head.

He allowed her finger to run
down his skin, to move about
his wrist, smooth the scar where
a blade once ran, touch his
lips waiting again to be kissed.

The tall monk‭
with large blue eyes,‭
walked with his head‭

to one side‭
as if he spoke‭
with God‭

at an awkward angle.‭
I gazed at the grey‭
falling rain,‭

the church roof‭
from my cell window,‭
became a slightly‭

greyer grey.‭
The dark haired monk,‭
with the cissy girl hair,‭

moaned about‭
my apple picking,‭
in his posh boy‭

tone.‭
Down by the woods,‭
on a leaf strewn path,

the French‭
peasant monk‭
walked alone.

You took Fay
to Kennington Park
it being a fine day
and with no school

and her father
away working
and she sat
on the bus

there in her orange dress
which matched
her fair hair
tied in a ponytail

her brown sandals
and white socks
hands in her lap
her eyes large

in expectation
you sat beside her
in your checked
open neck shirt

and faded blue jeans
battered black shoes
you both swaying
to the bus’s motion

and when you got off
at the Park
she said hadn’t been
to the park before

and that her father
took them
to the park nearby
sometimes on a Sunday

after mass
if she’s been good
and could recite
the Pater Noster

right through
in  Latin
without mistakes
what the heck’s

the Pater Noster?
you asked
the Lord’s Prayer
she said

the Park was busy
people everywhere
parents with kids
and without

and kids
with no parents
and she was talking
about the nuns

who taught
at her school
how strict they were
and the girl who was hit

over the knuckles
with a ruler
for not knowing
the Credo all through

you didn’t bother to ask
what that was
but saw her eyes
bright blue

and looking around
the grass and trees
and bushes
and you both sat

on the grass
and you said
your parents brought you here
on Sundays

and you watched
the cricket or played ball
and sometimes
your old man

bought ice creams
or lemonade
and she talked
of her mother

and how she
had to work hard
to please her father
and sometimes

they rowed
and sometimes he hit
her mother if the row
got out of hand

and she went quiet
and looked at you
don’t tell anyone
she said

I’m not to speak
of what goes on
indoors
I won’t say a word

you said
what about an ice cream?
you said
I haven’t any money

she said
I have
you said
my mother gave me 2/6d

for doing chores
o yes then
she said
and went with you

to the ice cream place
and ordered two
and paid the coins
and got your change

and walked along
the path
she taking hold
of your hand in hers

and you sensed
the pulse of her
through your fingers
and the sun was warm

and the sky
a bright blue
with just 12 year old Fay
and 12 year old you.

He was with her
when they came back
from the bar

the moon was out
but dark clouds
hid it now and then

and she walked
with a sway
singing bars
from some song
she liked

and he watched her
walking just behind
looking at her
looking about him
the streets
the street lights
yellow upon black
bright lights

and she said
this is it
this is what I like
being merry
being liberated
from my normal self

and he said
ok let’s get back home
take it easy
don’t what you falling
and breaking bones

she paused on the edge
of the kerb
and looked at the moon
look at that moon
I guess people in Russia
see the self same moon
as we do
looking up
and seeing the same
bright light
the same pits
on the moon’s skin

he said
come on Honey
lets’ get back
and he put his arm
through hers
and tried to move her on

hey hey
she said  
don’t pull me along
I want to see the moon

so he stopped pulling her
and walked on
and looked back
at her staring
at the moon
her voice singing
her body swaying

he walked on
hands in the pockets
of his coat
head down

wait
she called
wait for me
I don’t want
to be swallowed
by the night

and he stopped
and she ran to him
and put her arms
around him
and kissed his lips
and he could taste
the *****
the cigarettes

and he said
come on Babe
let’s go

and so she walked on
beside him
her body leaning
against him
her voice humming
a melody
her feet picking
places to tread

his lips having
the taste of her
on them
the feel of her
on his arm

her voice
humming still
echoing into the night  
hoping she’d be good
once home
hoping she’d stay awake
not fall asleep
but if she did
he thought
the *** would keep.

We cross a field
by the cottage
where I live
with my parents

the sun is warm
and the sky
a blue and white cloth
above our heads

it's Saturday
I have spent part
of the morning
up the farm

weighing milk
and cleaning out
cowsheds
Jane wants to show me

a small river
where there are fish
and now and then
unusual butterflies

can you fish there?
I ask
some do
but very few

she says
but it is good
to see them
swimming by

with their lovely colours
I look at her
as she relates the details
but I am not listening

so much to her words
as the music of her voice
and the brightness
of her dark eyes

her black hair
is drawn back
into a ponytail
and I am there

beside her
and I feel like
touching her hands
as she shows me

the size of the fish
but I don't just
sense her there
her being

the almost purity
of her
and butterflies float by
quite innocent

she says smiling
and now and then
if one is gentle
one can hold them

in the palms
of the hands
and just open up
enough to see

them there
opening and closing
their wings
like small bellows

I study her
her lips moving
the lips
opening and closing

like landed fish
and yet I had kissed
them before
but don't want

to just kiss
without her
knowing before hand
but how to ask

to kiss?
we cross about
three fields
I tell her

about my morning
at the farm
and the farm dog
a black mutt

who bit me
one morning
and show her
my scar on the arm

and she touches it
and her fingers
seem almost healing
and sends through

my whole body
an electric
buzzing feeling.

Walking through a field of kale
Jane in front and you following behind
brushing on your hands over

the dew damp leaves
breathing in the morning air
she looking around

in case the farmer
or one of his farmhands
sees you wander

through the tall kale
you notice she has a slight wiggle
as she walks ahead

not intentional
not like some of the girls at school
you put on the wiggling hips

to attract the boy’s searching eyes
it’s just a natural movement
and you watch and take in

the decisive tread she makes
maybe in fear of mouse
or just cautious of doing damage

to the kale’s green stems
then she pauses and turns around
facing you and says

I come here sometimes
and sit amongst the kale
just to be alone and away

from the pressures
and eyes of others
you nod and say

it gets like that sometimes
and as you speak
your eyes move over her face

and at her eyes
and the way her hair
is neatly brushed

and her lips parted slightly
as if about to speak
mother warmed me of boys

she says looking over your shoulder
at the farm beyond
she says they’re not to be trusted

then she pauses
and looks you in the eyes
and oh you mutter inwardly

the way she looks
the way her eyes
move over me like an artist’s brush

and you sense
a kiss waiting to happen
lips paused to press

tongues ready to explore
each other’s orifice
warm and wet

but nothing happens
and you both walk on
through the dew damp kale

hoping for another time
another fresh dawn
another sexier now.

How do I look in this dress?
Walt’s wife asked him as she
Did a twirl in the bedroom.
Yeah, fine, Walt slowly replied.

But you’re not even looking at
Me, she said. Walt turned his
Head from the small TV screen
And gazed at her. Yeah, you look

Fine. It’s not too short is it? She
Asked. No, not too short, Walt
Said, his eyes looking at the TV
Screen once more as the ballgame

Hotted up. How about my ***,
Does it look ok? Sure, said Walt.
Sure, what? She asked, my ***
Is too big in this? Is that what

You’re saying? Yeah, Walt replied,
His eyes focusing on the pass of
Ball. How can you be so insensitive.
Why you’re not even looking at me.

DOES MY *** LOOK BIG IN THIS?
She bellowed. Walt turned around
And at stared at his wife sticking out
Her ***. No, no, he said, just right

Honey, the best *** I’ve seen today.
What other *** have you seen today,
Then? She said. Walt sighed, he’d
Missed a good hit. What do you

Want to know now? Walt asked.
Whose *** you seen today? She said.
I haven’t seen any ***, Walt replied.
He studied his wife as she twirled

Again. That’s a bit short isn’t it, Walt
Said, and a bit tight. Makes your ***
Look like two piglets under canvas
Fighting to get out. A hairbrush flew

Across the room missing Walt’s head
As his wife stormed into the bathroom
And slammed the door. That’s ok Honey,
That’s what we ******* husband’s are for.

Walt Whitman was picking
Apples out in the supermarket
Store, or so you thought you

Saw and stood and stared all
Awkward and scared. Such
Eyes and beard and hat and

The fingers turning over the
Apple rubbing the thumb over
The green flesh, bringing to

His nose and sniffing through
The huge moustache the apple’s
Scent. You stood a little back

Just beside the cans of beer
And bottled wine, watching
His every movement, his hat

And clothes, the way he slowly
Peered about with steady stare,
The hugeness, the larger than

Life just standing there with
One solitary apple held in view,
Offering it outward, saying to

You, take a bite lady, sure
Looks good, tell me what you
Think of the apple’s taste and

Smell and taking the apple to
Your mouth to bite with awkward
Care and looked up to say, it’s

Fine, but he wasn’t there, just
A sense of emptiness with scent
Of apples on the morning air.

We saw you
on the sports field
Frumpy
with that boy

at lunch break
a girl said
Elaine tried
to ignore them

pretended
they were annoying
summer flies
or one of ******* fly

that buzzed and buzzed
she had been
on the field
with the boy John again

he seemed
to understand better now
he was still
a little weird

with his talk of birds
and butterflies
and what flowers
they liked best


but it was good
to sit with him
and not have to worry

any more about him
kissing her
as she did
that time before

now he seemed
less keen
or maybe he
was waiting his chance

or maybe seeing
if she wanted to
and she wasn't sure
about kissing

it had been so unexpected
and something stirred
in her as he kissed her
that frightened her

and unsettled her
and she can still remember
the feeling inside
the feelings along

her nerves
she waited outside
the classroom
for the teacher

to come along
the other girls and boys
jostled each other
or whispered

one looked at her
and said
what was he after Frumpy?
did he want a feel?

mild laughter
smiles
she ignored
looked at her shoes

black and scuffed
her mother said
she'd get her
new ones later

she put the toes
of her shoes together
pushed them closer
bet he wanted a touch

of you Frumpy
a girl said
laughter on the air
Elaine stared

at the left shoe
felt her toes push
against the inside
John hadn't touched her

but did he want to?
she hoped not
but what if he did
and what sort of touch?

and where and why?
she pushed her toes
down hard
against the leather

she closed her eyes
hoped the teacher
would be along soon
bet she lets him

touch her
a boy said
he must be desperate
another said

she thought of home
and her bedroom
and the bed
and her doll

waiting for her
and some peace
inside her
14 year old head.

Down came
the heavy rain
***** coal
coloured puddles

and you and Helen
stood under
the railway bridge

she clutching her doll
Battered Betty
close to her chest

you staring out
at the grey rain
thunder and lightening

making Helen scream
and clutching
your arm

her thick lens spectacles
steamed up
and hiding her eyes

I hate lightening
she said
what if it strikes us dead

it won't
you said
putting on

the brave boy routine
not while
you're with me

she didn't look
convinced
to a great degree

and peered out
through her smeary spectacles
when will it stop?

she said
it's not near
you said

you have to count
the seconds
between the lightening

and the thunder
and that should tell you
how far away it is

she took off her glasses
can you wipe these for me?
so you took the spectacles

and wiped the glass
on the end
of your shirt

until clear and clean
and handed them
back to her

and she put them on
that's better
she said

peering out
at the rain
and the puddles

on the cobblestones
of the short road
and the bomb site

nearby
you counted
after the flash of lightening

and the bang of thunder
10
you said

it's 10 miles away
she peered out again
at the grey sky

and pouring rain
seems right above us
she said

you gazed at her
standing there
drowned looking

with her hair
hanging over her face
and stuck

to her head
her dress clinging
to her tightly

her shoes sodden
you felt heavy
as if you'd swam

in a lake
and climbed out
fully dressed

with your jeans
and shirt wet through
clinging to you

I'm cold
she said
her teeth beginning

to chatter
her knees knocking
she clutching

Battered Betty
you put an arm
around her

and held her close
smelling the damp
the rain

the peppermint
on her breath
come

you said
let's go home
before we catch

a death
and you took her hand
and ran along

the cobblestones
stepping by puddles
and down Meadow Row

her fingers becoming cold
her hand wet
and slippery

and she beside you
clinging on
to her doll

by its swinging arm
making its one
good eye open

and close
like one feeling sleepy
wanting to doze.

Kempton showed Benedict
his collection of knives,
long, short, sharp and blunt.
That’s a German one my Dad
bought back from the War,
he said, taking one out
and showing with pride.

I expect it plunged a few bodies
before he choked it.
Benedict took the knife
and ran a finger
along the blade.
Sharp and coming to a point.

His own collection of knives
was small (dangerous things
his mother had said)
and kept in a drawer.

Dad took it
from this dead German’s belt,
took other things as well,
a photograph of some German girl
or so Dad said, pretty and smiling.

Benedict gave back the knife
and looked at others,
all sizes and lengths.

This one’s Russian,
Kempton said,
plunged a few Krauts I guess
before the Russian caught it
in the back, he added,
his dad having informed
some time before.  

Benedict liked the Yank knife best,
took it into his hands
and sensed the holds
of yesteryears, the fingers
having touched, the bodies
entered, the blood sensed,
the fears felt.

After a while Kempton
put them away,
feeling content,
proud of his collection.

Benedict thought it swell,
his own small collection
of knives would be
no one’s envy, tucked
in the drawer
with his vest, pants
and handkerchiefs
and that tie his auntie
had bought of red and grey.

Kempton and he left
the Kempton household
and went across the Square
to begin their wars in play.

Dalya was sitting
with her brother
beside me
in the 9 seater

mini bus
the Yank girl
was at the front
with the driver/guide

and some other prat
who was a teacher
we'd passed into Germany
and were travelling along

to the next base camp
I was reading
Solzhenitsyn’s Gulag book
what's that about?

Dalya asked
Russian labour camps
between 1918 and 1958
I said

heavy
she said
haven't you
anything lighter?

no
I said
I only brought this
to fill in the time

between camps
looks boring
she said
the death of millions

can never be boring
I said
some of my relations
died in the **** camps

she said
her brother said
Auschwitz Uncle and Auntie
died in and our grandparents

so not boring then
I said
Dalya shrugged
her shoulders

guess not
she looked away
I read on for a while
I thought of Dalya

the evening before
at the first base camp
after putting up the tents
she said

that Yank *****
did nothing
to put our tent up
stood there yakking

to the driver/guide
she in her leathers
and tight pants
and I have to

share with her
and it's all about
what she's doing
and how the guys

are all over her
and she with the posh
sleeping bag
and Dalya went on

over drinks
at the base camp bar
you can always
share with me

I said
why would I?
she said
why wouldn't you?

I said
I’ve only just met you
the other day
she said

what do you
take me for?
a pretty girl
out for a good time

in a foreign land
I said
I can't anyway
she said

she's in my tent
and my brother
shares with you
she was right of course

but the thought
was there
even if
the opportunity wasn't

she glared
at the Yank girl's head
in front
I read about

the NKVD
or whatever
they were called
and sensed Dalya's body

next to mine
her thigh touching
against me
I closed the book

and looked out
at the passing view
at fields
and trees

and the sky
of washed out blue.

I was in the laundry room
sorting through
some old guy's washing

when Chana came in
and closed the door
behind her
with her plump ****

fancy seeing you in here
she said
she had her hair
in a kind of Beehive style
her big blue eyes
were ******* me

got to get this washing on
Sidney gets through
so much in a day
I said

she walked around me
and went to the window
and stared out
at the kitchens
over the way
then turned
and faced me

you look
good enough to eat
she said
especially
your lovely thighs

yes well
I am rather *******
at the moment Chana
but maybe
another time

the washing machine
came to the end
of its cycle
and I took out
the wet washing
and dropped it
in a large white basket
then put in
Sidney's soiled clothes
and put in the soap powder
and closed the door
and pressed the button

can't spare me
a little time?
she said

she was behind me now
and as I turned
she pressed herself
against me
her full bust
was pressed
against my chest

I’ve things to do
I said

she put her hands
around my waist
and hugged me close

I know you have
she said sexily
her breath
eased out
her words
and they floated
on the air

look Chana
I need
to get down to business
George is waiting
for his bathe
and I need
to run the bath for him
I said

you need
to get down to business
with me
she said

she placed her hands
around my thighs
she kissed me
on the lips
my pecker moved
my eyes closed

I opened them
when her hands
touched my ****

not now Chana
go look after
one of the old dames
I’m sure one of them
needs to bathe

O forget them
this is now
they're yesterday

no they need you
I can wait
I said

she released me
disappointedly
and stood gazing
at me

don't forget
to come around tonight
she said
and bring
a bottle of *****

sure
I said
going out the door
I’ve nothing else
to do or lose.

Was it you
who touched
your mother's shoulder
that night
as she wept?

(I was drugged up
(sleeping pill),
so slept.

She finds
Mondays
the worst,
the day you died,
than the rest.

Cuts her up,
brings her
to a low ebb.

Saturdays are mine,
the day it all seemed
to go wrong,
two days before
your death,
the incompetence,
the mistakes
seemingly made;
things not done.  

Was it you?
we deem it so.

The gentlest
of touches,
as she shed
her tears,
turned and saw
I slept
as she wept.

Grief comes
in waves,
high rushes
of it, sweeping
all before it
towards
the shores
of hurt and pain,
comes again
and again.

Who to count
the leaves
of grief's tree?

Who to count
the stars
of doubt
and death
and regret?

Was it you?
We think it so.

Gives her
a sense of relief
from the bites
of gnawing grief.

We sat in Victoria Train Station
watching the steam trains
coming and going
on the platforms

and watching passengers
getting on and off the trains
and wondered where
they had been or where

they were going
I'd liked to go to Scotland
Lydia said
see men in kilts

and eat haggis
and see Edinburgh Castle
maybe you will one day
I said

get a train
and off you'll go
can I go from here?
she asked

no Kings Cross train station
I said
can we go there next time?
she asked

sure we can
I said
I watched a man
in a bowler hat

rush past us
as we sat
on one of the seats
on the platform

he looks in a hurry
I said
wonder where
he's off to

to his office I expect
Lydia said
come from the country
maybe up here to London

the man had a brief case
black as soot
and he was rushing
like he had the squirts

I love the smell
of the trains
Lydia said
the sound of the steam

pushing out everywhere
me too
I said
I breathed it in

like it was perfume
I was sniffing
what did your mum say
when you said

you were going
to Victoria with me
this morning?
she said what are you

going there for?
to watch the trains
I said
and she said

what a queer couple
we were
she didn't know other
9 year olds who'd want

to watch trains all day
and my brother Hemmy
said we were queer
and went off laughing

then Mum said
you be careful of the trains
and don't fall off the platform
I wondered why she

gave me a funny look
this morning when
I called for you
I said

she nodded
and we watched more
trains coming and going
and she talked

of her sister
and her sister's boyfriend
sleeping in her room
and she being stuck

in the cot bed
which was
too small for her
and how her sister

and her boyfriend
made giggling noises
in the dark
and other sounds

let's go get a glass of milk
and share some sandwiches
I said
so we walked along

to the main part
of the station
and bought two
glasses of milk

and ate the sandwiches
my mother had made
and sat on one
of the seats

and watched the trains
coming and going
and saw one woman rushing past
with her white slip showing.

Miss G puts on Chopin
the old record player's
seen better days
one can tell

by the stylus
and the way
Miss G's finger
lifts its down

on the record
I sit at the back
of the class
with a kid named Rennie

Yochana 's at the front
with the blonde girl
-Yochana's dark hair
at shoulder length-

her fingers
pretend playing
on the desktop
her slim body

moving side to side
in the open backed chair
old ***-less thinks
she the pianist

Rennie darkly says
I'm already watching
her hands going cross
in front of her

side to side
and her slim body
captured in my inner
eye and out

and secretly
I blow kisses
at her
when no one's about.

The water won’t really
Wash him away, but you
Try and now dry between
Toes. Thoughts of him
And what he did and said

Pollute your body and inside
Your head. An hour in the bath
Has not erased him at all, not
Undone him, not unfelt his
Fingers from your flesh.

The flesh tingles where
The brush scrubbed,
The pores hold onto his
Feel and touch, too imbedded,
All too much. You want him

Gone, want all of him to be
Sluiced away down the sink,
The down the drain, away
From you, with all his
Hurtfulness and all that pain.

Dave West
came into the playground
lunchtime and said

That chick you like
she’s peering through the wire
of the girl’s playground

looking for you
like some cat on heat
and you looked across

to where the girl’s playground was
and there she was
peering through the wire

and seeing you
she waved a hand
and you waved back

You ought to avoid girls
West said
They’re nothing trouble

to a guy’s soul
and a drain on his purse
and nerves

he gave Jane a sour gaze
and turned back
and looked at the other boys

kicking ball or playing cards
or running about playing tag
I like her

you said
She’s not like you say
she’s got depth

and reads books
West sighed and said
You got it bad

and that’s not good
as the song goes
and he laughed and said

Look come play ball or tag
or go up onto the bushes
and have a smoke

but you saw her
standing there shyly
her hand by her side

peering through
the green wire
you peered back

and smiled hoping
she could see your smile
wondering if you ought

to wave again
not giving a ****
what West

or the other boys
thought or said
and you could feel

the afternoon sun
touching your head
and the sense of life

being on an edge
and she and you
separated like prisoners

by wire and regulations and rules
like two wise lovers
in a land of loveless fools.

Your brother
has laid flowers
on your stone
today Ole.

Tulips, pink,
purple and white,
I think.  

The black
memorial stone,
sculptured book,
what beauty
here stands;
chiselled words,
name and dates,
else all said,
to mark and say
you’re dead.

Aba wishes,
as do others,
it was not so,
that stone
was not in place,
that you were
here still,
face to face.  

But fact is
that you are
and that it is
in place,
book sculptured
and designed as such,
skilfully done
and made to last;
outlive us
who come see
and make our visit,
steady and firm,  
granite made,
and there
beside you,
Ole, we also
will be boxed
and gently laid.

Well
said Henry
that would kind
of bring out the worst in me

I mean seeing her there
in our bed
with that fat excuse
of a guy

with that flat nose
and gut like a hippo
sure I tried to see
her point of view

even sat down for a while
while she came out
with all the excuses
under the sun

while he
the fat guy
put his **** clothes back on
saying nothing

but sort of squeaky sounds
and she got out of bed
**** naked
her eyes on me

all the time
her **** hanging there
as she moved
off the bed

and began putting
her clothes back on
all the time yakking
about why this happened

and why that happened
and I sat there wondering
what I was doing
just sitting there watching

them dress
saying nothing
just thinking of her
and the fat guy doing it

on our bed
wondering what
they were thinking of
as they were at it

and what went through their minds
when I came into the apartment
and saw them there
in the bed

Henry sighed
his girl dressed quickly
and the fat guy
had problems

getting his pants
over his big ***
and so
Henry said

I saw it saw them at it
and they kind of broke apart
when I opened the door
he big eyes

mouth open
his hairy arms
wrapped about her
and she tried to cover

her **** with the bedsheets
so I just sat down
not knowing what to say
knowing it ought

to bring the worst
out of me
seeing all that
but it didn't

I just sat noticing
the fat guy's ***
how he was struggling there
I almost got to helping him

on with his pants
but no I didn't
I looked at my girl
the girl who

less than a week ago
was making out with me
making all the I love you sounds
and promises of forever

Henry took out a smoke
and lit up
his eyes focusing
on the girl

taking in her shaky hands
her mouth speaking
almost screaming at him
the fat guy managed

to get in his pants on
and then began
to put on his shirt
and Henry inhaled

and watched
and his girl finishing dressing
pushed her fingers
through her hair

and still Henry sat there
and like I said
Henry uttered
between inhalations

it should have made me wild
ought to have stirred me
into action
but all I could think of

was how comes
she was wearing those earrings
while ******* the guy
why those

she could have worn others
I mean there was those
blue ones her mother gave her
the ones like blue ***** hanging

from her ears
but no
she had to wear the ones
I bought her

and that began to get me angry
and I glared at her and him
and blew smoke at them
then I put the cigarette

in the saucer
by the lipsticked stained cup
got up and rammed
my fist into his fat gut

and he went down
moaning about his hernia
or something
and she stood there

open mouthed
hands behind her head
her body stiff
as she watched the fat guy

hit the floor
Henry rubbed his fist
gazing at his girl
as she sat down

on the edge of the bed
looking at him
her big eyes
like dark pools

where only the brave go
or **** fools.

My old man
took me
to the West End

it was evening
bright lights
from shops
and theatres
and such

I was dressed
in my best suit
my old man in his

a handkerchief
tucked in
my top pocket

my hair Brylcreemed
flat and tidy

we going
to see a film?
I asked

no we're going
to the amusement arcades
spend a penny or so
then have a drink
some place

see who's about
sometimes
you can see
a film star
here at night
in between shows
he said

I nodded
and gazed about me
usually we saw
a movie
took in some
old chestnuts
from a stall
on the roadside

once he took me
to some café
which sold pan cakes
and I ate them
with a sauce

we walked
the bright streets
he at my side
I taking in
all I saw
people passing
all different faces
and shapes

and then
there she was
Billie Whitelaw
I’d seen her
in a film or two
she was standing
between two guys
in suits

she looked at me
as I looked at her
then she was gone
in the crowd

and I said
to my old man
seen her

seen who?
he said

that actress

what actress?

Billie Whitelaw

huh?

she was just there
with two guys
walking along
in a white dress
I think
coat like fur

where is she now?
he said
peering about him

gone into the crowd
I said

he gazed
into the bright lit street
like some pilgrim
who had just
missed Christ
going by

he looked dumbfounded

I looked at the sky
don't know why.

West rides home for lunch
then back again to school

he is a short tubby kid
with black well-oiled hair
slick as silk
and eyes dark
as oil wells

I see him enter
the playground
in his bright coat
and tie and neat
white shirt and well pressed pants

how was dinner?
he asks

I bring sandwiches
I say
can't stick school meals
lessons are punishment enough

he smiles
offers me
a white paper bag
of peppermints
mint?

I take one
sense its coolness
on my tongue

how's the maths?
he asks
any better
with the time tables?

I look beyond him
towards the girl's playground
but she's not in sight
other girls play skip rope
or tag games

got stuck on 7s and 8s
I tell him

he frowns
and  talks of patterns
and number flows
and how it goes

I watch his lips move
but the words are like gone
like dandelion seeds
in the air

a girl waves
is it she?
I wonder

but no she wouldn't
not her style
too shy
some other boy
has that joy

another mint?
West asks

I take another
to keep the freshness coming

he doesn't talk of girls
or their ways or clothes
or figures or hair

he talks of how well
his new bike runs
and how he likes
the shiny blue
and the loud bell
he rings
to clear his path

over the heads of boys
I hear a girl's laugh.

Cedric followed you
around the playground
at high school

it seemed he wanted
to say something to you
but instead he just followed

you around until
as you stood looking over
at the playing field

where kids were gathering
in their break period
he said

my sister likes you
how do you know?
you asked

because she told me
he replied blushing
looking over at the playing field

isn’t she your twin?
Yes
he said

going red
gazing at his sister
standing with a group

of friends on the field
you looked over at the girls
at Cedric’s sister waving a hand

so that’s Christina
yes
he muttered

the one with the dark hair
and waving a hand
then he went silent

and looked at you
Mother said she’s too young for boyfriends
he said after a few moments

but she doesn’t listen
she does what she wants
so she told me to tell you

she likes you
and so you nodded
and waved your hand

back at the girls
and there was an explosion
of giggling and laughter

and waving of hands
and then they ran off
onto the field

and as they ran off
you noticed Cedric’s sister
had a cute ****

but you didn’t tell him that
you just turned and said
fancy a game of ball?

and he just nodded
and said nothing more
about his sister at all.

Celia looked at her reflection
In the back of the spoon;
Her face was blown outward
As if captured on some balloon.
It almost made her laugh;
The memory of it;
How she and her sister Sassy
Would do that as kids,
Before the dark days,
Before her death in a bath.
That drowning, that sad death.
Sassy’s husband had beaten her
Black and blue and green
And she’d hide herself away
So as not to be seen.
But she’d seen her,
Seen the bruises
Like smudged tattoos,
The closed eyes,
The swollen lips,
The hardly able to talk words
Pushing through the mouth
To say: he says he loves me still.
Celia stared at her reflection,
The way her own mouth was distorted,
Her lips blown up, her eyes enlarged,
Out of proportion.
She almost laughed,
But something about Sassy’s sad death
Made her stifle any guffaw
That may have broken free
From her distorted reflected jaw.
There was the time she’d seen her
******* for bed when she stayed
Because Sassy’s husband (the weird freak)
Was off on business, some big deal,
Needing to be pulled off,
And she saw the black and blueness
With tinges of green
Along her naked flesh,
The buttocks welted
Where he had belted.
Sassy had said nothing,
Had not noticed Celia looking,
Had not thought it unusual
To be unclothed as such
Away from other’s peering eyes.
Now Sassy was dead;
Found in the bath;
Drugged out, wrists slit,
Having drowned recorded.
But he had driven her over the edge;
He had bullied and beaten
Like some spoilt cruel child
An unwanted toy.
Celia turned the spoon over
And put it down.
No more desire to laugh,
Just fond memories of Sassy
Before her death in the bath.

Claudia knows Potslam
fancies her. She knows
he would like to. She
knows other men watch
her pass. Knows they’d like
to touch her ***. Claudia
wants just to be loved.

Wants the kind of love in
those magazines she reads.
Potslam says he loves her
but it’s all cheap talk. His
eyes and mouth say otherwise.

She sees it in his eyes. That
first date as she waited
other men wolf whistled.

Eyed her. If eyes could undress
he’d be **** catching the cold
air standing there. Mother
said men were all the same.

Father misunderstood the
essence of woman. His history
of failures hammered and
impinged on bone and skin.

Claudia sits and lights her smoke.

Potslam talks and relates a joke.

She eyes him. Takes in his pitted
skin. Wants another to love not
**** her. Needs the loving arms
and warm caresses. The gentle
kisses placed on lips or cheek.

She watches Potslam smoke
and exhale. Sees his thick lips
give birth to smoke. His yellowed
fingers hold the cigarette. He
smiles that smile. Shallow as
a puddle. He moves in and out
of shadow. If only love were there
she says inwardly noting him ****.

She feels no love or such no aching
or piercing of her delicate heart.

Some dame
in a pink top
and blue jeans
sits near Johnny
in the coffee bar

she taps into her PC
with pink nailed fingers
sips a coffee

Johnny looks
at the guy she's with
a young bespectacled guy
also tapping his PC
yakking about
some course he's doing

Johnny looks lazily
at her
sips his China tea
wonders what colour
her bra
beneath the pink top
and if she needs one
with her scant *******
as far as he can see
from sideways on

she scans her screen
of words and images
the young guy talks
about straight A's
gives the young dame
a ****** gaze and smiles

I wonder if he's had her
Johnny thinks
letting his eyes
wander her frame
the profile of face
the nose slim lined
the jaw
the lips too thin

she sips her coffee
her slim fingers holding
the cup's thin handle
a small finger
sticking out

the youth taps again
at his PC
his eyes on
a downward stare

Johnny gazes
at the dame's
blue jeans
and wonders
what colour
her underwear?

Miss Snoot sat
in the front of the class
near the teacher’s desk
next to the short blonde girl

with the large blue eyes
Reynard said
never seen a girl so thin
I bet she’s titless

you looked up front
from your place
at the back
studying the narrow frame

the thin arms
the lank black hair
down to her bony shoulders  
Reynard talked on

his description getting more lewd
as he went on
spoken in an under breath
so the teacher wouldn’t hear

over the Beethoven
she was playing
on the piano
to the class as part

of the lesson
you mused
on Miss Snoot’s hands
held together

her elbows on the desk
her eyes closed
her pale features
giving hint

of distant meditation
and Reynard wondering
what colour
her underwear

what hue
her ***** hair
but you seeing
a slight sway

of her head
the hair in slow
movement and motion
wondered what dreams

she had
what place
she occupied
inside her head

how soft
her heart might be
what colour her soul
on that inward sea.

The young guy turns
towards Bill
in the single bed;
his blue eyes
are as innocent
as cheese.

I thought you
were a gonna
back at that bar,
the young guy says.

Bill sighs, moves up
in the bed, getting
the young guy
into focus.

But you took them out
before I could blink,
the young guy adds.

One has to weigh out
the ends and means,
Bill says.

But you're an old guy,
I thought that was it.

Bill reaches
for a cigarette
from the bedside table
and opens it
and takes out one
and offers,
but the young guy
shakes his head,
so Bill lights up
and puffs away.  

You **** good.

The youth blushes,
looks at Bill,
then away
at the room.

Small, Spartan,
few bits of furniture,
few belongings.

You live here?

Now and then.

Where'd you live mostly?

Out of a suitcase.

The young guy
stares at Bill.

What was your job?

Government business.

C.I.A or FBI?

Can't say
or if I did
I’d have to **** you.

The young guy
begins to smile,
but Bill doesn't,
the youngster
stops smiling.

Something like that,
though?

Something like that.

The  youth
nods his head.

Did you meet
any one famous?

Bill exhales
and stares at the kid.  

I knew the Kennedys,
met Saddam and Gaddafi
and other creeps like that.

The youth opens
his eyes wide.

Really knew them?

Bill nods, looks away.

I knew them;
now they're all dead.

Who killed JFK?

Bill smiles;
can't tell you,
but you'll
find out one day.

Did you?

Bill shook his head;
no I was just
a young novice then;
I met Jack K
in a passage way
in the Big House,
back in 1962;
he tapped my shoulder,
had a nice smile,
liked the dames.

The kid looks
at Bill deeply.

Were you sad
when JFK died?  

I don't get sad
about things,
I survive
and move on;
now no more questions,
get me a coffee
and then
we can get back
to bed work again.

The young guy
nods his head,
gets up and goes
to the small kitchen
and makes two coffees;
on a wall,
pinned by a single pin
is a picture
of a blonde girl
and underneath
is scrawled in red ink:
innocent or guilty:
what do you think?

Christina sat outside
the science block
for the school photo

she and others in her class
some sitting
others standing

boys and girls
the teacher standing
to one side

gesturing
with her hands
for composition

the photographer
by his camera
setting things

to light and shade
and who was where
and to what degree

Christina wishing
it all over
to get lunch

out the way
to see Benedict
on the sports field

after lunch
up by the fence
or by the edge

of the woods
the teacher whispering words
hush hush

she said
now everyone be still
hold that pose

everyone stiffened
one or two grin
or look away

at the last second
but Christina sat
as if frozen

her mind elsewhere
thinking of that day
she took Benedict

home for lunch
(her mother's suggestion)
and after soup

and bread and tea
her mother gone off
to shop

she took Benedict
to tour the house
inside and out

and up the stairs
and said
this is my room

and opened the door
and they stood
looking in

the curtains drawn
the room fresh polished
the bed made

her clothes put away
(thank God)
her doll lying on top

(an old gift
still loved)
she hesitated

looking in
he beside her
their hands within inches

of touching
he said
nice room

neater than mine
and she wished
he could take her there

so she could stare
and maybe
but he lived too far

from school
for her to go
as she lived

in the town
of the school
a mere few minutes walk

downstairs
her mother's voice calling
just coming

Christina said
Benedict wanted the loo
and they walked downstairs

he in deep thought
she thinking what if
they'd been caught

once more
the photographer said
everyone keep that pose

and her thoughts moved on
to that other time
up near the wood

on the sports field
and he talking
of some teacher gone

from school
who had taken pupils
home during lunch

and she was thinking
of how near they stood
to the wood

and if only they could
but what?
she asked herself

what if they had
what would it involve?
instinct and desires

the kissing
and holding
and him being near

but what else?
ok that will do
the teacher said

all done now
the photographer said
and they were free

to move
and walk
and she moved

and got ready
to go for lunch
then see Benedict

on the field
by the fence
or by the nearby wood

and find out
what else
if she could.

She sat watching ducks
on the pond,
I lay beside her
watching clouds pass.

She still wore
her school uniform
as did I having got off
the school bus
and came right
there to the pond.

Yehudit was silent
-a miracle in itself-
birds sang
from trees nearby,
traffic noises
were audible
from the road
over the way.

Still got the huff?
I said,
looking at her
sideways on.

She turned
and glanced at me;
bright blue eyes stared.

You were with her
all through lunch hour
and not me,
she said, and what's
she got I haven't?

I live near you;
she lives near school
miles away,
I said.

And? So what?
Yehudit said.

I don't get to talk
with her except
at school,
I said.

You were more
than talking.

I watched
as she turned away,
her hair brown
and on her shoulders;
her bra strap edged
through the cotton blouse.

She sat in a provocative way
and you were
too close to her,
Yehudit said.

I studied the way
her figure narrowed;
her *** was neat.

I saw you from
where I was sitting.

I saw you,
I said,
gawking at us.

She turned
and stared at me.

Does that kiss
at Christmas
mean nothing to you?
Yehudit asked.

I recalled the kiss
and moonlight
and stars
and the choir sang
carols to people
in the houses.

Means a lot,
I said.

Didn't seem like it
lunchtime when you
were all over her
like she was a *****
on heat.

The school tie
was untied
and pulled away
from her neck.

Her ******* pushed
against cloth.

She hasn't your humour
or your figure,
I said.

She lay beside me
and turned
and stared.

Is that so?
She asked,
eyes wide and blue.

Yes, of course,
I said.

What else can a boy
say or do?

And I suppose
she just happened
to be looking this way?
Netanya said

just happened
to be catching
your eyes
and she just happened

to be wearing
that **** skimpy bikini
so that you
could see nigh on

her backside
and what she had
for dinner?
I sat outside

the five berth caravan
on the camping site
a book in my hand
(Sartre most probably)

trying to focus
on the words
I was just sitting here
and she came out

of her van
and stood there  
sunning herself
nothing to me

what she does
I said
O so the sight
of a *****

nigh on undressed
does nothing for you?
O now isn't that
a new thing

maybe I just ring
the newspapers
and tell them
the news

Benedict has lost
his eyes for **** *******
semi-undressed
huh? huh?

I looked over
at the sun coming
over the hedge
bright and brave  

tried to let her words
float over me
like a bad smell
but still she went on

bet if truth were known
you've been praying
for her to get her ****
out here so you can gawk

nothing would
surprise me
she said
with a shake

of her brunette head
do you want to go
for a swim?
I asked

putting down
the book
Where's the kids?
Down at the beach

doing what kids do
**** swim
or make sandcastles
or look for dead

fish or *****
she replied
or we could go in
and make love

on the bed
I said
she looked
at the woman

over the way
in her bikini
bright yellow
and quite skimpy

sitting in a deckchair
with her dyed
blonde hair
bit risky

she said
what if the kids return
and we're at it
lock the door

I said
she smiled
never thought
of that before

so we went
into the caravan
and I gave
one last look

at the blonde dame
in the bright
yellow bikini
whatever her name.

Hey Skinny Kid
one legged Anne said
have you ever seen
a *******?

no
you said
thinking it
some kind

of fish
she nibbled
at her scrambled egg
on toast

at the table
in the children's
nursing home
you mouthed

Cornflakes and milk
Anne was next to you
eyeing
the nursing nun nearby

would you like
to see a *******?
Anne asked
in whispered voice

thinking it
some rare find
you said
yes ok

where will I see it?
the beach?
she almost choked
on her scrambled egg

are you all right Anne?
the nun asked
coming over
her black and white habit

swishing as she walked
yes
Anne said
egg went down

the wrong way
well be careful
the nun said
and walked off again

yes the beach
if you like
Anne whispered
trying to keep

a straight face
but you're sure
you've not seen one?
you nodded your head

not that I know of
you said
have you asked Sister Bridget?
you added

giving the nun
a look
o yes she's seen one
Anne said

straining the muscles
in her face
did she say so?
you said

o I know she has
Anne said
you mouthed
more Cornflakes

and milk
little Miss Sad
sat nibbling
at her toast

her tiny fingers
holding hard
the other kids eating
their breakfasts

the morning sunshine
shining through
the windows
after we've finished

I'll show you
Anne said
show him what?
Malcolm asked

who was sitting
on Anne's other side
never you mind prat face
Anne said

only special people
can this see
what I'm showing
Skinny Kid

then I'll tell Sister Bridget
Malcolm said
kiss my backside
and drop dead

Anne replied
Sister Bridget
Anne swore at me
Malcolm said

the nun shook her head
and said
Anne it's a sin to swear
God is listening

you know
and so you sat
and wondered
if you'd ever see

what it was
one legged Anne
was going
to show.

I'd keep you here
within my arms
if death hadn't stole you;
I would tell you
all the things
that I left too late
to say.

Some nights
I go through it all
scene by scene,
episode by episode,
right down
to the flimsy
wire of death
and your final breath.

Some days it seems
so unreal,
as if you
were here still,
that it was all
some weird nightmare
of gigantic proportions,
but I know it's real
and you're not
here still.

Now and then,
I feel the rise
of panic
as the reality
of your death
sinks in,
reaching right down
to my core,
throwing up
the question:
what for?

I miss your
quiet humour,
your dry wit;
that depth of character
unfolding bit by bit,
layer after layer;
your stoic way
and stance,
taking things in hand,
leaving nothing
to chance.

Now you're not here
(some other
place maybe)
the place you
once filled
is vacant
like a desert waste
or vast sea off shore,
and rings out
the question:
what for?

Gefen said
that girl you like
that one
who stinks somewhat

and looks as if
she slept in a barn
is in the girl's bog-house
crying

I looked at him
and flicked
my cigarette card
against the wall

of the playground
it wasn't near enough
to win I didn't think
why's she crying?

I asked
how the ****
would I know
he said

just saw her go in
and heard the sobbing
I watched
as another kid

flicked his card
near touch the wall
and fall
ok you win

I said
and walked up the steps
from the playground
and walked

to the bogs
and listened
with ear to the door
that you Enid?

I asked
no it's Coleman
what do you want?
I said nothing

and wandered off away
and there was Enid
by a window
what's up?

I said
she looked at me
through smeary glasses
not here

she said
not what here
I said
I can't say here

ok where then?
I said
so she beckoned me
to follow her

along a dank passageway
(there were many)
until we came
to where the cleaners

kept their brooms
and buckets
and such stuff
and she sneak inside

and pulled me in
beside her
well?
I said

sniffing the air
of disinfect
and soap
and yesterday's clothes

can't sit properly
she said
and she lifted
her dull grey dress

to reveal a red weal
along her thigh
and beyond
it hurts when I sit

and I can't say why
and it hurts to sit
she lowered her dress
and looked at me

red eyed
and dripping nose
your old man?
I asked

she nodded
and looked around
the small room
her eyes vacant

say you've got a boil
on your backside
and ask for a cushion
I did last term

when I had boils
on mine
she looked unsure
really?

yes really
I said
I'll ask
old ma Murphy

if you like
she's got loads
of cushions
Enid looked at me

her eyes dull
as dishwater
ok
she said

she kissed my cheek
and followed me out
and along
to Murphy's room

uncertain
and unhappy
as if facing
death and doom.

What have you there?
Janice asks

I show her
the 10 Weights
cigarettes packet

where'd you find them?

outside
the Duke of Wellington pub
some one
must have dropped them
I say

she looks at them
then at me

what are you going
to do with them?

give them
to my old man
I guess
he smokes these

won't he want
to go
how you came
by them?

he won't care
he never
asks questions
like that

I put the cigarettes
in the back pocket
of my jeans

my gran asks me
all questions
Janice says
I am so open
with her
because I can't tell
a lie to her
she seems to know

will you tell her
I found the smokes?

not if
she doesn't
ask me

I smoked a cigarette
once or twice
I tell her

where'd you get
a cigarette from?

I made it
out of cigarette
**** ends I found
and borrowed
a cigarette paper
from my uncle
(he didn't know)
and made one

her eyes enlarge

did you smoke it?

yes of course

what did it
taste like?

bitter
and made me
cough and splutter
I say

she puts her hand
to her mouth
her blue eyes
stare at me
as if I'd said
a rude word
or plucked feathers
from a living bird.

Naaman takes note
Of the woman Sarah
as she passes him by.

Her blonde hair
and blue eyes
have him enthralled.

His cappuccino is too hot
to drink as yet, so
sits and watches
as she walks by.  

She is tall,
her figure upright,
her sway is
as a fine ship
about to set sail
across calm seas.

He thinks of her often,
imagines her stopping
to talk, not just
walking by unaware
he watches.

He spoons the top
off the coffee.
Wipes cream
from his moustache
with a napkin provided.

Sunlight comes through
the glass roof, he feels
like some tender plant.

She pauses by a shop window,
stares at dresses and tops
and the dummies wearing
them, perfectly figured.

His eyes drink her in,
sup up her beauty.

There is bare flesh
upon her neck
where the top
of the dress ends.

Her hair touches it,
sweeps it
as she moves away.

Naaman closes his eyes
to file his images.
He opens his eyes
and she's gone,
only space
where she'd been.

The space is empty now,
but holds what he's seen.

Milka's there
by the sink
washing up

miracles
do happen
her mum says

watching her
I watch too
the figure

the outline
of *******
through her skirt

take this in
her mum says
it's a rare

event this
washing up
I'm watching

but not that
washing up
but the slight

impression
through her blouse
of her bra

it's a sight
isn't it?
her mum says

to young me
open mouthed
it sure is

I reply
it's not rare
Milka says

I've washed up
before this
at Christmas

her mum says
after tea
her mum looks

at young me
smiling wide
I'm glad she

(lucky me)
cannot see
what I see.

Just as Minnie gets in the mood
to play the Debussy Violin

Sonata her mother says the
photographer is waiting and

so she has to go along to the
lounge and pose and have her

picture taken and as she stands
there with her violin dressed

to the nines the photographer
says no do not smile it cheapens

the effect and so she stiffens
her lips and stares at the young

photographer’s moustache and
her mother says do has the man

wants dear and don’t pout so
and so she ceases to pout and  

gazes at the box camera and man
hidden behind the cloth his hand

visible and do not move he says
hold it do not fidget dear her

mother says and puts her hands
on her shoulders and places her

in the position her mother thinks
the photographer wants is that it?

her mother asks the photographer
smiling in that way she smiles that

gives the impression of an imbecile
yes yes he says that is it and so she

stands as placed the sensation of
wanting to urinate suddenly upon

her and so she squeezes her thighs
together her knees touching her

hands gripping the violin trying
silently to keep the ***** in.

What it was,
was her father dying.

Part of her
had died, too,
she said.

I had been phoned
by her son,
Mum's in a state,
he said;
Granddad's passed away.

I got back as soon
as I could, train and taxi,
driver yakking
about the weather,
and his holiday
on the never never.

And there she was
on our bed,
half undressed,
half not,
gazing at the wall
or window
or so seemed.

He's gone,
she said
without turning
her head,
suddenly it was,
Mum said,
just like that.

She whimpered gently,
sobs escaping
like bees in spring.

I sat on the bed
and stroked her thigh,
saying words, words
meaning nothing,
but trying to comfort,
but failing
as words do.

Will there be
a requiem mass?
I asked.

She paused a sob.

Suppose,
she said,
turning her head,
her red rimmed
eyes staring,
he was a catholic
of sorts, but of sorts
passed caring.

Her father was dead.

I knew him
hardly at all,
a meeting or so
and drinks the once,
few words, Irish lilt,
supping his beer.

I loved him,
she said,
he was my rock,
my anchor.

I knew
they rowed a lot.

The same
in temperament,
outlook, non diplomatic,
eye to eye, unblinking.

She turned away
to face the wall,
the sobs returning,
her body moving
to an inner grief.

I sat gazing
at her turned
away head,
part of her jaw
and cheek.

What it was,
was her father dying,
she wanting
to see him again,
but not believing.

Dennis said
that girl you talk to
that one with glasses
and smells of damp

I saw her in the girls' bog
well not in there
but heard more like
after she went in

and she was kind
of crying soft
Benedict listened
as they walked

the playground
(as such it was
a bombed out cellar
of some house

before the War)
why was she crying?
Benedict asked
search me

Dennis said
and kicked a ball
to some kids
over the way

then ran towards them
showing some skill
so Benedict walked up
the steps to the girl's bog

and heard the weeping sound
through the wooden door
what's up Ingrid?
he said softly

she paused
silence came
sniffling
she opened the door

and came out
red eyed behind
her specs
she wiped her nose

and pulled
the door shut
and took him
secretly

to some corner
out of sight
and lifted her
grey skirt

to show a thigh
wounded and bruised
which caught his eye
then she let

the skirt down
and wiped her hands
and blew her nose
he sighed

he knew her father's hand
had made its mark
and curse
she looked at him

her eyes larger
through the glasses
power
and stared anxious

and bit her lip
and wiped her nose
once more  
don't say a word

to anyone
she said in quiet tones
be worse for me
if others know

he sighed again
and made
his humble promise
to keep his word

here
he said
and took a wrapped
toffee from his pocket

and put it
in her ink stained
bony hand
she stared

then slowly
unwrapped it
and placed it
in her mouth

and began to chew
they walked off
and down the steps
to the playground floor

he talked
of the bow and arrow set
he bought
and how like

Robin Hood he looked
and would she be
his Maid Marian
when his game

again began?
she chewed slowly
her eyes settling
to a milder gaze

yes
she said
and could she borrow
his blue steel sword?

he smiled and agreed
and she talked
of her father's wrath
and row and hits

her mother's
blackened eye
and how he hit
she herself

as she hid
behind the door
having no reason why
or what it was for.

I would have loved
to have had ***
with Kafka
Nima said
something about him
the photo of him

I sat opposite her
in the café
in Charing Cross Road
she had a coke
I sipped coffee

I feel the same
about Marilyn Monroe
I said
love to have got
her in bed

Nima looked at me
disdainfully
you would
she said

not necessarily
for ***
I said
just to listen
to her voice
sense her being there
the scent of her

Nima shook her head
ok I’d listen to Kafka
and sense
his being there
but *******
his **** off
at the same time
she said

an old guy
on the other side
of the café
gave her a look

have you read
any of his books?
I asked

some
she said
the one where he turns
into a big beetle

actually it doesn't say beetle
in the book
it says gigantic vermin
which people has interpreted
as a beetle or bug
I said

she sipped her coke
it's his body
I want to go to bed
with not his book
she said

he's dead
I said
died in 1924

shame
she said
he doesn’t know
what he's
missed out on

I guess he did
I said

she smiled
have to be satisfied
with his books then
won't I

we drained our drinks
and went on our way
I went to Dobell's
Jazz Record shop
and bought
a Coltrane LP

then we walked
to the train station
where she got a train
to the hospital
where she was being treated
for her drug addiction

I went home to play
my Coltrane
on my record player
via another train
thinking of her
and Kafka
and me and Monroe
having ***
in that cheap hotel
off Trafalgar Square
where Nima and I
once had *** there.

My father
and I
went in
the canteen
on the building site

having completed
one row
of windows

we had our sandwiches
he went to buy
two mugs
of strong tea

I sat and thought
of Marion who
I’d been with
the night before

blonde
lively
a singer
with this band
who bubbled
and danced

and I said
you have
a great figure

O do I?
she said
when a young man
tells me that
I wonder
what his intentions are
she added

and usually
they involve
getting me
in the sack
and doing things
my Daddy
would not have
approved of

no no
I was just saying
I said
going red

I was just looking
as a kind of
artistic viewpoint
like you were
a model for Renoir
or someone

didn't that guy
paint **** women?
she said

sure
some of the time
I said

well then
what kind of model
would I be?
she said
the type
that shows off
her ****?

no no
I said
going redder
the decent kind
no other kind
what have entered
my mind

she sang
a few bars of
Don't Sit Under
The Apple Tree
and sat
on my knee

and my pecker
stirred wastefully

and she talked
of her next gig
and did this
kind of ****
shaking jig

and my father
brought the two mugs
of tea and sat down
at the table with me

and thoughts of
Marion
and my pecker
went away
until I saw her
later that day.

Lara sat
beside him

in the old
city of

Dubrovnik
sipping wine

better than
that coffee

you're drinking
is that so

he replied
gazing at

her beauty
in morning's

bright sunlight
yes it's so

and what's more
healthier

I'm ok
he boasted

even though
you kept me

from my sleep
with demands

for more ***
she sipped wine

small finger
sticking out

kind of posh
can't keep up?

he liked her
long red hair

the dark eyes
the red lips

sipping wine
the milky

coloured ****
yes I can

he replied
but she knew

that he lied
she had to

drag him from
his slumbers

wake up his
slack member

ease it in
to harbour

like a wrecked
old schooner

how's your dreams?
about me?

he sipped slow
his coffee

maybe so
he replied

maybe not
but she knew

that they were
he called out

in his sleep
no more ***

Lara dear
as he lay

on his back
his eyes closed

his member
once more slack

he knew it
knew he had

dreamed of her
her parted

fleshy thighs
and the lips

of her fruit
wanting him

one more time
more coffee?

she asked him
to keep you

from slumber?
I'm ok

he replied
want more wine?

she sipped slow
finger raised

not just now
I am fine

but she lied
he knew it

another night
coming up

more wine drunk
more *** talk

more kisses
but his mind

and member
just ready

just waiting
for slumber.