Liz Barrett Browning
never carried a gun,
or strapped it to the
inside of her thigh.

That .38 revolver cold
against her skin, makes
Bonnie sigh. Warmer
in the palm of hand,

the finger squeezing
the trigger. She’s done
with the poem. She’ll
copy and send to the

papers who’ll lap it up
like sour milk to a thirsty
cat. Penned it well, she
thinks. Clyde says nothing

on it; he reads the headlines
for the crimes. She read
Liz Browning at school
amongst others, that

woman thing, shared
insight, mutual feelings,
knows the monthly bleeds,
understands the feel of

men, the coming on, that
big hero thing. She feels
the revolver against her
flesh, metal on skin, warming

now, forgetting it’s there.
This is one thing, Bonnie
says, smiling, Liz won’t share.

Yehudit sits
on the fence
by the field
and I sit

next to her
and it's sunny
and she says
what did you feel

after our first kiss?
wet lips
I say
and she nudges me

and says
no seriously
what did you feel?
I watch a rabbit

race across the field
in front of us
a butterfly flutters by
over the tall grass

I guess I felt excited
and I did smell
the scent you borrowed
from your mother

it had a kind
of appley smell
but didn't it make
you feel more alive?

she asks me
I look at her
the brown hair
the eyes bright

as new stars
yes I did I guess
I know my heart
was pumping

away some
and I sensed my lips
and yours almost
fuse into one flesh

and as I inhaled you
I wanted
to kiss you forever
I say

she smiles
and that smile
is the best smile
that ever smiled

and she kisses me
on the cheek
and I kiss her lips
and God

I think
is this
what love does?
and we sit there

kissing
and the rabbit's gone
the butterfly
has fluttered elsewhere

and it's just us kissing
on that warm
sunny day
just us there.

Lydia
watches through
a thin gap
in the dark

brown curtains
her sister
much older
in the bed

holding tight
to her tall
spiv boyfriend
and kissing

his thick lips
then his ears
which even
nine year old

Lydia
finds quite gross
it takes all
her childish

innocence
not to know
what the show
is about

she looking
through the gap
sees the spiv
put his hand

on the ****
buttocks of
her sister
Lydia

looks away
looks out at
the green grass
and the flats

and windows
opposite
ignoring
the giggles

and snorty
sounds she hears
from the bed
behind her

behind dark
brown curtains
how the heck
she got trapped

behind there
in her games
pretending
the window

was a stage
and she a
child actress
awaiting

to begin
when her big
sister came
tiptoeing in

with the spiv
while hiding
unseen there
Lydia

silently
hid her feet
and stealthily
had her peek

now she sees
pigeons walk
or kids play
with skip rope

or football
or cowboys
and Injuns
but behind

the curtains
on the bed
another
game is played

two actors
in combat
by the sounds
her sister

breathlessly
makes beyond
but innocent
Lydia

puts her hands
to cover
her small ears
watching kids

play their games
and joyfully
run about
ignoring

whatever makes
her sister
giggle soft
then loudly
laughing shout.

What do you want from me?
Max’s wife said

and he looked by her
at the waitress

at the cafe
who was walking

with some order
behind his wife’s back

and he noticed
the cute *** as she moved

the way she swayed
and the hands

holding the tray
huh? What is it

you want from me?
his wife repeated

her eyes peering at him
taking in

that aspect of him
as he turned his head

look said Max
following the waitress

to the table across the way
his eyes slowly

******* her
his mind making up scenes

like in some movie
you say come on Honey

let’s go out for a meal
and talk

and what are you doing
looking elsewhere

and not talking
his wife said

spittle on her lower lip
Max looked back

at his wife and said
oh yes sure

I was thinking
of the Picasso print

we saw the other day
you know that one

we both liked
and you said you’d like it

for your birthday
well maybe

I ought to get it
what do you think?

And the waitress
looked over at Max

as she went by
and he saw

a whole new ball game
in her eyes

and caught the cheek
and ear

and was sure
he captured some aspect

of her perfume
and his wife said

Picasso?
That Picasso?

are you sure Max?
and she went into a daze

and smiled
and Max imagined himself

and the waitress
and *** games

and a party
going wild.

You had been in Tangiers
until the early hours

of the morning
and was brought back

to base camp on the truck
as the sun was beginning to rise

over the horizon
and had then gone

to crash down
in your tent

too tired to undress
and slept through

until midday
then showered

and sat in the bar
when Mamie came

and sat beside you
and said

where’d you go last night?
I thought you

were going to walk me
down by the beach

and watch the sun rise
from the sea?

I was too tired
you said

I crashed out in my tent
she looked at her glass of coke

I could have joined you there
she whispered

and done what?
you said

slept beside me?
she shifted her buttocks

on the stool and said
well it would have been better

than sleeping in my tent
with that Scottish hen

as her brother calls her
you sipped your drink

and watched
the old Moroccan guy

in the corner
inhale on his marijuana smoke

plus I had her snoring
and moaning in her sleep

Mamie added
giving you her side on stare

yes
you said

it would have been
better than that

and she put her hand
on your thigh

and rubbed it back
and forth and said

but it didn’t happen
maybe next time

you replied
imaging it all

in your mind
right down

to the last removing
of clothes

and trying to move
in the tent’s small space

your body drained
of all strength

wanting only sleep
the Tangier *****

and belly dancers
and nightclub smoke and music

clinging on your flesh
and ringing in your ears

and she trying
to get you in

the right place
and you closing your eyes

and drifting away
like one who dies.

Bernice sits in the seat of the bus
and moves to its motion.
She smiles at the thought
of Ariadne dressing that morning;

the slow removal of the nightgown,
the hands holding and lifting
over her head; the brief nakedness;
the pulling over her head

of the I LOVE *** tee shirt;
the slipping on of blue jeans.
Once dressed she leaned over
and kissed Bernice’s head.

Come on you lazy *****,
get yourself out of that
love nest, she had said.
Someone sits next to her

on the bus; disturbing her
thoughts; breaking up images.
She looks at the person
beside her: a man of forty

something. She looks away.
Ariadne is constantly in her
thoughts. She knows her well.
She can sense her presence

even without seeing her.
She knows each part of her body
as she dies her own; has lain
in the arms and felt the small

bosoms press against her.
Her one fear was the loss of her;
the taking away of her being;
the coming of age and death;

the coming of illness and departure.
Live for the day, Ariadne said,
tomorrow’s fiction. Bernice closes
her eyes; brings to mind Ariadne’s face;

the look of her; the eyes;
the way the lips moves;
the sway of her hips when
she moves from here to there;

the feel of her finger along
her skin; that closeness, that
love, what others call sin.

Apart from the water tower
and the farm

and a few scattered cottages
there were no other buildings

for a mile or more
just you and Jane

and birds in the early morning sky
I like it at this time of day

she said
I like the fresh smell of nature

and the farm
and having few people about

you walked beside her down the lane
that led away from the farm

you noticed how her black hair
seemed freshly washed

and blew slightly in the mild wind
does you father mind

you being out with me?
you asked softly

he doesn’t know
she replied

he thinks I came out alone
for a morning walk

why didn’t you tell him?
you asked

he was busy writing his Sunday sermon
and it was easier to just go out

and not disturb him
she said looking around at you

her eyes studying you
as she walked on down the lane

would he mind you being with me?
you asked

I don’t think he knows you as yet
seeing as you have only moved here

a few months and don’t come
to the church

you stopped and took her hand in yours
it was warm and soft

and pulsed with life
she looked at your hand

holding hers and she rubbed
her thumb over the back

of your hand
you wanted to kiss her lips

or cheek just to feel
her flesh on yours

but you didn’t you just looked at her
and waited to see

what she would do next
she let go of your hand

and looked around her
there might be people looking

from those cottages up there
she said suddenly pointing up

at the rising bank which went up
to two cottages high up

if they see us they may tell Father
and then it would be awkward

and he might suspect things
and then she went quiet

and looked at the running stream
by the lane

but we haven’t done anything
we just walk out and talk

and hold hands now and then
it’s not what we do

it’s what others think we do
she said softly

and stood looking at you
waiting for you to speak

but you said nothing
just leaned in close to her

and kissed her cheek
and said

even Christ permitted kisses
even the one from Judas

and she smiled
and the early morning sun

pushed through trees
and shone on her hair

and there was the sound of birds
singing in the air.

And who's she?
Netanya asks.

She gave me
a lift home.

Is that all
she gave you?

I walk past her indoors;
she slams the door
behind me
and is behind me
breathing down my neck.

I work with her;
she saw me
at the back door
and asked
if I wanted
a lift home.

O you work with her, huh?

I walk into the lounge
and sit down
in my favourite chair.

Yes, nothing else;
she works upstairs;
I work all over the place.

I bet she's a good lay;
fancy her do you?

She's pregnant;
why would I fancy
a dame who's like that?

She walks the room
like a tiger.

Is it yours?

Is what mine?

The **** kid she's carry;
your kid I guess.

She stares at me;
eyes as dark as death.

Of course not;
I hardly know her.

Liar! I bet she knows
you inside out.

I light up a cigarette
and look at her.

I work at the same store;
she's upstairs
in soft furnishings,
I am security
watching them all.

I bet she's good
on soft furnishings;
I bet she bangs
on soft furnishings.

I wouldn't know
what she bangs on.

Netanya sits in a chair
opposite me.

Why did she give you
a lift home?
bet she fancies you
something rotten.

Any mail for me?

She looks at me;
her eyes soften.

No; just a magazine
for me.

What kind of magazine?

Clothes magazine.

Any good?

Sure it is;
got some good stuff
in there.

Let me see.

She gets up
and goes and fetches
the magazine
and brings it to me.

See; good stuff.

I look at the pages
she shows me.

You like that dress?

It's beautiful isn't it?

Sure is: you want it?

Can I have it?

Sure you can.

She kisses my cheek
and sits on my lap.

You're the best;
I was just kidding
about the *****
in the car;
she's not
your sort at all.

No, you're my sort.

Yes, she says smiling,
that's what I thought.

What names
shall we give
our children
when we get older?

Judy asked
as we walked
through the woods
behind the house

towards the lake
(as she called
the pond
in the woods)

I’m no good
with names
I said
you must

have some idea
what names to call
your children
I haven't got children

not yet but when
we're older you will
she said
the trees were

coming into leaf
the sun was straight overhead
birds were flying
from branch to branch

what if it's a girl?
she asked
I thought about
the middle spread picture

of the sports car
in the Eagle comic
I’d just pinned
to my bedroom wall

the parts number
and labelled
colourful
surely

you must have
a girl's name?
she asked
Leonore

I said
what kind of name
is that?
she said

I think it's in
that Beethoven opera
Miss Graham
made us listen to

during lessons
I said
I don't like it
Judy said

the car picture
was just one
of many I had
on my bedroom walls

I had one photograph
of Hayley Mills
in a frame
by my bed

I got it
from a magazine
on move-stars
what about Ruth?

she said
or Rebecca?
the path through the woods
was windy

there were bramble
on each side
how about Jezebel
I said

it has a certain
ring to it
don't like it
she said

gives off
a bad scene
we reached the fence
around the lake

and climbed over
she had on
that peasant
looking dress

flowered red and yellow
I caught a glimpse
of thigh
as she went over

you're not
taking it
seriously
she said

as we walked down
the grass towards
the water
sure I am

I said
I think Judy’s
a fine name
for a daughter.

Janice was
by the pram
sheds when I

came along
she was flushed
and upset

what is up?
I asked her
I've just seen

a man in
Jail park who
showed me his

whatsit-called
as I walked
along by

the flower
bed and I
didn't know

what to do
Janice said
is he still

there? I asked
I don't know
she replied

let's go see
I told her
I'm not sure

I  want to
go back there
she replied

I'm with you
otherwise
you'll never

go back there
I replied
she was pale

and frightened
don't worry
I've seen his

type before
he'll soon run
when I come

and tell him
I'll cut off
his **** ****

Janice blushed
Benny that's
swearing

what would Gran
say if she
heard those words

Janice said
I won't tell
your grandma

if you don't
I tell her
now let's go

so she comes
with me though
the Square and

across Bath
Terrace and
into the Park

but the man
wasn't there
but he was

inside the
head of poor
Janice and

often dreamed
of him in
nightmares she

used to have
afterwards
she told me.

I gazed into her deep eyes;
there men's souls were lost;
love was there, but what the cost.

Miss Pinkie
opened the door
of her flat.

Ah, you brought
the whiskey, then,
good, now we can
really go to town,
she said.

I followed her
down the hall
into her lounge.

Take a seat,
I’ll get us
some glasses.

I sat down
on the white sofa.

The small lounge
was warm and cosy;
the few watercolour prints
were on the wall.

I thought the whiskey
would be a good idea,
I said.

Sure is,
she said,
coming into the lounge
with two glasses
and the whiskey bottle
under her arm.

She sat down
and poured us
two large drinks.

I sipped mine.

Shall I put on
some music?
She asked.

Sure, whatever.

She got up
and took out
an LP and put it
on her record player.

Mahler's first,
she said.

Ok,
I said.

She sat down again.

We sipped our drinks.

The music played.

Within ten minutes
she was all over me
like spilt spaghetti;
hands on my thighs,
legs, body, flies,
kisses on my cheek,
lips, neck
and still Mahler
played on regardless.

She paused
and sat back,
breathless.

I sat partially
undressed.

Not getting
any younger,
she said.

She wasn't;
she was already
nineteen years older
than I and looked it.

I think the bed
would be more
comfortable,
I suggested.

She nodded,
breathing hard.

She took me
by the hand
into her
darkened bedroom,
moonlight was in
at the window,
lighting up
part of the bed.

We lay down
next to each other.

I could hear her
breathing as she
finished *******.

I undressed, too.

I hope she doesn't
die on me here,
I thought.

What would I do?

The school bus stops
and kids get off
and Sheila waits anxiously
by the fence

watching the kids go by
looking at the windows
looking for John
one or two girls

she knows say hello
then move on
then John descends
the steps

and she says
can I hang
around with you?
he stops by the bus

o yes it's you
sorry can't remember
your name
he says

looking at her
Sheila
she says
he walks on

and she walks
beside him
what did you mean
hang around?

he asks
just be with you
when we can
you know

lunch times if we're
on the playing field
or maybe after school
do you live far away?

she asks  
they pass by the fence
and entrance
to the girls' playground

he pauses
sure if you you like
I get a school bus
to West Village

where do you live?
he asks
taking in aspects
of the girl

I live in this town
but I can get a bus
to West most days
I think

she says
hoping she can
not sure
he takes in

her dark hair
her glasses
her school tie
untidy

look I'll see you around
at lunch recess
if we're on
the field ok?

she  nods
unsure what else
to say
but then says

yes look forward to it
and hopes he is too
but he walks on
and away

and doesn't look back
and she goes
in the girls' playground
on edge

unsettled
watching him
disappear from view
undecided what else
to say or do.

She would often stare at you
sitting by the pond
the summer sunlight

playing there
on the waters’ skin
the holidays

having just begun
and she’d say
you do love me don’t you?

and you’d look away
from the sunlight’s dance
and reply

of course I do
and you’d see that look
in her eyes

like worlds
being born
and she’d say

Mother wouldn’t want
me here alone with you
and you looking back

at the pond’s water
would say
why is that?

what have I done
to cause her alarm?
Birds flew across

the pond
their cries breaking
the silence of the summer day

she moved her hand
and touched your hand
resting on the dry earth

because she’s jealous of me
being loved I suppose
or maybe she thinks

we do things while alone
you look back at her
the way she sat

the skirt lifted
along her thigh
her hand squeezing yours

that summer
that love
the fresh life

of loving
the being
out of doors.

Put it all behind you,
Brody said, but she
Couldn’t, it remained

Like a stain seeping into
The cloth of her being.
Brody’d not been *****

Or left to die or left with
The big question: why?
She needed to be outside

Breathing fresh air, on her
Balcony, not out in the street
Or park awaiting another

Attacker, some one about
To creep up on her and place
A smelly hand over mouth

And nose. Move on, Brody
Said, things happen, that’s
How it goes. She moves only

From room to room, from inside
To outside the balcony, to take
In the sun, moon, or stars, feel

The air, the breeze, smell flowers,
See trees. **** was more than
*** without permission, more

Than hurt or contusions like
Bruised fruit, more than deep
Humiliation, it was loss of her

Freedom, of choice, of dignity,
The breaking in and up and out
And leaving the fragility behind,

To bring her nightmares haunting
To nerves and mind. Brody had
His doubts; wondered if she’d

Fought hard enough, screamed
Loud or whimpered. Or was she
Just up for it, he thought maybe,

But never said, just the look he
Gave, the sign in eyes, the tone
Of voice, the whole language of

Body, she thought on judging
Brody. For all his words and
Suggestions, Brody never slept

With her after that, he slept with
Some other and she with the cat.

Julie followed Benedict
from bookshop to bookshop
then they went in a cafe
on Charing Cross Road

and sat down
by the window
and ordered two coffees
and lit up cigarettes

how's it going
at the hospital?
he asked
gutty

she said
boring my ******* off    
I shouldn't be there
she inhaled deeply

on her cigarette
once you're off the drugs
you won't be
he said

I am off the drugs
she looked at him
well most of the time
she said

what do they say
at the hospital?
they said my parents
want me to stay there

until I'm cleaned off  
she said
but you're out today
he said

yes on good behaviour
she said
any sign
I've taken anything

then I'm locked in
and Daddy said
they'll have me sectioned
if need be

he has doctor friends
who will oblige
and him and Mother
being doctors themselves

it won't be difficult
she said
Benedict watched
as the waitress

brought the coffees
and put them on the table
and swayed off
in a Monroe fashion

we could take in a film
if you like
he said
no I don't want

to be stuck
in some smokey cinema
she said
I want to be out

in the fresh air
and see London
ok
he said

what about having a stroll
along the Thames Embankment?
then after take in
a look around an art gallery

you are full of fun
she said moodily
ok where then?
he said

some room someplace
and a good ****
she said
the word hung in the air

like a dark cloud
in the cafe
people gaped at her
I think they've got

Lichtenstein at the gallery
this month
he said
Pop Art stuff

he added
she pulled a face
then drew on her cigarette
you're in a mood

he said
maybe you should
have stayed at the hospital
and twiddled your thumbs

on the ward
she stared at him
releasing smoke
from her mouth slowly

ok the gallery
isn't too bad an idea
she said
but I'm gagging

for a fix
my body's screaming for it
she went quiet
and sipped her coffee

he looked at her
sitting there
dark brown hair
tied by a ribbon

her eyes staring
at the table
her fingers holding
the cup and cigarette

he recalled the time
at the hospital
when they'd managed
to be alone

in the small broom cupboard
and the quick ***
in the dark
between brooms

and dusters
and buckets
he smiled
what you smiling at?

she said
cupboard love
he said
she laughed

yes that was good
she said
unexpected too
and any moment

some poor cleaner
coming for a bucket
and seeing us at it
she stubbed out

her cigarette
in an ashtray
on the table
and they went out the cafe

and back along
towards Trafalgar Square
to the art gallery
to see what was there.

What would we
wish different, Milka?
Youth we had,
plenty of

and wisdom lacked;
your beauty,
my wit;
the summer,

flowers,
butterflies,
bees and us
when we could,

being alone,
when your parents
were out or
out of sight

and your brothers
fishing or gaming;
we could kiss
and embrace

and do what lovers do
when nature
permits or allows.
The room,

yours, untidy
as girl's rooms can be,
was out sanctuary,
our bedding place,

lover's nest,
secret hole,
could tell secrets
if walls could talk

or ceilings tell tales.
We would do
nothing other, Milka,
than what we did,

except, maybe,
do it better
or sooner
or with more passion

if more was to be had.
That first walk,
the smell of flowers,
the air fresh,

the woods echoing
bird calls or song
and rabbits
on the run

or squirrels running
from tree to tree
and branch to branch,
and we there

innocent as lambs
knowing nothing then
of nature's bounty
or ***'s depth,

but we walked and talked
and then by the fence
by the field
we saw sun's glow

and sky's blue
and I knew then
I loved us,
but more so you.

Yiska's brother
said she wanted to see me
and so I met her
by the science lab

after midday recess
along by the side
of the playing field
she stood there

arms folded
uneasy
looking down
at the grass

your brother said
you wanted to see me
what's the problem?
one of the girls in class

said that you can get pregnant
if you kiss some one
too passionately
and we did

the other day
and now I’m scared
in case I’m pregnant
she said

in a rush of words
I looked back
at the playing field
Rolland was starting

the ball game
with other boys
some girls
were playing tag in the field

why did the girl say that?
I said
she saw us kissing
the other day

and said
I’d get pregnant
expert is she?
I said

Yiska looked at me deeply
I don't know
I didn't ask
she said

how far have you got
in biology?
I said
what do you mean?

how far have you gone
in human reproduction?
I said
haven't got that far

still doing about frogs
and tadpoles
she said
I sighed

and took her hand  
and we walked
behind the science lab
out of sight of eyes

you have to do more
than kiss to get pregnant
I said
she looked at me unsure

what do you have to do?
she said
nothing we've done
I said

I took in
her bright eyes
her lips just parted
showing her white teeth

the tip of tongue
but what then?
she said
ask your parents

I said
O sure
Yiska said
Mum

how does a girl
get herself pregnant?
is it kissing
or is there something else?

I'm sure she’ll tell me
if she doesn't whack me
in one of her dark moods
Yiska had her hair brushed

just so
neat
and her hand was warm
in mine

you tell me
if you know
she said
I walked her along more

by the science lab
bushes were up
on the bank
behind us

birds sang
I whispered to her
what I knew
she stood back

and gazed at me
are you sure
that's right?
she said

sure it is
I read about it
in this book
she blushed

and took
my hand again
and kissed me
can I read that book?

she said
sure I’ll bring it in
I said
she looked at me

her features bright
and becoming red.

What you think
you see is a man
at prayer, but he
could be just a man

tired of war, eyes
closed, head in hard
hands, sitting there.
He sits in mud, his

uniformed backside
stained, smeared,
like a young boy
having played some

ball game in a muddy
field, with broken
wagons and dead
horses and men lying

all about, stuck in
or ****** in mud
of clay. What you
think you see is now

frozen in time, dead
men or horses counted
in millions far beyond
the mind’s conception,

lay scattered here and
there, as if some god
had cast a hand or arm
to clear (like some bored

child) his view of toys,
all games grown stale.
What you think you see
in sepia echoes through

the days of now and years
of yore, the folly, the all
unstoppable, called war.

I saw you
keep staring
Yochana
says to me
while in class
this morning

we're watching
other kids
by the fence
at recess

why do you
stare at me?

I like you
I tell her

she looks out
at the field

why would you?
She asks me

I just do
no reason

you kissed me
on the cheek
suddenly

I remember
it was good

she looks round
stares at me

not for me
it wasn't
she then adds
at the time

and what now?
I ask her

I’m confused
what I feel
inside me

like when you
hear Chopin?

She blushes
looks away
watching kids
on the field
at their play

can I kiss?
I ask her

not right here
she mutters

where abouts?

I don't know
where abouts
but not here

you're pretty
I tell her

she pretends
she's not heard

after school
if you like
just before
your school bus
is filled up
she suggests

all right then
I reply

we stand there
by the fence
in silence.

When can I leave? Not yet.
When? When we’re sure, you won’t
Harm yourself anymore
Ceili. Harm myself? Yes,

Slit your wrists, try to hang
Yourself, take too many
Pills. An accident. Yes,
Maybe, but we need to

Be sure. Sure of what? That
You won’t do it again.
When can you be sure? That
Is up to you, Ceili.

How can I be sure? You
Will know. How will you know?
We are professionals,
We’ll know. Can you tell me

When? When what, honey? When
It’s time for me to go
And when I won’t do things
Like you said. Why don’t you

Go back to bed; you look
Tired. I can’t sleep; it’s
Those **** pills you gave me.
They’re sleeping pills, sweetie,

They ought to make you sleep.
They don’t work. Maybe you
Aren’t trying. I lost my
Baby. Yes, I know you

Did. My third. Yes, I read
That. My man beats me up.
Men can be creeps at times.
My pop did things to me.

When? When I was quite young.
Did you report it? No.
Why not? Scared. Why don’t you
Try to sleep, ceili, things

Will seem much brighter in
The morning. I hate bright
Mornings, they’re worse than nights.
God look at the ****** time.

What time is it now? Three.
That’s when my baby died.
The last one. I hate that
Hour. Do you want some

Hot chocolate? Can I
Have a cookie or two?
Sure you can. When can I
Leave? Not yet. When? When you

Stop asking when, that’s when.

When Monica asked
if she could go with you
and her brothers
bike riding

her mother said
no you’re too young
or if she asked
to go with you

and Jim and Pete
to the cinema
to see the latest
Elvis flick

her mother said
definitely not
it’s not for young girls
and Monica’d storm indoors

slamming the door
shouting I hate you all
but when you called one day
and her brothers were out

(gone to see their big brother
about some old motorbike)
her mother said
yes come in and wait  

and Monica was
pleased as Punch
especially when
her mother said

you could stay to lunch
and I can show you
over the place
Monica said

and after lunch maybe
we can go for a bike ride
along the small lanes
and maybe you

could show me
some judo moves
and her mother said
we’ll see I’m not sure

Benedict will want
to do those kind
of things with a girl
and went off

to make lunch
and Monica showed you
all over the house
whose room was whose

and up in the attic
she said
this is my room
and took your hand

and took you
to the window
and said
see the view I’ve got?

Isn’t it the best?
and you said
yes it’s good
and you took in the view

and looking around
the room you saw her bed
and the big pink elephant
there by the wall

staring at you
and she said
that’s Pinkie
isn’t she great?

sure
you said
and she took you
down the stairs

to the kitchen for lunch
and her mother
chatted away
about her sons

and Monica sat there
gawking at you
her eyes studying
each aspect of you

her eyes large
as saucers
blue and beautiful
and after lunch

you showed her
a few judo moves
which she loved
especially when

your hands moved her
and you sensed
her almost ready
to burst with joy

and just before
you were ready
to go for a ride
on the bikes

her brothers came
and shooed her away
and she went off
giving them the evil eye

but you she gave
the young girl wink
the we know
what they don’t smile

and off you rode
with her brothers
but she kept
those moments with you

(to herself)
as if you were
Romeo and Juliet
fond lovers.

When I pass
the office
where once

you worked,
my son,
I look up to see

if you are there
as once I use to do
before your

sad demise,
but you are not
of course,

just the windows
as they were,
emptier now,

less meaningful,
as one who looks
into a dark abyss,

remembering
the last spoken word
and final given kiss.

Where are you now
my son?

Where are you now?
I seek you

in the high noon
and at eventide

I wait for your presence
in the hall

your entrance
into the main room

sitting at table
or in your favourite

armchair
but I look again

and you're not there.
I listen

for your Mutley chuckle
in a further room

or your deep
soft laugh

or words of wit
but I listen again

and there's none of it.
I gaze at your pictures

about the house
those when

a mischievous child
or thoughtful student

or grown man
all spread

to a twenty nine
year span

all having
that knowing look

that smile or grin
and it makes me

hurt within
that you have gone

yet proud
Ole

proud
my son.

Where now,
Yiska-
where now

do you lay
your head?
That summer,

that green grass,
your head
in my lap,

the hair damp
from the sun's heat,
the eyes closed

against glare of sun.
Where now do you lie?
Yiska-

there once we lay,
summer's warmth,
blue skies,

your hand in mine,
my finger tracing
the curve

of your spine.
Whose arms now
embrace you?

Yiska,
who lips, now,
plant kisses

along your neck
and thigh?  
Which sun?

Which dull
or blue sky?

She goes to places
where he had been,
touches things that
he had touched, what

some call laying ghosts,
she calls reliving the
past, trying to bring him
back again. That Italian

restaurant he liked, that
table he preferred, that
menu he stared at and
studied, she visits and

gets the same table and
stares at the menu which
he had held and gazed.  
The bench in the park

where they had sat and
talked and laughed and
first held hands and kissed.
Deep down it was him

she missed. The bridge
where they would stop
half way and look into
the river over the side,

she stands, looking, here
where some have jumped
to their deaths in dark
moods or their own black

moment's hold. Then there
is the bed where he had lain,
the love made, the nightly
holds and snuggles and ****

whispers and tickle's giggles.
The bed is empty now; his
place vacant like some deserted
lot, cold where once was hot,

ghostly ways, where she feels,
he lies as in their former days.

It was here
they used to come,
he fourteen,

she thirteen,
walking to the church
for choir,

between tombstones,
along
the flagstone path,

she peasant like,
seemingly like
some Russian girl,

treading the tundra
in icy cold,
her scarf tight

about her neck,
her coat buttoned up
to chin's hold,

the dark brown hair
messed up
by the evening

November wind.
Now he stands alone,
she has gone,

some ages passed,
death and time
cutting her down

before her prime,
cancer feeding,
and drawn

and dragged
and gone
into the dark

beyond his sight
into
the eternal night.

He stands
and thinks of her,
and the place

they stood,
and where
they first kissed

beneath a full moon,
embraced in love,
wordless, hugging,

cloaked by the moon's
pushed away shadows,
young love,

searched for
and found,
but then gone,

he his way,
she hers,
the countless moons

have come and gone,
full and waning,
waxed and fled,

now he sees her,
not alive,
but in

his older,
lonely
head.

Where-
and the place
too familiar,

passageways,
dark, the bed
at the end

of the ward,
and you,
you there,

at the side,
bent over,
Stoic until the end.

Where in the realm of things
does sense
come of this?

I, how to see
sense in this?
The unfolding drama,

the end game,
the drawn out decider.
You-

how soon would
it have come,
my son?

Did you?
And how much?
Was it your hand

on my shoulder
months later
at the Carthusian mass?

The long passage way,
drawn out in dreams
to the same conclusion,

the same end:
What will be the comfort;
who will mend?

The French monk
scythes the tall grass
on the long drive
to the monk’s abbey;

there is a humbleness
about him
like inexpensive
wine.

I sweep
the refectory floor;
her legs were short,
down-like hair

was there,
I ran my fingers up
seeking her secret cup.
The monk in the kitchen

smiles and shows
his few teeth,
wrinkles explode
about his eyes,

I see the morning sunlight,
as if that,
was where
the sun lies.

This is where they sat
and watched the sea
and incoming tide.
Now he has gone.

The waves still come
in and go out regardless.
The sunset brings memories.
The way the sun sits on

the horizon like a Buddha
clothed in a red gown.
He held her hand on
these sands. They kissed

beneath that sun the warmth
like an embrace. It was
here that he spoke of love
and their future and the house

and maybe their children
running in and out of the garden
on summer days. She holds
a handful of sand. Squeezes

between fingers. Gulls fly overhead
making an awful din. If she
closes her eyes she can imagine
him still there. Almost smell

his presence. She sniffs the air.
Sea salt and after sun lotion.
His body shining with sweat
after making love up there

by the rocks. Children and
parents and others enjoy
the sea and beach nearby.
He said so many things.

They are still in the air.
The words about her head
like invisible birds. Then came
the suicide. The final note.

Out at sea some one waves
To her from a small white boat.

Whether George loved Alice,
Benedict didn’t know,
but Alice loved George,
she let it show.

Benedict saw the way
she looked when George
came in the room
or if she spotted him
along the passage,
she’d flushed and gawk
at him like some spotty
schoolgirl (though she
must have been near 70
if a day) and pat down
her grey skirt or mauve
flowered dress and make
sure, without mirror, her
hair was not a mess.

Benedict watched George,
poor of sight and bent slight,
enter the dinning hall
and make straight
for his chair and table,
sit down and fiddle
with the cutlery,
gaze at his face
in the back of a spoon
(though God knows
what he saw with eyes
like his, except blur),
while across the way
Alice would stand,
and girl like, swoon.

Benedict saw Alice
once or twice, when
courage allowed,
stand behind George’s chair
and with fingers twiddle his hair.

George blushed at this,
looked straight ahead,
sensing Alice’s hands
about his neck
in soft embrace,
her lips near,
wanting to kiss,
touched his face.

Benedict guessed
she never ventured
to George’s room or bed,
least not for real,
but maybe in dreams
or in some loving corner
of her aging head.

Whether George
loved Alice,
Benedict couldn’t say,
but he hoped George did
in his own odd way.

Julie stuffed the cigarette
into her mouth
and hungrily inhaled
Benedict was late

and she standing
by Charing Cross station
was annoyed
the morning

had started bad
the nurse on the ward
questioned whether
she should be allowed out

after not taking
her medication
and who
was she meeting?

after such questioning
and the doctor saying
OK but to be back
by such and such

an hour
she felt like a child again
as if her parents
had been resurrected here

and not at home
traffic whirled by
noise
cars hooting

vans and lorries
passing by
people
O such people

Eliot was right
about death
undoing so many
she exhaled

watching the smoke
sit on the air
before being
whooshed off

by a passing car
last time Benedict said
he'd meet her
by the station

at such and such
a time
and here she was
but not he

she leaned
against the fence
last time they'd gone
to the cinema

but this time
she wanted
more time away
from such places

to be with him
not sit
and watched a film
but where was he?

she felt like a *****
standing there
smoking
one hand supporting

one elbow
one hand holding
the cigarette in such
a sluttish way

she did feel
such a ****
wearing the short skirt
and the red top

her hair drawn severely
into a bun
at the back
of her head

last time
in Trafalgar Square
she'd been almost
picked up twice

dressing as she had
telling them
to *******
getting mad

even the nurse
on the ward
thinks she a ****
especially after

that quick ***
with Benedict
in that side room
she laughed  

and inhaled
her spirits rising
with the sight of him
coming up the hill

from the underground
waving his hand madly
happy to see him
knowing the day

after all won't end
that badly
and the image
in her mind

of the ***
in the cupboard
amidst brooms
and buckets

and mops
in the dark
and the fumbling
and he walking fast

towards her
that bright expression
in his eyes
thinking that is how

worlds are born
while another dies.

Juliette drags the brush
through her hair you have
to brush it at least one
hundred times her mother

had said years ago and say
a prayer each time you get
it through and maybe God
will bless you and as she sits

and brushes her hair she
remembers her mother standing
over her when she was a child
and the hair was as long then

as it is now and oh God she
says how I hated it the knots
and tangles and the number of
times I used to cry each time

she pauses in front of the mirror
the brush held mid air sometimes
when she brushes her hair and
stares in the mirror she sees him

there looking at her as he did back
then watching her every move
his dark eyes greedily drinking
her in and once he placed his

hands around her waist and kissed
her neck how she cringed his spittle
still there her uncle his breath his
hands touching always when she

was alone and once when *******
he came in and stared and said he
thought she was becoming a beautiful
young girl now she brushes her hair

again the brush stiff and heavy gripped
in her hand and as she stares into the
mirror heavy with times and care she
thinks she sees him still staring still there.

I'll hold the window
in place
you ***** it
to the wall
my father said

he had the seriousness
of a professional
his dark hair and eyes
firm
rock like

I took a *****
and proceeded
to ***** the window frame
to the wall

my father
was engaged
in the work

I was thinking of Marion
the blonde
who sang
with a band sometimes
who I met some nights
over a drink

and she talked
about music
and how she
had a good relationship
with her father
and how she'd say
Daddy can I go
out dancing?
and he'd say
yes my crazy daughter
and she laughed

I sat there
just listening
seeing her
blue eyes shine
and her body pause
with life

and I asked
what about me
and you and bed?  

you mean ***?
she said

well yes
I said  

O my
I can't sleep
with anyone
not until I marry them
she said
that's like opening
a Christmas present
before Christmas
can't be done

so I put that idea away
and we just talked
and drank
and she sang
a few of the songs
she sang with the band
doing that wiggly dance
she did

her blonde hair sprayed
like a huge bouquet
of flowers

is it firmly in?
my father asked
you need a good *****
to hold it in place

yes that's what I
was thinking
I said
pushing the thought
of Marion
out of
my 17 year old head.

You lay your bike
against the fence
and headed towards

the farmhouse
but Monica came out
of the house

and stood in front
of the door
where you going

with the boys?
she asked
the cinema

you replied
what are you going to see?
Kissing Cousins

going to see what?
it’s a new film
with Elvis in it

you said
looking beyond her
towards the house

I’d like to come too
she said
will they let you?

they might
if you say I can
that’s up to your mother

you said
but if you said
you’d like me

to come along
I’m sure she’d let me
she stood gazing at you

her arms folded waiting
another time maybe
you said

why another time
why not now?
I’m 17 you’re just 14

don’t think your parents’d
be keen on me
taking you out just yet

what do they know
she muttered
the door of the house

opened and her mother
came out of the door
hope you’re not

bothering Benedict
she said
the boys will be out

in a moment
she said
turning to you

and giving Monica
a stern stare
ok

you said
I’ll wait
by my bike

Monica pouted her lips
and followed you
as you walked

to your bike
in you come
young lady

don’t want you pestering
the boys’ friend when
they come calling

and so Monica turned away
following her mother
another daydream falling.

Your old man
came into the lounge
where you were watching
black and white TV

and your mother was standing
talking to an uncle
it’s the baker
your old man said

he wants his £50
what £50?
your mother asked
the £50 I owe him

well pay him
your mother said
I can’t
I don’t have it

you watched
the cowboy film
with half interest
you took a glance

at the debtor
well tell him
you’ll pay him
next week

your mother said
I told him that
last week
your old man said

what did you want
to borrow £50  
from the baker for?
your mother asked

her cheeks getting flushed
to buy my new suit
what new suit?
the one I’m having made

you noticed
your old man’s
moustache flicker
and he stroked it

as he did
when cornered
your mother
breathed heavy

and you looked
at the uncle
ok
the uncle said

here’s the £50  
go pay him
what you owe
to get him off your back

but you better pay me back
or I’ll bust your head
sure I will
your old man said

going out of the room
clutching the money
in his palm
your mother sighed

and the uncle
put away his wallet
into an inside pocket
and you saw that one

of the cowboys
on the black and white
TV screen
had been shot

and died
the other looked angry
and ugly
and mean.

Your husband stands
by the window, his tall,

thin frame is turned
from you, he is looking

at the fields beyond
the garden, the low

window that he looks
through makes his

mild stoop worse.
You gaze at him

with a mixture of
mild interest and

a vague knowledge
of who he is and

what he is doing there.

Outside the church
after the Sunday service
after singing
in the choir

Judith followed you
out of the vestry
into the daylight
amongst the gravestones

at the back
of the church
where she stood
looking around her

with you at her side
you oughtn’t to have done that
she said
what?

you said
put that button
in the collection box
when it came around

the choir stalls
I left my collection money
in my coat pocket
you said

but a button
she said
better to have put nothing in
than that

a black bird settled
on the top
of a gravestone nearby
then flew off

you’re right
you said
I ought not
to have put it in I’m sorry

it’s not me
you have to say sorry to
Judith said
it’s God

whom you defrauded
she turned
and looked at you
with her big blue eyes

and that look she had
when she was disappointed
anyway
she said

I still love you despite
you defrauding God
of his collection pence
come on you two

her sister called
from the side
of the church
aren’t you coming home

the bus will be here soon
ok we’re coming
Judith called back
her sister and yours disappeared

and you said
I don’t deserve you
or your love
no you don’t

she said
but there you are
when can we ever choose
whom to love

we either love
or we don’t and I do
and she kissed your cheek  
and took your hand

and you walked
by the gravestones
along the narrow pathway
by the side

of the church
and I love you too
you said
softly walking

through the midst
of the buried
and dead.

Monica had a sulky expression
and pouted her lips
you watched her
as you waited

for her brothers
to come out
of the farmhouse
they won’t let me

come ride bikes with you
she said
but I can ride a bike
I have my own

she leaned against the fence
one foot resting
on a cross beam
it’s not up to me

who goes on bike rides
you said
but you could say
you want me along

she said
you do want me
to come along
don’t you?

why do girls do that?
you asked yourself
looking beyond her
to the farmhouse

hoping the boys
would show soon
eh?
she muttered

don’t you?
if your brothers
are ok with it
I don’t mind

you said
but they won’t
say that will they?
she said

folding her arms
and giving you
the big stare
maybe if you ask your mother

they might
you suggested
seeing her lips set
in a thin line

where a smile
should have been
she’ll side with them
Monica said

you’re too young to ride
with the boys she’ll say
Monica mimicked
in a motherly type voice

she put down her foot
from the fence
and walked toward you
you noticed she was wearing

a green dress
with flowers across
her small bust
she stood in front of you

her hands wrestling
with each other
I want to go with you
she said softly

please say yes
and they’ll listen to you
you studied her features
the way she tilted her head

and the eyes
how they searched you
the farmhouse door opened
and the boys came out

excitedly getting on their bikes
and riding up toward you
run along a play Monica
Pete said

yes go play
with your doll and pram
Jim said
I want to ride with you

she said
Benedict wants me to
she added
giving you a staring gaze

no he don’t
Pete said
he thinks you’re a pain
in the ***

no he doesn’t
she said
he said he wants me to go
Jim laughed and Pete said

sure he did
like he wants you
to kiss his ***
now go off and play

she looked at you
her eyes deepening
I don’t mind
you said

she isn’t coming
Jim said
now go away
or I’ll call Mum

and see what she says
Monica poked out her tongue
and walked away
the boys began peddling

their bikes as you did yours
but looking back
toward the farmhouse
you saw her give

a one finger up you sign
before she went indoors.

The way Mrs Dillinger had
of making it
seem so simple

even that time
she said
come round
one afternoon

and we can discuss
your writing or politics
or whatever you like

but she didn't mention
that her husband
was out
or that she

was after your body
and wanted to hear
you read your work

only after
a good session
in her bed
but your pecker

wouldn't perform
wouldn't act
like some circus horse

and so of course
the politics
didn't get discussed
or your writing craft

maybe next time
she said
in any case

my husband
maybe back soon
and I don't want him
getting in

on the act
of discussing politics
or your art and craft

and so
you went away
your art
and craft intact

and your politics
undiscussed
and your pecker

breathing a sigh
of relief
well this time around
at least

you thought
the wilful
bashful beast.

Sorry about
your granddad’s death
Judith said
as you stood

beside her
by the pond
at the back
of the house

in the woods
the autumn sun
lighting up patches
of the water’s skin

it was sudden
you said
my uncle told me
she took

your hand
in hers
and squeezed
her soft skin

on yours
her thumb
rubbing
the back

of your hand
best remember him
as he was
she said

living and smiling
not some place
lying dead
you nodded

trying
to conjure up
when you’d
seen him last

sitting in
the back garden
of his house
months earlier

talking
of his flowers
he’d grown
from seed

his white hair
moved slightly
by the breeze
he liked my new suit

you said
thought it looked smart
she kissed your cheek
and said

hold on
to things
like that
your memories

place them
in a drawer
inside your head  
a jackdaw flew

across the skin
of the pond
the black and white
of wings and tail

reflected
in the water
below
what comes

from God
she whispered
whether
nature’s beauty

or ones
we love
will one day
sadly go.

Your memorial stone
is in the design of a book,
my son, apt words
have been put,
chiselled into granite,
skilled hands, tools,
keen eye, words set,
meanings and sentiments,
heart felt, soul grieved.

Picked and bought
you a plot up
at the far end;
pretty much quiet,
birds nearby,
a tree a little off
to the side,
not crowded in
as some plots are,
none too near,
not too far.

It will gut me up
to see you there;
ashes to ashes,
dust to dust,
as the good book says;
watery eyed I’ll stand
and talk and listen,
remembering the old times,
you still too young to go
as dates on the stone will show.

Book memorial stone
as a reminder,
not that reminding
is in need, never forget,
or feel less pain,
that like the memorial stone
will remain.

I wonder what they’ll find
In the depths of my broken mind
As I lift the blackout blind?
Take a peek through the window to my deepest thoughts.
It is puzzling,
Troubling,
A game I cannot win;
So take a peek through the window to my deepest thoughts.
Take a peek,
Rummage, seek
But warning please take care
Cause it’s really dark down there
And if you have no flash light to hand
Then I don’t expect you’ll understand;
But take a peek through the window to my deepest thoughts.
I tried to stand real tall
But began to fall
And I wanted to end it all.
But my family
Were saving me
Were keeping me from meeting death.
Now with every breath that I have left
Will be a fight
Cause wounds don’t heal over night
And there may come a time where I lose sight
And I may not see what is right;
So take a peek through the window to my deepest thoughts.
And tell me what you find
In the depths of my broken mind
As I lift the blackout blind;
Take a peek through the window to my deepest thoughts.

( by my son, Nathaniel)

We walked down the lane
from my parent's cottage

it was Saturday morning
I’d got the milk
from the farm

walked across the fields
into the farm milking shed
with my green  
and cream jug

avoided the big
black farm dog
that had bitten me once

had breakfast
and was now walking
with Jane
along the narrow lane

I like that small stream
she said
pointing to the thin
strip of water
moving beside us
along the path
the sound my father says
is the water singing to God
she said

rooks called overhead
from the tall trees
other birds sang nearby
a wren flew from out
of a hedge

God is everywhere
my father says
she added

I found a wren's nest
the other month
I said

you didn't disturb it
did you?
she asked

no just looked
and counted the eggs
and studied them
for a few moments
I said

she smiled
I liked it
when she smiled
it was like Christmas morning
like an opened up present

I see you got
the cows in
from the field
yesterday afternoon
after school
she said
not bad
for a London boy

I like it
and Mr Andrews said
I’ve the making
of a cowman

there you are then
your future mapped out
she said

I don't want
a future mapped out
I said
I want it
to be a surprise

some things
have to be mapped out
she said
can't have a daily
big surprise
all the time
life can get routine
whatever we do

routine is the beginning
of dying
I said

routine is our security
she said
allows us
to feel safe

we stopped in the lane
and looked
at the flowers around us

she named a few
and the butterflies
that stopped on flowers

I looked too
as she named them
trying to remember them
looking at her finger
as it pointed out
the pinky nail
the thin finger
the small hand

when Mr Andrews asked me
what I wanted to do
after I left school
I said to be a cowman
and he said
you want to get yourself
a better job
don't get stuck
on a farm
all your life

it's what you want
Jane said
not what he says
that matters

we walked on down
the lane
her hand just inches
from mine

her grey skirt swishing
as she walked
her muddy boots
avoiding the cow pats

it's what you want
she repeated
that matters

yes I guess so
I said

I wanted to kiss her
but not saying so
just hoping
as we walked
looking for a time
maybe a place to stand
and see what happened
or just to kiss her
on the cheek suddenly
and see what she said
or did
but no
I didn't
I just walked on
thinking it wrong

she unaware
of my thoughts
listened to bird song.

The bus moved away
from the bus stop
and Fay sat next to you

her body rocking
side to side
with the motion

of the bus
her knees pushing
against each other

her hands in a prayer like pose
upon her knees
Are you going

to the cinema?
she asked
Yes

you replied
The Globe
That old fleapit?

she said smiling
her lips parting
showing

small white teeth
What are you going to see?
A cowboy film I think

you said
Why don’t you come too?
I can’t

I haven’t any money
she said
Besides my dad

wouldn’t like it
he thinks films
are the Devil’s work

she looked out
at the passing view
you studied her thumbs

rubbing over each other
her nails pink
and polished

like small shells
He needn’t know
you said

I wouldn’t tell
she turned her head
and said

I would know
and he would know
by the look

in my eyes
he knows I always
tell the truth

and never tell lies
you put a hand over hers
and her thumbs

became still
and her hand
touched yours

Maybe one day
she said
I will.

Some fairground
by the coast  
taken by the Baptist mission
by coach

and outside
some magic mirror tent
after having gone in
you said to Helen

not much in there to see
and the fairground guy
having overheard you said
not much to see?

come here and see again
and he took you
in the tent again
and showed you

how you looked
in front
of the various mirrors
in some you were thin

and tall and in another
you were broad
and fat or you were
squat as if someone

had sat on you
and squashed you flat
and you laughed at that
and the guy said

see there is much to see
so go tell your girlfriend
so you went out
of the tent

and said to Helen
yes it was good
the second time around
and Helen said

perhaps we should
go in together
and so you paid the guy
the money

and you went in
with her and stood
together in front
of the mirrors

and laughed
and she held
your hand
and you remembered

the guy saying
tell your girlfriend
and you guessed
she was

and that made
you feel happy
even schoolboys
of 10 years old

sometimes want girlfriends
secretly endeared
away from the sight
or knowledge

of other boys
as if it were some kind
of betrayal
of the schoolboy code

and as you walked
about the fairground
you watched  
where others

on racing
wooden horses rode.

Between biology
and double maths
Christina met Benedict
in the recess

of the tuck shop
and the passage
that led off
towards the hall.

As the other members
of her class walked on,
she in whispered voice said,
I won’t see you

on the sports field lunch time
because of the ****** rain.
He moved in closer,
sensing her body press

against his
in the small space.
It might clear up, he said.
Her hands wrapped about him,

she pulled him close.
But the grass will still be wet
and they don’t let us out
if it’s wet, she whispered.

He knew that, but wanted
to feel her breath against
his skin as she spoke.
The moment seemed to be

lacking of the motion of time.
Silence filled the air about them;
the darkness of the recess
seemed lighter as their eyes

grew accustomed
to the dimness.
Miss you most
when I don’t see you, she said.

Her hands squeezed him near her.
He sensed her soft *******
against his chest.
I look at your photo

and when no one is looking
I kiss it, she breathed out
as she spoke.
I keep your photo tucked

in the small wallet
my mother bought me, he said.
he smelt her hair;
it had a scent of fresh flowers.

She pulled him in closer;
his hands felt the small
of her back, his fingers
sensed the pulse of her heart,

through the white cloth
of her blouse. The toes
of their shoes touched,
she leaned in and kissed

his cheek, moving in damp
moves toward his lips.
The small space seemed
to hold in a silence except

of their words and breathing;
their eyes grew accustomed
to the dimness of light, each
saw the others' eyes.

Foot steps drew near,
the pitter patter on linoleum
floor, they broke apart,
held hands, squeezed themselves

against the door
of the tuck-shop recess.
A teacher walked by;
unnoticed they breathed out,

hands squeezing.
The sound grew fainter.
Best go, he said, late for class.
She kissed him again,

her lips pressed hard
against his. She went out
of the recess and off
along the passage.

He stood a few seconds,
then followed; she had gone,
the dampness still clung
to his cheek and lips’ skin.

His pulse of heart raced
like the engine of a racing car,
he paced the passage like
some pilgrim without guide or star.

Benedict came in
from the pumps
at the gas station
having served
the Indian guy
with the Rolls Royce
who gave him a tip.

He put the money in the till
and closed it
and pocketed
the coins of tip.

Miss Billings stood
at the doorway
of the small front office,
hand on her hip,
head to one side.

Benny Boy,
do you think
the men who come in here
fancy me?

I don't know,
Benedict said.

Do you think they'd
like to shaft me?

He looked non-plus,
shrugged his shoulders,
don't know,
he said.

She smiled.
Would you like
to shaft me, Benny Boy?
She did a turn,
hands on hips,
eyes bright open.

Shaft?
He repeated.
What do you mean?

She smiled more,
white teeth showing,
hips swaying.
Well, when that Riley
comes in, he often says,
I could give you
a good rogering.

Do you know
what he means,
Benny Boy?

No,
Benedict said.

It means having ***
with someone, Kid,
having it off.
She laughed.

Would you like that?
I can see it now
in the headlines,
and she made movements
with her finger to suggest
newspaper headlines
in the air.
Boy of 15 shafts
22 year old woman
in back of Bentley
in gas station.

Benedict watched her
as she stood,
hands on hips,
smiling at him.

Well, not to worry, Kid,
because you won't get
the chance,
and she walked off
swaying her hips
in Monroe fashion,
her blonde hair
flowing free,
her white clothed backside
moving side to side
and disappeared
in the back office
to do the accounts.

He stood watching
the door swing shut,
the image of her
still stuck in his mind,
the swaying backside and hips,
the hair flowing blonde and free.

He smiled.
In his bed at night,
between the sheets,
lights out,
moonlight glowing,
he had *** with her,
freely, slowly,
without her knowing.

Benedict went out
with Steinbeck’s wife
and Steinbeck (no not

that Steinbeck, some
other, less know, not
a writer, but a driver)

didn’t know, or if he
did he didn’t show as
if he did. The small hotel

with the hot water tap
running cold, the cold
running hot, the gas

fire blazing like some
dragon in a Disney
cartoon. Steinbeck’s

wife lay on the bed,
her arms outstretched,
her small ***** like

abandoned babes.
Aren’t you coming in
bed? She asked. Sure

I am, Benedict said, just
washing my hands,
about to brush my teeth.

The mirror in the narrow
bathroom was steamed
up, except where his hand

had made a clearing.
He stared at his face,
showed his teeth. Job

done. He spat out wasted
paste. Come on in Honey,
she said, as he climbed into

bed **** naked, his pecker
flopping like a dead goose’s
neck. She killed the lights.

The room flashed on and off
with neon lights from across
the way. Her features shone

up and then went out like
some ancient ghost. She
handled his pecker, her grip

about the base. He put his
hands on her ****, felt flesh,
moved fingers crablike to

where the buttocks met,
the thin crack.  She quickly
manhandled the pecker

into life, stiffened its resolve,
moved into place. That’s nice,
she said, placing fingers on

his back, moving him down.
Benedict seeing her features
flash up and out, thought of

Steinbeck driving his truck,
while he the apprentice was
having his wife, getting the ****.

As the numbness
of your death
wears off,
the harsh reality
sinks in, bites
at the heart and nerves,
tightens its grip
about the throat,
clutches about the heart,
sends punches
to the head.

I still can’t believe you,
my son, are dead;
seems unreal
despite the reality
kicking in,
despite the hollowness
where once you were,
despite the silence
of your laugh and humour,
despite the absence
of your hungry bear walk,
the look you gave,
the softly spoken talk.

We put fresh flowers
on your grave, took
away the dying ones;
we stood and stared
and watched the plot
where now you lay.

Wish you were not there,
my son, but here
with us today.