He pushes
an old wheel barrow,
the French monk,

loaded with manure,
fork sticking out
at the front end;

he walks along
the track
by the abbey,

head down,
thinking of Christ,
no doubt ,

and His
loaded cross.
I polish

the choir stall wood
with a yellow dust cloth
and orange

polish-muck;
she let me lay
my head

between her thighs,
murmuring sighs.
The old monk,

lays out the altar,
prepares things
for the high mass

that morning
with the seriousness
of a sad mourner.

What people say
or do

is of less interest
to me

than why
they do

or say
what they do.

The psychology
behind

words
and deeds.

Be yourself my bright-eyed babe,
Sense the wings beneath the skin,
Feel the frozen fires within,

Reach out with the timorous hand,
Touch the warm but dying frame,
Hold the heart and squeeze the blood,

Kiss the lips without return,
Which, being chilled with death,
Seal the coffin of your love.

We'd been for a bike ride
along country lanes
and lay for a while
in some field
looking at the sky
and clouds
and making out
what cloud formations
we could see

that's a dog begging
Milka said
pointing skyward

I looked at her finger
pointing up
the hand small
the finger fragile

could be I guess
I said

that one looks
like Punch
of the Punch and Judy puppets
she said

I let her go on
with her suggestions
agreeing or not
as the case was

it was being close to her
in the open air
that got to me
her arm near me
her body
a mere few inches away
the short green skirt
the white blouse
the impression
of her bra
indicated there

perfume reaching me
as she moved
(her mother's
most probably)  

birds flew overhead
as we watched the clouds

we lay out bikes
against the fence
of her father's farmhouse
and stood looking
at each other

it was a good ride
she said
I liked how we lay
in the field and cloud watched

yes it was good
I said

thank you Benny
she said

where are your brothers?

gone out I suppose
she said
did you want them?

they said we might
go see a film
I said

what film is that?

an Elvis film

she nodded
you could always take me
she said
her head leaning
to one side
her eyes gazing at me

would your mother
let you go?

Milka looked uncertain
I could ask
she said

another time maybe
I said

the last time
I had taken Milka
her mother had let her go
on the understanding
that she be grounded
for a week afterwards
(she had done something wrong
and her mother
only let her go with me
out of consideration
for me not Milka)

OK she said
she went quiet
looked at the farmhouse

best go in then
I said I wouldn't be long
she said
kissing my cheek

she walked off
towards the farmhouse
her cute **** swaying

I sighed knowing
I’d not see her
for another week.

The bikes were parked outside the small church by a hedge where cows were mooing on the other side black and white cows mooing loudly it was warm the sun was almost over head the church silent other than the mooing cows and the occasional birdsong from hedgerows surrounding the church and churchyard where there were gravestones some quite old some more recent with flowers in vases or pots inside the church sat Lizbeth her red hair let loose over her shoulders dressed in her favourite black dress which was too short-her mother said although Lizbeth liked it so- and white ankle socks and black shoes slightly duffed she sat gazing at the altar end where coloured glass windows let in narrow shards of sunlight that settled on the small altar and the flagstones on the floor next to her sat the boy Benedict who looked at the church roof thinking of the girl wondering if it had been wise to come here again with her after the last time when she had proposed they have *** on one of the pews which they didnt of course as he had rejected such a thing it being a church and all but he had come after she said she wouldnt suggest such a thing again not in the church anyway the roof looked old he thought but it didnt seem to leak and that was good being such a small church and it seemed people seldom came except on the odd Sundays when a parson could be found he sensed her beside him her elbow touched his her thigh pressed against his he knew she pressed it so because he felt her move closer to him in the pew knees touched also it felt as if she was pressing more he couldnt decide for sure but it seemed so if she was going to try it on again he would get up and leave but she seemed content just to sit there and gaze at the altar end at the sunlight coming through the coloured glass windows at the brass crucifix on the altar table where a Christ was welded to the brass cross he sniffed the air surreptitiously her perfume was there strong powerful-she must have bathed in it to get it so strong- the churchy smell dead flowers old stone he closed his eyes briefly wanting to strengthen his senses other than sight other than the visual the sounds hearing sounds birdsong from outside she shifting beside him on the seat of the pew her foot tapping gently on the wooden praying form her hands tapping on the top of the pew smelt her more strongly he decided it was too strong too seductive and that was unsettled him that smell that deliberate soaking herself in such perfume she watched the sunlight shards of it with dust and such floating in the light like small planets in a vast universe of light she knew he was unsettled beside her he seemed rather stiff uneasy as if he feared she was about to pounce upon him and have her wicked way with him undressed him and then both naked **** for all they were worth but she knew she wouldnt get as far as undoing his top button of the shirt he was wearing no more likely than unbutton his jeans and look for his ***** and pull it out with her fingers like a bird with a worm in its beak she sat and stared at the sunlight feeling him beside her his thigh next to hers warm feeling him there stirring her but she had to control the urge fight back the temptation to grab him and kiss him and no no she had to do as she promised and settle for just being there beside him she hoped he could smell the perfume she wore-her mothers half a bottle it seemed splashed over her naked body that morning in the bathroom-you stink to high heaven her mother had said that morning at breakfast and its my perfume youve soaked in no need for so much you smell like a brothel her mother said but whether that was a good thing or not Lizbeth didnt know not knowing what a brothel smelt like anyway or caring for that matter who are you seeing? Her mother asked a boy Lizbeth replied what boy? Lizbeth said just a boy and said no more much to her mothers dissatisfaction and annoyance making her mother more depressed and anxious than normal Benedict looked sideways at her taking in her hair red and loose her freckled skin her bright eyes she looked around at him leaving the altar and crucifix sight alone quiet here she said he nodded I wonder how many people come here on a Sunday she said wanting to hear his voice she didnt care a fig how many dull people came to the church but his voice just the sound of it not many I guess he said more people buried outside than in here she said smiling he liked her smile but it also unsettled him made him feel things he didnt want to feel guess so he said she eyed him he seemed unsure of her maybe he felt unsure of her and himself of what his body might act if it acted at all shed put the short black dress it showed more leg revealed her thighs and if she parted her thighs just so it gave the impression of darker places just about concealed nothing would come of today visit she knew no *** would result no big kissing session much as she wanted it shed be lucky if anything came of it but she needed to keep in touch with him have him not far from her despite the ****** Queen Jane warning her off in that gentle manner at school she sighed he looked at her his hands tucked in his lap her hands wanted to do something wanted to touch him to feel him and deep down some part of her wanted him all wanted him inside her she dreamed of such in her nightly sleep some nights it seemed so real that she leaked O God she thought-God just a word to her not a concept or a being as such- Ive written an essay on this church he said for R.E at school and got good marks for it he added she couldnt give a **** about that but she listened and smiled and said thats good and it must have been interesting she said sure she wouldnt want to read it even if she could he smiled his eyes hazel she thought settled  on her moved over her he settled back in the pew felt the wooden rail against his spine the seat was hard couldnt sit too long here he thought let alone have *** like she wanted that time before he couldnt imagine it in any way seemed too out on a limb and why did she want *** so much what was it about *** that caught her and drove her he wondered keeping his hands away from touching her in case she got the wrong impression she wanted to touch him place a hand on his squeeze his hand put his hand under her dress and let him feel her but no she darent yet not today she turned and faced the altar end again and knew she'd have to dream a dream of this day but have things differently him having her away away and away.

The canary perched
on Janice's finger.

Her eyes wide
in amazement,
its plumage,
yellow, sickly,
beauty, all in one.

I looked on,
eyes wide
in amazement, too,
not at its yellow
plumage, but at
the bird's whitish poo.

Look what it's done,
Janice cried,
on my finger
and hand.

Her gran,
who usually said,
Make sure
the window's closed,
lay in a chair
and dozed.

Wipe it off
or take the bird,
Janice said.

I took the bird
in cupped hands,
studying its
slight alarm,
its ruffled look.

Janice went to
the kitchen to clean
her hand and finger
under the tap,
while Gran grunted
in her catlike nap.

The bird wanted to
escape my hold,
but I held it firm,
cupped tight in hands,
in captured hold,
studying its yellowness
and thimble head.

Janice returned
and said;
Naughty bird
to poo on
Janny's hand
and finger,
and took back
the bird
into her care
once more.

My hands
were clean;
it had not
shat on me,
not a bit,
if it had,
I thought,
not said,
I’d have
strangled it.

Lizbeth sits
on her bike
by the hedge

her short skirt
showing thighs
her white blouse

open necked
Benny sees
her from his

bedroom view
sitting there
on her bike

he goes down
out the front
to see her

well I'm here
Lizbeth says
weather's warm

we could go
for a walk
or a ride

Benny knows
why she's come
and stands there

by the gate
I'm with Jane
not with you

he tells her
but will she
-****** queen-

that Jane girl
let you have
*** with her?

Lizbeth asks
I don't want
to have ***

with you or
anyone
Benny says

not until
I'm older
not thirteen

Lizbeth sighs
inwardly
wanting him

sexually
and had come
very close

a few times
the ******
that girl Jane

needn't know
if we do
Lizbeth says

anyway
we can still
have a walk

I promise
to be good
Lizbeth says

just to talk
nothing else
Benny says

but of course
she tells him
so Benny

walks with her
down the lane
by the side

of the house
between high
hedges filled

with song birds
she speaks of
her mother

and her moods
her father's
indifference

the latest
rock and roll
long player

she'd bought
he listens
to her talk

smelling her
strong perfume
her red hair

tied in two
ponytails
the freckles

on her skin
she thinking
as they walk

side by side
how he'd look
above her

having ***
in her room
back at home

both naked
and that Jane
watching them

Benny thinks
of the hawk
-sparrowhawk-

he had seen
while with Jane
its power

flying high
hovering
waiting for

the big ****
and Jane's hand
near to his

as they walked
but Lizbeth
talks about

a new dress
she'd been bought
a bright red

with flowers
of yellow
and quite short

and Mother
doesn't like
its shortness

she says it
shows too much
nonetheless

I have it
Lizbeth says
then she stops

you can come
and see it
at some time

at my place
I promise
to be good

Benny says
that he could
-not that he

ever would-
then he tells
her about

seeing the
sparrowhawk
hovering

above them
Jane and him
powerful

and mighty
in the sky
Lizbeth thinks

it boring
just a bird
she muses

wanting him
inside her
in her bed

in her room
but she'll wait
bide her time

like the hawk
for her prey
and have him

some hot day.

Bill knows all about
Black ops; he’s been
Involved in many; hush
Hush stuff. Knew about
The JFK *****. Watch

Your back, Bill, old
Friends said; now most
Are dead, but Bill’s still
Around, keeping his nose
Clean, his eyes keen, his

Brain alert. He knows
Things are going on; he
Reads the news, hears
Politician’s doublespeak,
Reads between the lines.

His mother bathed his
Grazed knees, kissed
His bruises, covered up
His lies, prayed for him.
Never understood him

Not even on her last day.
He visited her in hospital,
But wouldn’t stay; said it
Was best for both of them
That way. The American

Dream; what a laugh, he
Muses, standing in the
Doorway, watching for
The cab, remembering
Mexico, the dark ops

There, the way it went.
Nice place that, except
For the reasons sent.
He knew headlines
Were falsified; lies

Were spread. Knew
Why Kennedy got it
In the head. Years pass
By, he sighs, most people
Forget. New ops arrive,

Word sent, politicians
Bought up and out and
Spent. Could have been
Some one, Bill, his father
Often said, could have made

The grade, been at the top,
Crème de la crème. **** that,
Bill said, don’t want to be
Part of that sick scene, don’t
Want to be a sadshit like them.

Fay can see Baruch
from the window
of the living room
down on the area

of grass below
he is alone
sitting on one
of the bomb shelters

left over
from the war
she peers down at him
taking in

the cowboy hat
the silver looking
6 shooter toy gun
he seems

to be cleaning
she wishes
she was there
with him

but her father
says she is to stay in
and learn about the saints
and said he will

quiz her later
when he gets home
from work
about them to see

what she has learnt
the book
is on the chair
unopened

a bookmark
of St Benedict
lies on top
her mother

is in the kitchen
preparing soup
she knows her mother
would turn a blind eye

if she wanted
to go out
but they both know
that her father

would punish her
if he caught her out
especially
with Baruch

the Jew Boy
as her father calls him
the killer of Our Lord
he often says

although Baruch
denies being involved
in any way
she hopes Baruch

will look up
at her window
and see her
he has put his gun

in the holster hanging
from the belt
of his jeans
and holds a rifle

bought for him
for his birthday
he aims at the sky
and twirls around

pretending to shoot
pigeons flying
over head
she watches him

as he aims
at the coal wharf
where the coal carts
are being loaded

with coal
from chutes above
her father doesn't like
Baruch even though

Baruch always smiles
and says shalom
to him if he passing
her father on the stairs

of the flats
Baruch says
her father is a schmuck
but she doesn't know

what that means
but if Baruch said it  
it must be a nice term
she thinks wiping away

the steamed up glass
where she has
breathed on it
she blows him a kiss

from the palm
of her thin hand
he doesn't know
but he'll get it

any how she knows
he aims at
the steam train
passing over

the bridge
by the Duke of Wellington pub
she smiles as he does
the kickback

from his rifle
the train passes
unharmed
the driver unaware

he has been fired upon
by a cowboy
from the grass
she eyes him

determinedly
wants him to look up
at her window
he lifts the rifle

to the sky again
and fires
then he pauses  
lowers his rifle

and stares at her window
she waves
he looks
she waves frantically

he looks away
she bites a lip
he stares up
at her window

and beckons her down
with a wave
of his hand
she waves

crossing her hands
as if to say
can't come
he gazes

and then waves
and blows a kiss
from his hand
upwards

then he climbs down
from the bomb shelter
and disappears
the grass is empty

he has gone
the book of saints
lies on the chair
unopened

she goes
from the window
and picks it up
and opens

and begins to read
sensing
a good portion
of her 11 year old

girl's heart
bleeds.

Christine sat
on the edge
of her bed

her white
dressing gown
wrapped about her

her hair unbrushed
she swung her legs
back and forth
like a child waiting
to play games

you sat
on the bed opposite
your borrowed
dressing gown
dark blue
you held tight
with your hands

as the nurses
had taken away
your belt and laces
in the locked ward

when I first had ECT
she said
they took me in that room
back there and laid me
on that black couch
and said it won’t hurt
it will help

she looked at you
her eyes focused
making sure
you were listening

she brushed hair
out of her face
it’s like being a ******
before ***
you don’t know
what to expect
she added
her voice quieter

she looked around
at the ward
others were elsewhere
or in their beds
or taking a shower

and that bit
when they put
the electrodes
each side of your head
and put that thing
to bite on

yes
you said
made me feel like
I was in a dentist’s chair
back as a kid
with the smell of gas
only there isn’t gas

no gas
she said interrupting
that’s right
just feels like it  

she took a deep intake
of breath
you watched her
her fingers held
the dressing gown
to her neck
the ring on her finger
she wouldn’t remove
even if the guy
didn’t show
for the wedding
she’d keep the ring
stuck there

like waiting to die
you said
and then they give you
the injection in the hand
a little *****
and the wave of nothingness
sweeps over you
and you blank out
and it’s all dark
and empty

she nodded her head
her eyes still glued
to you
then you wake
with a headache
like a huge hangover
without the *****
she said
looking away from you
her profile adding
to her beauty

and it didn’t work for me
she added
as a nurse went by
carrying blankets

me neither
you said
just the dreaded numbness
and the busted head

she got off the bed
and walked to the window
and you followed
standing beside her
looking out
at the trees
and fields
covered in snow

a tractor across the way
with gulls and rooks
following behind

and she touched
your hand with hers
the blind
leading the blind.

Benedict
Christina called
as I got off
the school bus

I went over
to her
standing by
the wire fence

surrounding
the girls' playground
she took my arm
and walked me

along the fence
out of earshot
of others
I dreamed

of you last night
she said
did you now
I said

watching a prefect
looking over
what was I up to?
that would be telling

she said
that's the point
I said
some girls

were playing skip rope
singing a rhyming song
she looked at me
with her brown eyes

you kissed me
she said
is that all?
I said

the prefect  was walking
over towards us
his lanky frame
moving

at a steady pace
it was a long kiss
she said
how long?

I asked
I didn't time it
she said
but it was good

made me feel
all unnecessary
as I heard
my cousin say

when she stayed
with us
what are you two
up to?

the prefect asked
you
he said to me
should be making

your way
to the boys' playground
not here
chatting up girls

Christina
looked at him
then at me
she dreamed of me

last night
I said
she was just
telling me

I bet no one
dreams of you
I added
looking at

the lanky prat
do you want to go
to the headmaster?
he said

giving me
the stern eye
Christina
was looking at me

her eyes like
melted chocolate
got to go
I said to her

see you lunch time
at recess
on the field
I walked off

the prefect stared
after me
Christina stood
with her hands

in front of her
her thumbs playing
with each other
I turned before

I went out of sight
and blew
her a kiss
which she pretended

to catch and put in
her school skirt pocket
the prefect scowled at her
as she walked away

patting my blown kiss
next to her thigh
easing out
a school girl sigh.

There were bright lights
from the ceiling
once it got
dark outside

and when big Ted
brought in
the sandwiches
for tea or supper

or whatever
they called it
I sat next to Christine
on one

of the double sofas
and she looked
at the plates
of sandwiches

that were laid
on the table
and said
usual boring stuff

I’m not eating
I’d rather starve
big Ted said
O come on

young lady
we've got
to get you well again
and out of this ward

he offered her
a ham sandwich
real ham
he said

not that tin stuff
she looked at him
don't fancy meat
she said

he took up
a cheese sandwich
Cheddar
he said

good stuff
I’ve tasted it
downstairs
in the kitchen

I could eat a horse
I said
taking the cheese sandwich
no horse sandwiches today

Ted said smiling
Christine gazed at me
then at the plate
of sandwiches

it's an effort to eat
she said
I should be coming home
from my honeymoon now

if the **** hadn't left me
at the altar
done my head in
Ted raised his eyebrows

is there anything
I can get you other
than sandwiches?
they've got

sausage rolls downstairs
all dressed
in my wedding dress
with flowers

and waiting
and he doesn't show
I take a ham sandwich
his loss

I said
he must be missing a *****
not to wed you
she gazed at me

then took
a cheese sandwich
and ate
Ted frowned

and walked off
to get the teapot
and coffee pots
and cups

from the trolley
you'll find someone
I said
don't think

I want anyone now
think I'll become a nun
or missionary
in some far off land

sexless and taking care
of others
she sat eating
in silence for a moment

or two
not sure
I could go long
without ***

come to think of it
she took a ham sandwich
with one hand
and placed a hand

on my thigh
with that dull light
in her green blue
left eye.

Walking away
from the church
down the narrow lane
her sister with another

up front
she said
my mother seems to think
there's something going on

between me and you
what something?
you asked
she looked up front

some one has talked
of you and me
she said
your sister?

you asked
maybe
who else?
you smelt the blossoms

from the overhanging trees
heard bird song
from the hedges
a car went by

church goers
returning home
to lunch or dinner
but what has she said?

you asked
how do I know?
she said
but now my mother

watches me like a hawk
and if it wasn't
that I'm church going
and in the choir

she wouldn't let me out
of her sight
she sighed and looked away
what happens now?

you asked
be careful that's all
she said
what about now here

and us walking together?
she grabbed your hand
and squeezed it
and pulled you to her

and she kissed you
quickly and firmly
that
she said

that and more
and you walked
as if on air
trying to grab

the moment
trying to stuff it away
in your memory box
for later times

her sister looked back
then away again
maybe she's jealous?
you said

maybe she's just trying
to get into mother's
good books
she said

that time
in the woods
behind your house
that time I sneaked out

and we went in the woods
down by the pond
and sat and talked
and we kissed

and stuff
yes
you said
then I think someone saw us

and told her
another car went by
someone waved
you both waved back

it was a good time there
the peaceful pond
the ducks
the birds overhead

that woodpecker we heard
and you thought
of that moment
when as she lay there

in the grass
and you looked down
at her there
that Russian peasant look

about her
that love felt
and her lips
speaking soft

like wings flapping
of butterflies
you saw in her eyes
the white clouds

and blueness
of the skies.

Off Rockingham Street
just fifty yards
from the corner shop
where you used to get

bread rolls
in the early mornings
was a bombed out factory
with a fence around

but some kids
had pushed a way
through the wooden slates
and that is where

you and Helen went
on the Saturday afternoon
( not going in the morning
because of the film matinée)

she uncertain
as she followed you
through the fence
looking about her

her eyes enlarged
by her thick lens spectacles
her brown hair
bunched with ribbons

are there people here still?
she asked
no
you said

no one here except
a few rats and mice
rats!
she said

stiffening by the fence
mice?
sure but they won't hurt you
you said

tapping the 6 shooter
toy gun wedged
in a holster
on your belt

but rats
she said
I hate them
she put fingers

to her mouth
o come on
you said
nothing to worry about

she followed you reluctantly
across the yard
and to the factory
which had been locked up

but some kids
had busted through
a side door
and you and she

went through
and into the factory
the smell
she said

what a stink
yes
you said
dampness rotting wood and ****

and sometimes tramps
come in here
and **** in corners
tramps?

not here now are they?
no they go at daylight
you said
you walked in

and looked around
at the places
where once
machines had been

and benches stood rotting
in the damp
from holes in the ceiling
where bombs

had blown entrances
and one wall
at the back
was blown out

she stood there
hands in her coat pockets
not sure I want to go further
she said

look we've come this far
why go back now?
you said
frightened

she said
you walked to her
and took her hand
and said

I'm here with you
I promised your mum
I'd take care of you
yes I know

but she thought
you were taking me
to the park
not the bomb sites

she's told me not to go
on bomb sites
she says
they're dangerous places

you smiled
of course they are
that's why I come
you said

she hesitated
at your side
she squeezed your hand
look

afterwards we'll get some chips
from the chip shop
and put plenty
of salt and vinegar on them

and eat them
on the grass
by Banks House
ok

she said
her eyes brightening
she followed you
through the factory

looking at the walls
and benches
and spaces
where old tools

had once been
and where machines
had been blown away
or taken off

after the war
she walked with you
up the wobbly
metal staircase

to a higher level
and into rooms
where offices
had once been

and went to a window
and peered out
at the surrounding houses
and gardens

some houses bombed out
some still intact
with washing on the lines
you felt your gun

with your hand
sensed her hand
in yours
looking out

through the window
at the Saturday
afternoon sun  
and warm out of doors.

Fay sat beside you
on the concrete stairs
of Banks House
looking out
into the Square

where young girls
played skip rope
or boys having toy guns
reenacted WW2
taking no prisoners

firing noisy cap guns
and Fay said
where shall we go?
where do you want to go?
you said

away from the noisy guns
and skip rope games
she replied
and so you both got up
and went out

into the Square
and down the *****
the morning sun
blessing your heads
she in her summery dress

of yellow and orange flowers
white socks and sandals
and you in your grey tee shirt
and jeans and battered
black shoes

and you walked up
Meadow Row
between the houses
on either side until you turned right
by the public house

and onto the bombsite
behind the greengrocer store
and there you both sat
on the remains of a wall
looking around the ruins

and wild flowers
growing between bricks
and broken concrete blocks
and Fay said
I wonder who lived here

when the bombs fell?
what did they feel?
you studied her fair hair
tied in a bow
her blue eyes

scanning the scene
the white and yellow flowers
the weedy green
scared I guess
you said

I would be
she said
my mum said
she hid under
the dining room table

with her niece
where she lived
when the bombs fell
and there was the sound
of bombs falling

and explosions
and bangs
and people calling
and children crying
you said

Fay put her arm
under yours
and squeezed it tight
and lay her head
on your shoulder

and she whispered
I’m glad we
weren’t here then
glad we were born
after the War

me too
you said
and she squeezed
your arm tightly
some more.

Fay walked with you
across the bombsite
off Meadow Row

the bombed out houses
like decaying teeth
in an old jaw

if Daddy saw me here
he’d spank me
she said

looking over the site
where weeds grew
in cracks and over

once backyards
and living rooms
there’s no danger

if you step careful
you said
Daddy says

it's walking on the dead
Fay uttered
looking at you

sideways on
her hands raised at her sides
as if learning to fly

all things born
will some day die
you said

standing on a broken wall
come on let’s go in
the haunted house

or so it seems
you laughed reaching out
for her hand to bring her forth

she hesitated
looked around
fearing her daddy’s

beady eyes
then took
your hand

and followed in
the semi dark
of bombed out room

it stinks of ****
you muttered
she giggled and set her foot

on bricks and stony floor
what if it all falls in?
she asked

looking up at the sky
through cracks and holes
her hand felt warm in yours

her fingers curled
around your own
it’s just adventure

you said
you got to take a few risks
we’re a long time dead

and her eyes widened
and stared
and she whispered

I’m scared
and clung to you
what do think

the people here thought
when the bombs fell
and they hadn’t made the shelters

or didn’t know
you said
she shrugged

her narrow shoulders
and bit her lip
my mother said

all they found
of her neighbours’ child
was a blown off hand

don’t tell me
Fay said
I will dream of that now

sorry I shouldn’t have said
you uttered
feeling her fingers

grip your arm
her thin nails
marking skin

let’s go out
she said
and off she went

dragging you behind
out into the sunshine
she looking to see

if her daddy’d seen
her sinful tread
but for you

looking back
it was just an adventure
on land of the dead.

Some feller reckons he
Saw that Bonnie Parker
Girl in some diner in

Arkansas with some
Feller in a black suit
With a hat pushed to

The back of his head
And she sat there and
Smoked and said nothing

But looked around the
Place while the feller
Ordered fries & burgers

With two small side salads
And two white coffees
And no one else in the

**** diner place kind
Of recognized her face
Even though she was

Clothed in some old
Dress his grandma would
Have worn in her youth

With a beret stuck on her
Head and he felt like he
Ought to call the cops

And such but his mind
Kept telling him that that
There Parker girl was

Killed in an ambush
Back in 1934 so maybe
He got it wrong and she

Was just some girl who
Looked just like her and
So he didn't call the cops

But just sat there watching
Her eat and drink and smoke
Hanging in with his flapping

Ears in case she spoke but
She never did she just sat
And stared around the place

With a small half-moon
Smile on her ghostly face.

Brother Andrew
spreads the page
of the book bound

with his hug palm.
I take in
the chill

in the large room;
he towering,
smiles

his Manchurian smile.
It were way
room were laid

in cell
that brought me in,
this monastery,

he says.
The page edges
were of blue and red.

What are you reading?
Atara asked.

Book on Schopenhauer,
I said.

Dull reading.

Depends on what you like.

She sipped her coke,
her eyes studying
the cover of the book.
Is that him?

Yes, old photograph.

She looked at me.
Why do you read
such dull books?

Maybe I'm a dull guy.

She smiled.
Not last night.

I closed the book
and laid it
on the table.
I sipped my beer.

Does he talk
about ***?
She asked.

Not that I’ve read
so far.

If a book doesn't mention ***
it isn't worth reading.

Maybe I should read Freud.

Why read?

I looked at the waiter
passing the table,
his clipped moustache,
his deep eyes.  

You read,
I said,
not heavy stuff,
but you do read.

I like my books
like I like my men:
not too deep and fun.

I said nothing
about my books
and women.

She didn't have
the depth
and she taught me
nothing,
although
that session
in the bathroom
had insight.

The way she had it
right down
to a fine art,
the subtleness
of her limbs,
her gyrations,
her lips and tongue.

What now?
She asked.
I fancy a walk
on the beach,
catch some sun.

You go,
I said,
I want to chill out
with a cold beer
and watch life go by.

She pulled a face sulkily,
but went off,
her hips doing
that thing they did
when she was annoyed.

I watched her go,
sipped the beer,
icy cold
like I enjoyed.

Lizbeth wants
more to love

than the once
a day glimpse

or quick meet
on the field

with her love
Benedict

during their
lunch recess

with hardly
time to talk

or to kiss
while prefect's

not watching
she wants to

be able
to make love

(at least try
what she'd read

in that book
the big girl

had shown her
and loaned her)

she wants now
to feel him

enter her
(as the book

had described)
to be one

in body
and in heart

to sense his
lips on hers

and other
sensitive

secret parts
to feel him

kiss her bits
inner thighs

lids of eyes
her small ****

but in class
during maths

bored to tears
she thinks on

Benedict
whose warm lips

had met hers
in the gym

secretly
during lunch

he shyly
not tonguing

just kissing
holding her

close to him
she sensing

his kisses
wanted more

making love
on the floor

but the bell
rang its chime

no more time
just the caught

memory
of what they

did and not
leaving her
bored and hot.

Milka's brothers and I
had been out for a few hours
and rode back on our bikes
and just as I

was about to leave
Milka came out
of the farmhouse
and wandered over to me

aren't you staying?
I watched her brothers
go into the house
I got to get back

I said
what about me?
can't we go some place?
haven't much time

I said
where you going?
cinema
to see Elvis

in some new movie
can't I come?
have you money?
no but you

could lend me some
to get in
she said
I looked back

at the farmhouse
what are you going
to say to your parents?
they will let me go

if you say I can
she said
I looked around
the fields and trees

at the rooks
in the high trees
ok
I said

and walked back
to the house
and saw her mother
at the door

and asked her
she stared at Milka
hope she hasn't
been pestering you?

she said
no I’d like her to come
I said
if that’s ok?

the mother gazed at me
then at Milka
I suppose you
want money then?

she said to Milka
no it's all right
my treat
I said

Milka's brothers
came to the door
poor old Benny
got caught

go back in boys
and leave this to me
the mother said
she gave Milka some money

and told her
to get some
decent clothes on
and I waited

in the kitchen
watching Milka's mother
make a cake
her floury fingers

hard at work
a set look
of determination
on her face

the boys had gone off
to watch TV
leaving the cake making watching
to bored young me.

Knowing I couldn't take
my silver looking toy
6 shooter to school
I had to make

a pretend gun
out of fingers and thumb
Dennis went one better
and had this quite

imaginative machine gun
between his two
closed fists
and made a

hurthurthurt sound
as he pulled
the pretend trigger
or take from his jacket

a grenade and pulling out
the pin he'd throw it
and go BANG
loudly in the playground

luckily
he was on my side
and with Derek
who had a 6 shooter too

we managed
to continue
our version of WW2
accidentally

in the process
catching the teacher
Miss Ashdown
in the ****

a few times
but she never
seemed to notice
but on the way home

from school
in the late afternoon
Helen said
why do you boys

have to play war games?
why can't you play
skip rope or a catch game?
I looked at her

sideways on
taking in her
two brown plaits of hair
and thick lens glasses

and the grey skirt
and whitish blouse
and she looked at me
kind of serious

frowning
boys do that
they make war
they shoot

the bad guys
they are boys
she wasn't convinced
but the noise

you make too
the drrrrrrrrrrrrrrr sounds
or bang bang noise
we crossed under

the subway
her drrrrrr sound echoed
along the walls
can you imagine

us boys with skip ropes?
or playing catch games?  
yes
she said

why not?
we do other stuff
I said
we play card games

I won 13 film star cards
the other day
playing against
some kid

in the playground
and the Monroe one
I swapped
for 3 footballers

we came out along
the New Kent Road
and walked by the cinema
how about coming

to the cinema with me
Saturday
they've got
a good Western on?

she looked
the billboards
with small photographs
can't

haven't any money
she said
I’ll pay
my treat

I said
and where will you
get the money?
she asked

my old man
will cough up
he won't mind
I’ll have to ask my mum

she said
I gazed
at her brown hair
and ribbon

coloured a fading
dull red.

Even as a child
Bramshaw was obsessed
With brassieres;
He liked the shape
And bright colours;
He liked to imagine
Them filled with firm flesh,
Warm and motherly.

When he got older
He’d steal them
From neighbouring
Washing lines, stuff them
Beneath his coat
And put them
In the top drawer
Of his dresser along
With **** magazines,
French cigarettes
And photographs
Of Bridgett Bardot.

He liked to imagine
The women who filled them;
Liked to rub them
Against his cheek;
Liked to sniff them
For scent or sweat,
But all he got
Was detergent
And the smell of soap
And warm fresh air.

Later he got
To put them on,
Sizing them up,
Feeling them
Against his chest,
Fixing them from behind
With his fingers
Almost breaking his arms
In the process, he’d walk
Around his apartment
With just the brassiere,
Swaying his hips
And sticking out his
Imaginary breast,
Pretending he got
Wolf whistles
From loud guys
On building sites;
Imagined he got the stare
From the guy downstairs
With the blonde hair
And large blue eyes.

Once he bought a pair in blue,
The correct size saying
They were for his wife Lou,
And the girl was all helpful,
All information; pointing out
The this and that of brassieres;
And all the time he was gazing
At her *******, wondering
What colour she had, what size;
And only after that was done
Did he gaze into her eyes,
Into the window of her soul,
And saw small demons
Laughing at him
From each dark hole.

Christina sat crossed legged
on the grass of the school playing field

her friends got up and left
as you arrived after school lunch

where’s your friend Rolland?
she asked

gone off with Woolgar
to play football

you replied
she patted the grass

beside her
why don’t you sit down?

she said
so you sat down beside her

looking at her dark brown hair
brushed so so

and her green summer dress
just covering her knees

the black shoes
and white ankle socks

completing the picture
as if your eyes

had mentally painted her
for later reference

she leaned forward
and kissed your forehead

a damp patched
the size of her lips

remained there
she said

something to remind you
of me afterwards

while you’re sitting
in class doing boring history

or geography or whatever
thanks

you said
actually it’s maths

which is even more boring
so the kiss memento

will come in handy
she laughed and looked away

you spotted Rolland
over the way

standing in a goal
between two coats

Cedric can see us out here
she said

breaking the brief silence
why does it matter

if your brother can see us?
Will he tell your parents?

she shrugged her shoulders
don’t suspect so

she said
you gazed at her lips

as she spoke
and her hands on her knees

just laying there
palms down

he does watch us though
she said

maybe he’s jealous
maybe he wants to sit here with me

you said
she laughed

don’t be silly
she said

and you moved
towards her

and kissed her lips
and she pulled you

nearer to her
with one of her hands

behind your neck
and you smelt

lavender water
and her hair brushed

against your cheek
and when your lips

left hers
they felt branded

as if hot coals
had been there

and she said
that was wonderful

and over her shoulder
across the way

Rolland had let in
a goal as his stretched

out hand
missed the ball.

Enid waits for me
at the school gates
after school-
she'd not spoken to me

during playtime recess-
she looks at me
through her
thick lens spectacles  

and I see her lips
are till slightly swollen
sorry about last night
my mum was too

frightened to let me out
to play as my dad
was in one of his moods
she says

how comes you
didn't speak to me
at recess?
I ask

because he'll ask me
when he gets home
if I've been speaking
to you at school today

she says
how will he know
if you speak to me or not?
because he knows

I can't lie to him
he peers at me
and the truth
blurts out of me

I'm too simple to lie
he says
Enid says
what about now

won't he say today
and not mention school?
she bites her lower lip
never thought of that

we walk on together
anyway he won't know
just tell him
a created truth

I say
she looks puzzled
how do I do that?
she asks

just focus
on a bit of truth
and make it
the whole truth

just tell him
no I haven't
spoken to Benny
at school today

I'm not sure I can
she says
it's either that
or another

thumping from him
I say
we go through
to London Road

as I want to show her
the man
in the pie and eel shop
chopping off

the heads of eels
and chopping them
up into small pieces
when we get there

and watch the man
she says
how awful
how can he?

that's his job
I expect he's
used to it now
we walk on

and she says
I'll try and do
as you say
about telling the truth

but he looks
at me so
I feel frightened
and he knows

if I'm telling lies
we go down
the subway
and she is silent

and I feel sorry for her
and the life she has
I'll call for you
after school

and we can go out
I say
no no
she says

don't come around
or Dad'll go mad
I was only joking
I say

of course I wouldn't
least not
while he's there
she looks at me

uncertain
I'll just wait
and if you can
come out

then knock
on my door
and then
we can go out

she nods
and we walk on
and up out
of the subway

and along the New Kent Road
passing the cinema
then home
which isn't far.

Benedict's mother
stood by the twin tub
washing machine
lifting the steaming wash
from the washer
to the spinner
with wooden tongs,
her eyes focused,
her arm straining.

He watched her;
a book, Plato's Republic,
lay open
on the table
by his hand.

He studied
the red hands,
the worn fingers,
how she wiped the wet
from her forehead
with the back
of her hand.

Plato’s Philosopher Kings
seemed too hard
for his delicate mind
at that stage,
the Greek world
too far off
in the past
to give him comfort.

Maybe you ought
to read something lighter,
his mother said,
pushing down
the washing
with the end
of the tongs.

Find it hard to read
at all at present,
he said,
everything’s
an effort.

Making the effort
is part of the effort,
she said.

You don’t want to be
in the hospital again,
do you?

He closed up
the Plato book.

He wondered
how Julie was.
He’d not seen her
for months.

Good job too
his mother
would have said
if she had known
about her.

No, he said,
not there again.

His mother spun
the washing,
the noise ratted
the machine.

He rose from the table
and walked down
the passage way.
The machine rattled still.

He went in the back room
and put Miles Davis
on the hifi.
The muted horn,
the saxophone weaving,
the drummer
keeping pace,
jazz on a highway,
he closed his eyes,
head full of darkness,
breath full of sighs.

The rain
had not stopped
all day
and so

you wandered
around
the school
assembly hall

like others
equally bored
peering
now and then

out of the window
at the falling
of the rain
and the empty playground

and you walked
with Boxall
and one
of his cronies

and listened
to his poor jokes
or his tales
of his father’s farm

when Christina
came over
and taking you
by the arm

led you
to the passageway
and said she knew
a quiet spot

where
you could both
be alone
and away

from the riff raff
so you let
yourself be led
along the passageway

she still holding
your arm
and you looking
about you

at the passing windows  
and prints
on walls
of famous art works

and into a small
deserted room
off
the dark passageway

and once inside
she shut the door
and leant
against it  

looking at the one
small window
at the other end
it’s a bit dark

she said
but at least
we can be
alone here

for a while
she released
your arm
and moved

to a wall
across the room
and you followed
we’ll have to

listen out
for prefects
or the caretaker
whose room it is

she said
you looked at her
standing there
her eyes focused

on you
her hair neat
and well brushed
and some scent

coming from her
( her mother’s
borrowed
she later said)

her grey skirt
(knee length)
and jumper
and white blouse  

sans tie
aren’t you going
to kiss me then?
she asked

of course
you said
and kissed her lips
putting your hands

about her waist
and she
did likewise
and it was strange

being there
with her alone
not having
others nearby

or other eyes
watching
and the kiss
seemed surreal

even though
her lips
were on yours
it seemed

like a dream
her hands
pressed you
close to her

and you sensing
her waist
in your hands
feeling her hips

and then
her ribcage
sensing her
small *******

pressed on
your chest
and the semi dark
of the room

and her scent
and flesh
and hands
and lips

and you listening
to her words
and footsteps
along the passage

and voices
and her eyes closed
and yours open
taking her in

sensing her there
and hearing words
not hers
outside the door

and you both
broke apart
and hid
behind the door

as it opened
and the caretaker
entered
leaving

the door open
where you hid
and he stood there
sorting through

his junk
and you both
standing there
holding hands

lips burning
breathing in the air.

The nun leaves
the warm parlour

off the cloister
and feels the cloisters’ cold

and biting frost of early dawn.
Each bite and nip

of toes and fingertips
a minor crucifixion.

My self my enemy
you shall not win.

The cross signifies
the crossing out of I,

the I’s greed and wants
and selfish such.

There is birdsong.
Smell that blossom.  

Do not rush, walk as told,
remember that.

Sense that cold.
Feel those nails,

hammering flesh,
co-joined with Christ,

as His bride, day
and tortured night.

See that fresh born sun;
night’s moon shies away.

The nun pauses.
Sniffs the air.

The time of bleeding.
Tombstone of another’s death.

She sees, smoke like,
her rising breath.

And we used to go there
and it would be
evening time
and the train seemed

so slow
and the darkness
wrapped itself
about us

and the coast was wild
when we arrived
the sea rough
a wind tearing

into us
yet we stood gazing
out at the dark sea
and snuggled

into each other
against the wind
and you said
this is our place

this is where
we will always
remember
and your words

were carried away
by the wind's storm
and I recall
your hand in mine

your thumb rubbing
against the back
of my hand's skin
a thousand years

it seems
like the material
of dry
and wet dreams.

I met Netanya
at the rail station

it was January and cold
and she was dressed up
in the blue overcoat
and headscarf

and I was
in my combat style
overcoat and hat

you made it ok?
I said

yes he asked
where I was going
and I said
for a walk to get him
out of my head
she said

we got tickets
and boarded a train
and off we went
to Brighton
the carriage was crowded
but we seemed alone
or so it felt to me

will he imagine you
going to Brighton?

no he won't think anything
too busy watching TV
and drinking his beer
she said

she held my hand
and talked of her kids
and her father
who wasn't well
and looking forward
to meeting you
she added

I looked at her
as she spoke
her hair dark and curled
her eyes bright as stars

we made it to Brighton
and got off the train
and walked down
to the seafront
hand in hand

the sky dark
stars
moon
and lights from shops
and pier

and somewhere
out there
I thought
another life
another world
buzzes on

while here we walked on
along the seafront
taking in the scene
the smell of salt
and sound of sea
crashing on the shore

and her hand small
warm in mine
and the sense
of life going on around
and I feeling
(oh)so fine.

Brighton
that last time
late August
1980

treading
the familiar streets
looking
for the lost love

you drained
looking
for the way out
she

holding on
to what was left
walking along
by the beach

remembering old times
especially
the first time
in evening’s glow

of moon’s light
and heart’s hold
knowing all that
is bereft

even the old restaurants
have gone
or closed
their doors

you sensing
the emptiness
the slipping away
of the love

she clutching
at straws
of familiar places
and old time

memories
even places
where once
you’d stood

embracing
and kissing
now hollow
with that

secret love
missing
street after street
passing hotels

you’d made love in
and slept
the night
and laid in bed

now shallow palaces
with empty rooms
instead
she thinking

something could
be saved
you knowing
all is dead.

Bright Saturday
and Jane showed you
where the sheep’s wool
got caught along

the barbwire fence
on the top of the Downs
and she gave you
a handful and you

stuffed it in the pocket
of your faded blue jeans
and you both stood
looking out

at the horizon
the fields and trees
the farm and cottages
the church down below

where you sat
on the grass
last week
by the gravestones

and watched the sun
and clouds go by
it’s beautiful up here
she said

I love this spot
the slight breeze
moved her grey dress
flapping it gently

her hands at play
in front of her
sure is beautiful
you said

nothing like London
with its many houses
and flats
and churches

and factories
and other buildings
and smoke
and other things

to harm
I couldn’t live there
she said
I like the fresh

open spaces
and she breathed
in deeply
and you saw her

close her eyes
and the sunlight
caught her beauty
and you were moved

and touched by it
then she opened
her eyes again
and she talked

of the people
of the parish
and how she loved
the church

on a Sunday morning
and the smell of flowers
as he walked up
the aisle

and sunlight
coming through
the high windows
and as she spoke

you studied
her lips move
and how lovely
her eyes were

and you felt like
you wanted to kiss her
but didn’t
but just watched her

looking at her profile
the colour of her hair
the red ribbon
holding a bunch

at the back
and she put out a hand
and touched yours
and said her mother

liked you
and how unlike
the local boys
you were

and you smiled
and squeezed
her slim hand
her fingers warm

touching yours
and you both began
the slow descent
and all the while

she talked
of butterflies  
and wild flowers
and their scent.

Bring him home
don't leave him

out in the cold
wrap him warm

clothe him
in his favourite

Man U
tee shirt

and blue
creased jeans

bring our son home
bring him back

from the far lands
the places

of failure
and disappointments

and flat lining heart
bring him

back home
let the bugler play

let him play alone
to reach

our broken hearts
and stir

our tired minds
lift up the blinds

let in the sun
let it warm

his cold hands
and ease

the closed lids
of his eyes

bring him back
bring back

our son
let him

be with us
once more

back
from the dark place

home
from the distant land

bring him home
as fast as you can

bring back our son
and special man.

Bring me the men, said Bettina,
bring me the men of passion,
bring those of high class, those
whose purses are overflowing,

those whose mothers spoilt
them rotten. Send me the men
of lower classes, bring me those
whose voices scratch the ears

of the well bred, send me their
hearts in jars, carry to me their
coins gripped in hands. I am a
lover of men, I soak them into

my being, I smell them in my
dreams, their hands are my soft
saviours, their tongues are my
snakes of satisfaction. Let loose

the sons of shallow mothers,
unloosen the tame of heart and
loose of tongue, let me embrace
their bodies, hold their penises

with tenderness, kiss their lips
like one possessed. Men are the
bane of all women, said my mother,
her eyes were undone by my father’s

ways, his heart was of ice and his
body of iron, he cursed me with
his dying breath, his torments I
boxed away with the dried up

flowers and cast off underwear,
he dwells where the heartless
reside, **** his soul and hide
and eyes. Bring me men of a gentle

disposition, those whose skins
are yellow, whose hearts are soft,
who shudder at the thought of a
good ****. I am the daughter of

pleasure, a niece of hot sexuality,
a sister of the free and untainted,
unspoilt by the ways of the ones
in charge. I see men in my nightly

bed, in between the sheets of plenty,
on the mattress of my desires; they
are the lamps that burn my pleasures,
my lovers, my treasures. Bring me

the men of the cloth, the God lovers,
the ones waiting for the last salvation,
let them loosen themselves on my
desirable flesh, bury their holy noses

between my plumpish ****, their tongues
upon my skin, their souls free of the
maybe promises. I am the granddaughter
of Venus, the lover of men and life,

the keeper of the long ago wishes,
I am the one they think of on their
bended knees, the one they lift to
their heaven in their daily prayers,

the fulfiller of their deep down desires.
Bring me my comforts and my gentle
end, my last good kiss, my final ****;
bring me the echo of them crying or

loudly laughing, the last farewell,
the good time lady, the last bad belle.

Bring the stones
with you
I said

Helen reluctantly
brought the stones
from the bomb site

(her mother said
about cat's peeing
on the bomb site
and stones)

she held them
in her small hands

where are we going?
she asked

I want to show you
this bombed out place
beyond the tabernacle

are we allowed?

sure as long
as we aren't seen
by the Rozzers
I said

she stopped
I am not
to get into trouble
mum said
not to
she said

we are adventurers
are we not?
we go where
others don't

no trouble
Mum said
she said
looking troubled

she put the stones
in her cardigan pockets
and wiped
her hands
on her skirt

you will get me
in trouble Benny

I won't
I said
I just want
to show you
this fireplace
in the bombed out house

she frowned
what's so special
about a fireplace?

it looks antique
I said
black with patterns
and such

she pushed her
thick lens glasses
back on her nose

I studied her deeply

your hair looks nice

it looks the same
as always
she said
too curly and thick

I like it

if you get me
into trouble Benny
I won't talk
to you again
she said

is that a promise?
I said

she sighed
we shouldn't go
to bomb sites
my mum said
7 year olds
aren’t safe there

I can get you
a 3d lolly afterwards
I said
and maybe
a 1d drink
from the Penny Shop

she looked at me
through her glasses
and tidied up
her hair

OK
she said
but I promise you
about not talking
to you again
if I get
into trouble

take care
of the stones
I said

she nodded
her brown curly
two plaited head.

She knows these are her
Last moments with her still
Born babe knows they’ll take
The babe away and leave
Her arms empty like the
Cradle at home standing
In the nursery especially
Prepared with the wallpaper
Chosen and the new carpets
Laid and she hugs the babe
Close to her ******* tries to
Bring warmth to the lifeless
Bundle wrapped in a white
Blanket and we’ll be back in
A while the nurse had said
and she left the small room
and the door clicked shut
With a small click and she
Walks the room rocking
The babe feeling the weight
Sensing her child there her
Flesh and blood and she
Wants to breathe life into
The tiny lungs want to see
Movement wants there to
Be a miracle to shock them
To say look there is life you
Must have been mistaken
But no matter how hard she
Breathes or rocks the babe
No life comes no movement
No miracle of miracles and
Out of the window as she passes
The trees have that winter
Bareness the sky the greyness
Of cannon smoke and a little
Way off a woman laughs a
Vacuum machine is turned
On and a baby cries but not
Hers for hers is silent unmoving
Becoming cold and stiff and
She kisses the pale cheek the
Forehead seeks out the small
Uncrutching hands the tiny
Curved fingers and holding
The babe up tight against her
She doesn’t want the separation
To come doesn’t want the nurse
To take away the babe in her
Arms but she knows the minutes
Tick away and the nurse will
Come and the empty arms will
Leave her broken and numb.

He loved you,
Bronwen; he
Said you came
Into his
Life like a
Brass band down
A parade

With your bold
Buxom fine
Figure, your
Big bright eyes
Shining at
Him like large
Lamps breaking

Into the
Darkness of
His dreary
Life. He loved
You, Bronwen,
When you kissed
His bearded

Cheek and you
Giggled like
Some silly
Schoolgirl who’d
Been tickled
Until a
Torrent of

Tears flooded
Your blue blouse,
And he loved
The way you
Took his hand
In yours and
Held it to

Your lovely
Big *****
And blessed it
With the touch
Of your lips
And sent a
Wow making

Wave of touch
Tingling
Electric
Along his
Arm right to
His broken
Heart and head.

He misses
You, Bronwen;
He misses
Your kisses
And love, now
That you are
Lost and dead.

Fay sat with Benedict
on the grass outside
Banks House. He wore
his faded blue jeans,

white tee shirt; she
wore a lemon dress
(one he liked) with
small white flowers.

It was warm, a summery
sun was in the sky,
trains moved over
the railway bridge

just over the way.
She talked of a nun
at her school, who
was strict and carried

a ruler around to hit
the hands of girls who
spoke out of turn.
Benedict sat cleaning up

his six-shooter toy gun,
wiping his handkerchief
over the silvery barrel.
Girls live in fear of her,

Fay said, she creeps behind
them and pokes her
finger into their flesh.
Have a teacher at my school

who pokes with a pencil,
Benedict said, digs it right in,
especially when he’s making
a point about something.

Fay’s eyes caught the sun’s light;
he thought he could see angel’s
playing there. She caught me
over my knuckles last week, Fay said.

Did you tell your parents? he asked.
God no, she said. Daddy would
have beaten me for sure; upsetting
nuns and such. O, he said, he loved

the way her fair hair shone in sunlight,
the way she moved her lips to form words.
He put his gun back in the holster
(the one his old man had given him)

around his shoulder. She spoke of
the mass and the priest who came.
Benedict didn’t know what the heck
the mass was, but he just listened to

her talk, watched her lips make words
like some potter makes bowls.
He studied her hands as she spoke,
how they gestured along with the words;

small hands, thin fingers. He couldn’t
understand how anyone could want
to slam a ruler over such thin knuckles.
She spoke of the Host and that it was Jesus

in the form of bread. He was stumped,
but listened on, taking in her every word,
the sound of the word, the way she
shaped it, the way her tongue seemed

to hold then throw out the word.
Then she stopped and pulled off her
yellow cardigan because of the heat.
He saw on her upper arm, a fading

green bruise, like damaged fruit gone off.
She put the cardigan on the grass,
and talked on about confessions,
about the confessional, how dark it was,

how the priest was hardly
visible through the metal mesh.
Benedict half listened; too concerned
about her bruised fruit flesh.

The bruise
on Ingrid's thigh
was green and blue
and yellow

and about
two inches
in diameter
like some artist

had dabbed it there
to mix his or her
colours before
beginning a work of art

and I only saw it
as she reached up
to catch a ball
I threw in our ball game

on the grass
by Banks House
and it showed up
as her grey skirt rose

what's the bruise?
I asked
she stood pulling
her skirt down

with one hand
and holding the ball
with the other
I fell over

she said
going shy and red
don't lie Ingrid
you know and I know

who did it
he's always doing it
I said
she looked past me

at the windows
of the flats behind us
and upwards to others
higher up

I fell
she said
on the stairs running
from whom?

she threw the ball up
in the air
no one
she lied

I caught the ball
and stood holding it
in both my hands
you can't lie

as good as I can
I said
she sat down
on the grass

and I sat next to her
putting the ball
beside us
your old man right?

she nodded
and put her hands
on the grass
each side of her

I made him angry
talked too much
she said
looking at her shoes

and the white socks
he's a pig head
I said
he's my dad

she said
he gets angry
and hits you
and bruises you

and it's not
the first time either
I said
don't tell anyone

or it'll make it worse
she said
looking at me
with her eyes

behind her glasses
I won't tell no one
but he's still
a pig head

and if I get him
in the sights
of my six shooter cap gun
I'll blow a hole

in his thick fat thigh
she looked at me
not knowing whether
to laugh or cry.

As you sit down
Poised to write a
Poem on your

Sister’s old black
Typewriter, a
Ghostly Mr

Bukowski comes
And puts his hand
On your shoulder;

He’s puffing hard
On a phantom
Cigarette and

Leaning, scanning
The page and what
You’ve written so

Far. You’ve written
Nothing about
*****, broads or cats,

He says, dropping
Ghostly ash on
The new carpet,

Not a word here
About *** or
Bets or getting

Drunk, he adds, then
Inhaling deep,
Coughing, wheezing,

Squeezing your thin
Shoulder, letting
Off a puffy

Phantom ****. You
Need to tell the
Reader things to

Get them to turn
The page, get them
To want to drink

Or ****, he says.
It’s my poem,
Bukowski, you

Reply, but he
Has gone now, the
Room is chilly,

The carpet has
Ghostly ash and
Your glass of white

Wine is empty.
You sit there poised
Over the old

Typewriter, the
Poem half done,
Half waiting to

Be written, the
Fingers itching
To be done. If

Bukowski comes
Again, he can
Write the next new

Poem, he can
Write the next one.

Bukowski whispers
his beery breath on my neck
don’t forget the cats.

I am the burner of bridges,
Said Bridget, the smoker of
Cigarettes who lies and stares
At the passing day. My childhood
Follows me like a shadow’s dark;
Its ghostly presence is always there,
Its non wise words echoing in my
Ear. I sleep with men for the lost
love, kiss them in the search for
my lost mother’s warmth, hug them
In the lonely hours. My dead babies
Cling to my legs, their tiny fingers
Clutch at my dress as I walk along;
Their eyes look up like lamps in the
Still night. I am the aborter of babes,
The owner of a useless womb; I push
Out stillborns like a factory, give birth
To a form but not to life; I am anyone’s
Woman, any man’s wife, I lay and gaze
At the moon, I watch smoke rise from
My cigarette, it forms rings as father did,
The smoke curling and rising with his
Phantom presence there in room, the
Ghostly cigarette hanging from his lips.
I have searched for God in the blackness
Of night, sought His love in the arms of men,
Awaited His coming in the winter’s wind;
His love is there, but I do not see, His arms
Caress, but I do not feel; I am alone still.
I am the walker of cities, the sitter in lone
Cafes, the easy ride, the fuckable dame;
I wear the badge of kiss me quick or leave
Me never. I am the sleeper of nights in a
Musty bed; see dead babies in heart and head.

She sits next to him
on a side seat
on the bus;
they're going to
Waterloo Rail Station
to watch the steam trains.

She holds in the palm
of her small hand
the 3d piece
her mother
had given her;
it's sweaty;
the 12 sides make
a slight impression
on her skin.

She moves
side to side
as the bus
turns corners;
Benny's arm
touches hers
as they move.

Why you have to go
with him
to see the trains,
God only knows,
her mother had said,
but at least
he's a decent sort,
going by his mother.

She likes Benny's mum;
she smiles at her,
and is soft spoken,
unlike her own mum,
who bellows
and spits words
and slaps her.

She looks out
the window,
then looks sideways
at Benny.

He's looking forward,
his hazel eyes
taking in the man opposite,
his quiff of light brown hair
bouncing with the bus's motion.

He's got the money
his mum has given him
in his jean's pocket,
along with a small penknife,
old conker and string,
handkerchief washed grey.

Beside him sits Lydia
the girl from downstairs
in the flats.

She's skinny
and her lank hair
seems out of place
with her bright eyes.

He suggested going
to the station to see
the steam trains;
he loves the smells
and sights and sounds
of the trains.

He had a job
persuading her mother
to let her go,
but eventually
she agreed,
(must have been
his smile).

The man opposite
stares at Lydia;
his ******* eyes
drinking her in.

Benny stares back at him,
gives the man his best
Bogart stare,
even holding his head
at an angle.

The man's green tie
is stained;
the shirt is too small
and seems to want
to escape from his body.

The man stares at him,
his eyes moving to him
like two black slugs.

Benny touches Lydia's
small hand and says:
soon be there.

The man ends
his black eyed stare,
and looks away.

Well done, Bogey,
Benny says
inside his head,
and senses Lydia's hand
grip her 3d piece coin;
her bright eyes showing
small portraits of him
in each one,
absorbing him
like dark cloth
does the sun.

But I know
she said

that you love me
and you were sitting

by the pond
you with that cheap fishing rod  

which caught nothing
and she sitting there

her hands over her knees
gazing at the still surface

even if you don’t
say it often

she added
laying her chin

on her knees
her green skirt

just above her knees
and you caught

a glimpse of her thighs
where the skirt rose up

I do you love
you said

holding the rod
between hands

it’s just I don’t see the need
to keep on saying it

you added  
stretching your eyes

to go as far
as they could

to get a better look
and she said

why do you come here
to fish when you catch

nothing except a cold
in the neck

and stiff joints
and do you want a smoke?

She pulled out
a pack of cigarettes

and you let a hand free
from the rod

and took one
and she put one

between her lips
and lit it with a pink

plastic lighter
then lit yours

and you both
inhaled and exhaled

the smoke rising
over the pond

seeming to sit there
in the still air

and she said
between drags

I do know you love me
I can feel it

in my bones
and in my tingling

flesh at night
as I lay abed

and you thought
of that image

knowing her mother
would be about

the house
with her stern features

and sharp tongue
and beady eyes

but the image was good
you thought

sitting there beside her
in silence

with the drifting smoke
over the pond

and her hand
touching you

and the sky
turning from

dull grey
to a soft blue.

All through the woodwork lesson
and through a double dose of maths,
he thinks of her, the kiss on the sports
field, the brushing of his lips on hers.

He'd almost cut his finger on a saw,
being preoccupied with thoughts of
her, her eyes through glasses, the
innocence of lilies about her, the way

she looked so surprised, he having
kissed her.  Not planned, no he didn’t
plan the kiss, he was just going to talk
with her, get to know her more and

better, when the impulse to kiss, over
came him, as if some rarely seen fish
of the sea had drawn him into depths
he'd not known. He sits on the school

bus, got on before she had, looks out
the window, shy of seeing her, now
wondering what she'd say after that
kiss, her reaction. Trevor says softly

something about the Frump, he doesn't
turn, looks at the kids waiting to get
on the bus, excited, engaged in their
conversations, laughing. He is aware,

that she may be on the bus now, he is
so self obsessed, he can hear his heart
beat, thump through his chest. Trevor
next to him, talking across the aisle,

says something about her, but he isn’t
listening, stares out. He feels as if he's
under a microscope, eyes gawking at
him, words around him. Maybe others

saw the kiss? He didn’t think about that,
never gave it thought. The radio is on,
the music blares, some one is singing
about love and missing her. He relaxes

as the bus move off, senses no one is
aware of the kiss, no talk, or chatter
of it. Even Trevor, who is the vanguard
of gossip, says nothing about that at all.

John is aware she sits across the aisle,
a little bit back. He could possibly see
her, if he glanced over the top of his seat,
but he doesn't, he looks at the passing

scene, trees, hedges, fields, cottages.
He tries to calm his beating heart, the
thump seems almost audible, as if
the whole bus can hear its thump.  

He closes his eyes and thinks of her,
the lips kissed, the eyes behind her
spectacles, her mouth, the way her
words were stilled by his kiss, were

drenched in her ****** mouth; he had
touched her, too. His hand had soft
touched her arm, drew her body closer
to him. She smelt of countryside, air,

and hay and fields. Her lips there were
feather soft; he could have slept there,
lay there, brushed the lips, as if a red  
butterfly had landed, sought refreshment.

He reruns the kiss, in his head, plays
it over and over. She is there just across
the way; he can almost sense her eyes
on him, like feelers reaching over the

seats to touch him. He opens his eyes,
Trevor has football cards in his inky
hands, he talks of this player and that,
that football team and this, but all John
can think on is the butterfly landing kiss.

We met by Dunn& Co
the hat people
on the corner
of the New Kent Road

Helen had a faded green dress on
and was carrying her doll
Battered Betty in one arm
her thick lens glasses
were smeary
her brown hair plaited

what are you going to show me?
she asked

have you seen
the pie and eel shop
up the road there?

no don't think so

well this guy stands inside
the shop by the window
and he takes an eel
and cuts its head off
then slits it open
then scraps out its guts
then cuts it up
into pieces ready
to be cooked for pies
I said

she pulled a face
is that
what you wanted
to show me?

yes it's very interesting
and helps you see
how it goes
and is kind
of a biology lesson
without the crabby
old teacher moaning on
I said

Helen was not impressed
I’ll be sick if I see that
he really cuts its head off?

sure he does
and quick and clean
no messing around
and scraps it
into a bin by his feet

Helen held her doll
closer to her chest
and slits it open?

yes he's a quick worker
one slit and all the guts
are scrapped out

enough already
she said

she put a small hand
to her mouth
I hate eels
I hate eel pie
she said
between her fingers
her doll leaned over her arm
its arms hanging loose

so do I
but it's interesting
to see these things

not to me it isn't
she said

ok let's go elsewhere
I said

where?

we could go to The Cut
and look at the market stalls
and maybe get a drink of pop
and an ice cream

she looked down
at her scuffed shoes
I’ve only got 3d
she said

I’ve got 2/-
that'll be enough
I said

she looked at me
through her glasses
her eyes like marbles
ok but we must make sure
Betty gets a drink too
she said

sure
I said
she can share mine

so we set off
from Dunn& Co
at a steady pace

Betty looked unimpressed
bouncing along
in Helen’s arms
one eye hanging loose
her blonde mattered hair

and I listened
while Helen
talked and talked
all the way there.

I want to show you the pond
John says
ducks and swans
are there
and now and then
herons come

Elaine wonders
where the pond is
is it far?
she asks

no not far
just down through
the wood
here
down these rides
mind the brambles
he walks ahead of her

she follows

can you hear that?
he says

what is it?

blackbird
you can tell
by the song

she looks at him
ahead of her
she wishes
he would stay with her
she's not been
in these woods before

how big is it?
she asks

not that big
but big enough
you'll see
he says
back to her
walking on
that's a song thrush
he says
love the song thrush

she treads carefully
along the ride
she doesn't want
to catch her legs
on brambles

they reach a fence
and he climbs over
and waits for her

careful how you get over
he says
don't want to get
a splinter
in your leg

she climbs carefully
trying to keep
her skirt
tight to her legs
doesn't want him
to see up her skirt
but he looks away
out at the field

see pheasants
out there sometimes
he says

she climbs down
the other side
brushes her skirt down
and stands next to him

where's the pond?

over there
he says pointing
over the way
not far now

he walks on
and she follows him
he is just ahead of her
then he climbs over
another fence

it's here

she comes to the fence
and looks over

you'll have to climb over
to see it properly
he says

she climbs the fence
carefully

but he has gone down
towards the pond
staring at the water's skin

she walks down
beside him
standing there
a gentle smell
of flowers
hanging in the air.

She’d tell you
which group of stars

were what
in the evening sky

as you stood outside
the church after

choir practice
of a Friday night

and her finger
would lift up

and point it all out
and her words

would drift
on the night air

like cigarette smoke
and you held onto

her every word
as she spoke

not for what she said
of night sky

or constellation of stars
but for the sound

of her voice
how it disturbed

the universe
made the deadly silence

less deadly
how they could bring

you in close to her
could embrace you

as she did
when no one

was looking
or you were both alone

some place standing
or sitting face to face

and that particular night
as she pointed up

and out
her other hand

grabbed yours
in the evening dark

and gave a squeeze
and hold

and then let go
how deep

that love was back then
is hard to figure

but love it was
you know.

Yehudit stands
by the small bridge
that goes over
the stream
at the back
of the church.

There's a moon,
bright as a torch
in the sky,
a handful of stars
sprinkled above.

I come out
of the vestry door
after choir practice;
I see her there
and walk over to her.

What are you
doing here?
I say.

Waiting for you.

The others come out
of the vestry door
and walk on the path
around the church
to the front;
some look over,
but then walk on.

Why?
what's the matter?

You didn't look at me
in class today.

I did;
I couldn't help
but see you.

Not in the sense
of just seeing,
but in the look you gave.

What look I gave?

She looks away
into the distance;
into the dark fiends
and far off trees.

An indifferent look;
a look one gives
if one doesn't want
to see someone.

I rack my brains;
notice her jawline;
the wind-swept hair.

I always want to see you.

Didn't seem like it,
seemed as if
you were talking
to that Rollands boy
and not giving
the look
you used to give.

I can feel a sigh
coming on,
but hold it back.

You are imagining things;
I was talking to him
about some picture
in the art book.

What picture?

Mm mm...just a picture.

She looks at me;
her eyes all searching.

Trust him to get you
into such nonsense
as laughing at art pictures;
what was it?
Some **** painting?

Yes, some guy
called Renoir;
she looked a dish;
bit like you in fact.

Is that what you thought?
Why laugh, then?

Because he said
what if you were
to strip off now?
And what would
Mr P say?

She looks away
at the darkness again.

I'd never do that;
can't see why women do.

They’re models;
it's what they do;
show off
the female form
in all its beauty.

She turns around
and stares at me.

So men can lust
after them;
make rude comments
or suggestions?

Pretty much,
I say,
looking away,
seeing the gravestones
caught in moonlight.

Is that
how you see me?
Something to lust after?

Most of the names
on the gravestones
have eroded now,
just the odd name
or letter remaining.

No, not lust after,
love after;
want for being you.

You talk utter crap
some times Benny,
you utter such
puke of words.

I look at her;
there's phlegm
on her lower lip;
I am tempted
to wipe it off,
but don't;
I watch it hang there.

She wipes it off
with the back
of her hand.

I suppose a kiss
is out?

A car ****** goes.

Reverend M
is waiting for us
in the car,
she says.

No kiss?

She pushes past me,
along the path;
I follow her
taking note
of her lovely ***,
the sway of her,
the whole being of her.

In the car,
at the back,
we sit together,
in the darkness,
behind the vicar
and his wife,
and her lips kiss me,
hot kiss,
cold lips,
and her hand
grabs mine tight
and squeezes;
some kind of heaven;
outside hell freezes.

Sheila can't settle her mind
to lessons
she sees only
the boy John

in her mind's eye
his words repeat themselves
each time
the teacher speaks

maths
English
double P.E
had to be

got through
until at last
it's lunchtime recess
and she can hope

to find him
on the playing field
after a rushed meal
and she stands

on the edge
of the field looking
out to see if he's there
but she can't see him

and worries that recess
will go and she won't
have seen him
she walks onto the field

and there are kids
everywhere in groups
playing ball games
and sitting here and there

then as she turns
he's there
coming towards her
hands in his pockets

walking across the grass
looking for me?
he asks
she nods and searches

through her mind
for the right words to say
been looking for you
she says

trying to put on
a face of not being
put out
but isn't succeeding

he looks at her
taking in her glasses
and large eyes
and hair pinned back

at one side
with a metal clip
well I'm here now
he says

her name's gone again
he says
what is your name?
Sheila

she says
feeling unsettled
that's it
he says

he looks back at the field
behind him at boys
kicking a ball
Rennie asked me

about a game of football
but I said I was seeing you
John says
what did he say?

she asks
said I need to see a doctor
John says
o

she says
looking at the boy
and wondering if
he wants to be there

with her
do you want to play
ball with him?
she asks

no it can wait
he says
and walks on
and she walks beside him

why doe she say
you need to see a doctor?
she asks
as they walk on

he thinks girls
are a waste of time
beside football
I see

she says
don't worry about Rennie
I want to be here
with you

you do?
sure
I wouldn't be here
otherwise  

o right
she says
let's go sit up
that end near the fence

away from the others
and we can talk
he says
she nods and smiles uneasily

he's is near to her
and his hand
is mere inches from hers
and as much as

she'd like him
to hold her hand
she's frightened
that he might

o what to do
she thinks as they walk
on towards the fence
and sit on the grass

and she feels undone
yet excited
to at last be there
with him

watching him
and taking in
his hazel eyes
and quiff of hair

and glad
she's sitting there.