Give these bacon rinds
to the dog
Auntie said

so I took the bacon rinds
from her hand
and took them out

on the black iron balcony
and holding one
of the bacon rinds up

over the reclining dog
I said
sit Dancer

and he sat up
eyeing the bacon rind
with his head tilted

to a degree
gently now
he took the bacon rind

gently between his teeth
and I let go my end
and he tossed it up

and caught it
in his mouth
and before he'd

swallowed it
he was sitting there again
with head tilted

looking at me
as I raised
another bacon rind up

and said
gentler Dancer
and he gently took

the bacon rind
between his teeth
and removed it

with the grace of a butterfly
then tossed it again
and swallowed it  

then sat again
and I held up
another bacon rind

and then put it
between my own
four year old teeth

and said
out of the corner
of my mouth

gently Gancer
and Dancer looked at me
and at the task ahead

and taking the bacon rind
between his teeth
he ever so gently

tugged at it
but I held onto my end
and there we were

each holding
the bacon rind
like two opposing dogs

he eyed me
and I eyed him
then I let go

and he tossed it up
and swallowed it
eyeing me

for the last piece of rind
I held it between
my small fingers

then tossed it
over the two storey balcony
to the ground beneath us

go get it Dancer
I said
and he raced off

down the black metal stairs
to fetch the last rind
did you give the dog

the bacon rind Benedict?
Auntie asked from inside
the apartment

yes Auntie I did
I said
in the gentlest voice

I could employ
good Benedict
good boy.

Nima said the art gallery stank
and all those middle class types
(she being one herself
what with her education

and upbringing and all)
and the usual
bourgeoisie stuff
on the walls

and she huffed
and puffed
and so Naaman took her
to Leicester Square

to some bar he knew
and got her a drink
and lit her a cigarette
and she said

she needed a fix
got the hunger for it
but they’d know
at the hospital

when she got back
and there would be
hell to pay
and the parents

would blow their top
them being doctors and all
and so what they’d say
to her she couldn’t repeat

so she just drank her drink
and smoked her smoke
and Naaman said
he quite liked the art

in the gallery
especially the modern stuff
and the Yank guy
wasn’t really trying

to chat her up
he just wanted
to draw her attention
to the riches

of our monarchy
oh sure he was
she said
he was after

getting into my pants
and she got all verbal
against men and Yanks
and the **** war

in Vietnam
and Naaman just sat
and listened to her jabbering
her eyes lit up

like lights in a harbour
her small **** moving
as she gestured
her tight jeans

(red cords)
hugging her thighs
(a feast to his eyes)
her fingers holding

the cigarette
the pink nails
the unbitten nails
the slim hands

then she stopped
and drained her glass  
and said she had
to go ****

and so he watched her go
wiggling her hips
her fine tight ***
and he thought

of that time
in the hospital
at the last visit
when he and she

snuck into that
small room
where they kept
brooms and such

and had a quick ****
she in her nightgown
(pulled up)
and he half

listening out
for sounds
hoping a domestic
didn’t come

and want a broom
or brush
and when she came back
he went off with her

through the Square
and along
Charing Cross Road
she talking of the state

of the toilet back there
the things
some women do
the messy *******

and on she went again
her voice jabbering away
and he knew
she needed her fix

needed it bad
so he got a tube train
to Victoria Station
and on to the hospital

where she was kept  
the nurse being
quite concerned
at her state

and took her away
and she waved
(Nima not the nurse)
and blew him a kiss

from her palm
and he blew one back
knowing it wouldn’t reach
her lips or ***

but would do her
no harm.

His uncle **** asked Benedict
if he would mow the lawn
of the old lady at the cottage,
which he did, then clean out
the cowsheds at the farm,
which he did, then take some eggs
to the local shop, which he did.

It was a hot day, he felt a thirst
so went to pub called the Battleaxe
and ordered a pint and sat and drank
it slow outside in the sun. He thought
of the clarinet he'd brought with him,
the jazz he played in the front lounge,
which his aunt Eileen said was very good.

Do you still have and play your accordion?
he asked her. No, she said not now;
I've not played for years. He remembered
her playing and singing Goodnight Irene
on it when he had stayed as a kid.

Long ago now, he thought, finishing his pint.
He also mused on his recent visited
to see the MJQ in the City and afterwards
he met the band on the coach at the back.
Asked questions, got autographs.

Then another visit to the City with his
two cousins to watch them do their martial arts
and afterwards showed them judo moves
he and his friends had done a few years before.

He took his empty glass to the counter
of the pub and walked out in the sunshine
wondering what his uncle **** would have
lined up for him next. There was talk of
digging trenches in the churchyard some
evening to lay pipes to the church and there
was that mowing of the grass he'd been
shown the other day. Yes, he'd do that now,
he thought, while the sun was out, the grass dry.

The mower was in a shed at the back, one
of those modern jobs, less work, less elbow grease,
less sweat. But also, those peas to pick
and shuck for his aunt. He wasn't done with his
chores for his keep, for six weeks, least not yet.

YOU DID WHAT?
Janice's gran shouted
I fired a bow and arrow
Janice repeated

fired a bow and arrow?
Janice nodded
she wasn't going
to repeat it again

she knew her gran
would go off
the deep end
if she told her

but she couldn't
tell a lie
it was too complex
and required

a good memory
but when her gran
asked her where
she'd been and what

she'd been doing
she had to tell the truth
even if  it meant
a spanking

where about?
Gran asked
the bomb site
on Meadow Row

Janice said
doubling her chances
of punishment
what have I told you

about bomb sites?
not to go there
Janice said timidly
who were you with?

Gran asked
eyeing her grand-daughter
with her beady eyes
Benedict

Janice replied
Benedict?
and it was his
bow and arrow?

Janice nodded
and does his mother
know he has one?
yes she gave him

the money for it
Janice said
her gran sat down
on a chair

which indicated
that punishment
was coming
and where did you

fire the arrow?
at a wall
Janice said
what wall?

Gran asked
of a bomb out house
Janice informed
her gran looked

at the floor
then up at Janice again
and why a wall?
Janice hesitated

then said
Benedict drew a man
on the wall
with a head and heart

to aim at
drew a man?
her gran said
with chalk

Janice added
her gran sat back
in the chair
her hands on her knees

Janice knew now
punishment
was certain
and wished she could

stretch the truth
as Benedict was able
her gran sighed
and gazed at her

well you've told the truth
can't punish you for that
but don't do it again
or next time

you'll know
what to expect
Janice took in
a deep breath

and nodded her head
as Gran got up
off the chair
and gave her a sturdy stare.

There’s a salesperson at the door
someone said
and so you went to the door
and there was the young salesman

with a book in his hand
and in a sharp grey suit
and hair neat and short cut
yes?

you said
I represent Carson’s stores
and it has been brought
to my notice

that you are behind
with your payments
is that so?
you said

yes
the young guy said
three months behind
and if you don’t pay today

the item you have chosen to buy
will be removed
is that so?
you said

the young guy looked
into his book of figures
and script
so you called out

Dolly there’s a young guy here
who says we owe him money
you both waited
while Dolly came to the door

what do we owe?
she asked
money
the young guy said

what for?
Dolly said
a vacuum cleaner
the young guy said

you are three months behind
now if you do not pay up today
it will be removed
Dolly raised her eyebrows

and put on her
don’t mess with me face
and went off
the young guy

and you looked
at each other in silence
after a few minutes
Dolly returned

carrying the vacuum cleaner
here
she said
here’s your **** Hoover

take the thing
and go stick it
where the sun
don’t shine

and so the young man
held up the vacuum cleaner
and looked at you
and Dolly

and said
right don’t come back
to the store
because you won’t

be served again
and off he went
out along the road
in the falling black rain.

Miss Schinzer do not undress
they said but she did and so
they locked her in the side
room alone and she heard the

key turn in the lock and that
was that she heard them walk
away along the passage heard
the footsteps getting soft and

softer then silence the silence
of that abbey she went to some
years back as a child and the nun
with her beady eyes said here

one must absorb the silence here
silence is our food and drink and
she remembered the way the nun
empathised the word silence

the way her lips moulded the word
as if it were brand new and not to
be damaged or spoilt but that was
then as a child before the voices

began before the orders were laid
out for her to obey do not undress
Miss Schinzer they had said but her
voices inside said undress take off

garment by garment and as you do
so think of Christ and how he was
disrobed and hammered to the wood
and she did hearing as she undressed

the hammer on nails the jacket and
then the blouse and then the brassiere
and she felt the chill about her *******
how they stiffened she thought waiting

to remove more cloth waiting for the
voice to say undress more of the clothes
and she recalled how Mr Dimpledone had
said the same thing but she was a child

then a girl in the choir but she didn’t ask
why she just undressed and he just stared
at her and said what are you doing child?
but you said so she said no no he said gruffly

be silent unless you want to leave the choir
but she didn’t remember him saying that not
then but couldn’t be sure and the voices said
take off the lower garments and so she removed

her skirt the black one the one that made her
look like a nun she took it off and then removed
her slip and underwear and sat on the floor quite
bare remembering the hanging Christ the hands

curled like ***** nailed to the cross beam his
naked flesh the wounds the blood and she lay
down flat and put out her arms forming a cross
and her legs tight together one foot touching

the other and over in the corner knitting and
humming some Schubert her bossed eyed mother.

Fenola
*******

to Chopin
for Eileen

who lies spread
on the bed

concerto number 2
that would do

Eileen said
watching sweet

Fenola
removing

her clothing
first the blouse

the pink one
she had bought

that first date
next the skirt

the jet black
with matching

underwear
then the bra

removing
her fingers

holding up
before she

lets it drop
now she stands

gazing down
taking in

the spread of
the two thighs

the two soft
melon *******

the button
of her birth

and below
the *****

dark forest
covering

her queendom
of Eve land

she pauses
as Chopin

number 2
plays softer

and Eileen
hot moistens

Fenola
like some cat

stealthily
on all fours

her tongue out
licking up

the two thighs
her two paws

and soft claws
slow engage

the *******
as her lips

move in there
to that hot

queendom spot
to the cries

do not stop
do not stop.

Don't feel well
Abela
turns in bed
eyes closing
too much wine

cheap old plonk
I tell her

don't like wine

did last night

need a bowl

don't have one
use the bog

she rushes
to the bog
and vomits

I sit down
have a smoke
listening

that waitress
who served us
yesterday
fancies me

Abela
shouts to me
I don't care
about her
I feel ill
need to rest

she vomits
once again

you go out
take that tour
she tells me

not going
without you

I can't go
not today
she comes back
with a bowl
I found this
in the bog
got to sleep

so she creeps
into bed
with the bowl

the waitress
did not have
a cute ***
not like my
Abela
when she's well
or unwell.

Don’t know when
she said

but as she spoke
her breath rose

like cigarette smoke
in the morning air

and it fascinated you
more than the words

like when your father
blew smoke rings for you

as some kind
of cheap entertainment

but
she said

it will happen
I promise you

and your lack
of response

still gazing
at her breath rising

made her repeat
don’t know when though

and jabbed
at your chest

with her finger
oh ok

you said
coming back

to the moment
her blue eyes

fixed on you
the depth of them

like pools
of blue water

and oh how
to drown there

the thought arose
wanting the when

to be
as soon as

and the image
of her back then

with her eyes
and smile

and that way
she had

of bringing life
to a dull day

like some
top notch dancer

not knowing then
of her death

years later
of cold creeping cancer.

Don’t know where
she said

standing by the back gate
which backed

onto the woods
with the evening creeping in

and she having snuck out
of her house without

her mother seeing
looked quite nervous

and kept looking back
over her shoulder

as if her mother
may have followed

can’t go to my place
she said

or mine you said
they’re always there

especially this time
of an evening

what about the hay barn?
You suggested

looking at her eyes
blue cornflowers

and that smile
that could have lit

fires in dark places
and she said

don’t want no hay stalks
touching my ***

and she laughed
and you wanted to capture

her laughter
and that smile

and her bright blue eyes
and your youth

and that thinking
you had forever

and the monopoly
on truth.

Don't mind the mutt
Batel said
he's always barking
I moved into her flat

and closed the door
after me
the dog
was in the kitchen

barking through a wooden gate
I followed Batel
into her lounge
and she sat down

on a white sofa
and tapped it
for me
to sit down too

the mutt stopped barking
but whined
don't worry about the mutt
the worse he'll do

is licked you silly
she said
I looked about the room  
coffee table

a sideboard
a dresser
a record player
and TV

and an armchair
tucked over
in a corner
and a few paintings

on the walls
or prints of paintings
what are you
having to drink?

She asked
what you got?
beer whiskey *****?
beer will be fine

I said
she got up
from the sofa
and went to the sideboard

and took out
a can of beer
and poured herself
a gin in a tall glass

and came back
to the sofa
and sat down
offering me the can

and sipped her gin
I ripped off the tab
and sipped
the warm beer

my husband's
on a long run today
won't be back
until late

she said
she crossed her legs
the short skirt
got shorter

her thighs got longer
he won't like it
me being here
I said

he doesn't know
she said
he might find out
she smiled

and sipped her glass
all he'll know is
that you came over
he won't mind

after all
you play chess with him
some evenings
she said

don't seem right
me here
sitting next to you
drinking his beer

while he's out there
driving in the long haul
you can always leave
she said

if your conscience
is eating at you
I sipped more beer
she leaned up close to me

her lips brushing my arm
setting me a tingling
my pecker stirred
my body warmed

so who are the paintings by?
I asked
don't know
he bought them

at some cheap sale
pretends he knows art
when he don't know
cat's ***

she sipped her gin
put a hand on my thigh
the pecker lifted
its head

like a blind snake
in a dark room
I mouthed more beer
eyeing her hand

moving up my leg
you got to be
any place?
she asked

I shook my head
and gulped down
the beer
no

no particular place to go
I said
my bed or here?
she said

I like the painting
of the seascape
I said
her hand

unzipped my fly
and the pecker
was building up big
her fingers

introduced themselves
kind of friendly like
I lay back
and closed my eyes

imaging palm trees
greeny sea and blue skies.

Sophia lies on Mr A's bed;
I put away his clothes
in the chest of drawers.

We go for meal?
Sophia says
(she's Polish
and her English
is broken),
looking at me
as I go about
my tasks.

I'm busy,
ask someone else.

No, I want you
go meal with me,
she says,
her legs crossed
at the ankles,
her shoes on the floor
by the bed.

My me?
What have I done
to deserve this?
Anyway you shouldn't
be on the bed;
if Mr A comes in
and sees you
he'll get the wrong
impression,
I say,
looking at her
lying there.

What impression?
I lie here,
do nothing wrong,
she says,
unless you lie with me
and we have the ***?  

Look, I've got to go;
I have other beds to make
and clothes to put away
and Mr G needs his bath.

She looks at me
pouting her lips.

You not want the ***?

No, not now,
not here.

I open the door to go
and hear Matron's voice
along the passageway
and close the door quick.

Get off the bed,
it's Matron,
I say to Sophia.

She looks at me.

So what?
I tell her
you want the ***,
she says.

You can't
it's not true,
now come off.

She reluctantly
gets off the bed
and slips on
her shoes;
her hand on my arm
to steady herself.

She looks at me.

You have meal
with me?

Yes, ok, yes,
but get on
with your cleaning.

She picks up her cloth
and begins to wash
the sink and taps,
and I go out the door
and close it behind me.

Matron is by the door
of the bathroom.

Where's the Polish girl?
She asks.

No idea,
I reply,
I think she was
downstairs earlier.

Matron pulls a face
and walks back down
the passageway,
her heels going clip-clop
ahead of me.

I sigh and look back
at Mr A's room
where I almost
met my doom.

Willie’s walked to the village,
Dottie sits darning stockings
by the window, her nimble

fingers pulling and pushing
the yarn through the cloth.
Sunlight brightens up the

length of her lap, warms
her fingers, brings touch
of Heaven. She pauses,

holds needle in mid sew,
watches a butterfly, Red
Admiral, flitter by the

window’s square. If only
Willie was there. He was
up early, up and out in

the garden’s span, digging
and planting, she watching,
taking in his moving arms,

his steady hands. She still
feels the damp place his
kiss gave, on forehead above

her brow, feels it still, anyhow.
She resumes the darning of
her brother’s cloth, the sharp

needle pulled and pushed,
the fingers holding firm, the
in and out, of the narrowing

hole, the closing up. She looks
at the trees, the slight sway
of arms, the green covered

fingers, how she and Willie
sat beneath by the near shore,
sheltered by tall willows, the

sea view soaking their eyes, his
hand in hers, birdsong, distant
ship on horizon’s brow. If only
Willie was here, was here now.

Dottie wishes Willie would
return home. All night she
had twisted and turned in
his bed. She looks out of
the window of their cottage
for the postie to come with
a letter from her brother,
but there is no sight or sign.

She sighs. Later she will prepare
one of his favourite pies. He’ll
bring Sammy and they’ll go
for walks and talk and smell
flowers and hear the birdsongs
and sit beneath trees and study
the sky. She moves to the kettle
and switches it on and prepares
a cup of tea. One teabag, two
sugars, a small spill of milk.

She sips and thinks. If Willie
were here now he’d lay his head
on her shoulder and read her
one of his poems. She likes it when
he reads her one of his poems.

She knows them because she
scribbles them down as he recites
them as they walk along. I can’t
write sitting down, he often told her.

I need to walk and breathe the
air and hear the songs of birds.
She sits and imagines him there
beside her, his head on her
shoulder as if a pillow, his
vibrating voice moving inside her.

She senses a headache coming,
feels the tremors along her nerves
like a coming storm. It is a time
of bleeds. The moon’s pull drags
her down. If Willie were here he’d
say, Go lay down and I will come
bring you pills and water and kiss
it better. But her brother is away
bringing Sammy. The clouds are
gathering, dark grey and heavy,
the sky becoming black, oh, she
says, if only my Willie was back.

Sunlight settles on the
table where Dottie writes.

Her journal records the days
since Willie left, the effects
it has had, her migraines,
the sickness, the stomach
pains, the blood loss.

She writes slowly, neat
and lucid, the pen tight
between finger and thumb.

She pauses, looks at the sunlight,
how the beams seem to dance
upon the cloth, she ***** the end
of the pen, her tongue sensing
the smoothness and plasticness.

She will write of the roses,
how they have grown, the red
like blood, the blood like that
on the sheet before the wash.

She misses her brother, his
departure to fetch Sammy
has pained her, causes her
loss of sleep, despite sleeping
in his bed, caressing his pillow.

She writes again, the pen nib
moving over the journal’s page,
her eyes watching the flow,
the words settling on the paper,
the words holding the images,
the images for him, for Willie
to read and have on his return.

A bird song, she ***** an ear,
outside nearby, a robin, she
closes her eyes, grasps the sound,
turns it around in her mind.

She will write that down,
he likes birdsong, loves the
songs, the call of the wild.

She opens her eyes, begins
to write once more, she wants
to cry, pushes her eyes tight
to stop tears hitting the page.

Through teary eyes sees
the sunbeams dance on
what seems like water on
the patterned cloth, she
remembers Willie laying
his head down there once
side ways on and gazing at
her as deep fond lovers may.

She puts down her black pen,
she will write no more today.

Dotty screws the pen lid,
puts the pen down, folds
her hands in her lap. *****
has finished his poem, he

is now silent, his muse has
gone. She watches as her
brother sits back in his chair,
pushes his fingers through his

dark hair and sighs. That makes
her almost cry, that poet muse
going like that, him sitting there,
face empty, sighs leaving him

instead of words. Tonight she
will enter it all in her journal,
after cocoa and a biscuit and
*****’s kiss and him gone off

to bed, humming to himself.
She will sit by lamplight, take
out her pen, and write on the
clean page, how he wrote,

what he wrote, the words,
the muse, the leaving of him.
She will leave out the kiss,
the embrace, the seeing each

other face to face. ***** hates
writing things down, he just likes
to sit when the words come and
he can speak them and let Dotty

write the words in the air floating
there. He gets up from his chair,
paces the room, his hands behind
his back, his words gone, his mood

dark, becoming black. Dotty looks
at her hands, entwines her fingers,
makes a church, makes a steeple,
looks inside, sees ink stained people.

Helen's hair
hangs dampened
by the rain

as we wait
underneath
the hawning

of a shop
on the way
home from school

her thick lens
spectacles
are smeary

so I can't
see her eyes
will it stop?

she asks me
I hope so
I reply

don't fancy
standing here
till bedtime

I look up
at the sky
grey and black

rain falling
I'm all wet
she mutters

even my
socks are damp
in my shoes

let's run then
I tell her
so we run

through the rain
splashing through
deep puddles

on pavements
she clutching
my wet hand

semi-blind
in her smeared
spectacles

rushing past
the shop fronts
our passing

reflections
in windows
quite ghostly

as in dreams
thunder claps
above us

from the sky
and Helen
loudly screams.

She parked her bike
by the stone bridge
and stared down at the river
waiting for Naaman

he said to meet her there(
he finished
his half day of work
just before)

and go for a ride
and see a few things
she'd not seen him
since the Sunday before

a short walk through the woods
by the farmhouse
out of sight
of her parent's gaze

hand in hand
flesh on flesh
she watched
as the river flowed onwards

the ever flowing water
then Milka heard him call
as he rode near the bridge
waving a hand

she looked at him riding
with his Elvis style hair
and jeans and open neck shirt
he dismounted his bike

next to hers
and walked to her
she stood expectantly
nerves tingling

her whole insides
butterflying
he kissed her cheek
she held his hands

kissed again
got here as fast as I could
Naaman said
your brothers have gone

into town
so won't be this way
in a while
she smiled

I wondered
if they'd be with you
she said
you look pretty

he said shyly
do I?
she said
course you do

he said
nice of you to say
where are we going?
she asked

bike ride
he said
where to?
a place I used to live

he said
is it far?
Milka asked
not that far

we can go through
the back lanes mostly
he said
ok

she said
so they got on their bikes
and rode off up the hill
he in front she behind

along country lanes
up hills down hills
through narrower lanes
along a main road

keeping to the side
of the grass verge
and 20 minutes later
they were there

and he rode into a narrow path
and got off his bike
by some trees
and she followed

and did likewise
she bent over
getting her breath back
he leaned against a tree

some ride
he said
longer than I thought
she blew out breath

and inhaled
leaning by Naaman
you lived here?
yes up the road a bit

second cottage in
she looked around her
quiet here
yes is it

he said
come I'll show where it is
and he took her hand
and walked her

through the woods
and narrow path
she sensed his hand
in hers

ran her thumb
on the back
of his hand
there

he said
through that gate
they stood looking at a gate
at the back of a cottage

who lives there now?
she asked
don't know
he said sadly

I'll show you the pond
where I used to fish
and where I'd sit
and think things through

so she walked with him
through a wooded path
the area darker
because of denseness of trees

then they came to a fence
and they climbed over
and through a field
and then he showed her

the large pond
where he used to fish
they walked to the edge
and stood looking

at the water's skin
her hand still in his
sunlight filtering
through the trees above

they sat down on the grass
did you catch any fish here?
she asked
no but I tried

he said
she kissed him
he smelt apples
fresh picked

her flush of skin
her eyes bright
her short cropped hair
she leaned against him

he sensed her nearness
her beat of heart
her small **** pressing
against the yellow top

least I won't hear
my mother call from here
she said
or my brothers teasing

guess not
he said  
they worry about you
you're only 14

she looked away
you're only 16
she countered
besides I'm with you

they trust you
she added
do they?
he said

course they do
she said
turning her head
taking in

his hazel eyed stare
do they know
you're with me today?
she shook her head

they didn't ask
and I didn't say
she said
Yaakov knows

Naaman said
I told him
you did?
she said

what did he say?
said he felt sorry for me
but that I'd soon recover
she looked at him

what a cheek
she said
is that all he said?
yes then he talked

of the new Elvis film
at the flicks
and was I going
is that all?

he nodded
he'll tell my mother
she said
don't think so

he replied
he said he'll leave that
for you to do
and she lay her head

against his shoulder
and he kissed her head
and they sat there
in the quietness

kissing now
and again
then ran for cover
from a downpour of rain.

Do you recall,
my son,
from your side
of the curtain

of death,
that Metallica CD
you bought me
at that record fair

some years back?
You fingered through
a number of CDs
in racks

looking for something
for yourself:
Radiohead
or R.E.M.

I forget which
or was it more
or both.
I was in

a heavy metal
frame of mind
that day;
counting the money

to match the choice.
I'll get it
for you
for your birthday,

you said.
I play it still,
the Metallica CD,
the thundering drums,

buzz saw guitars,
chugging bass,
and tough guy voice
over the turned up

loud burning lot.
I think of you
when playing it now;
your quiet nature,

soft spoken voice,
hungry-bear stance
about the room,
your own unique

chuckle of humour.
Do you remember,
my son,
the Zed Zeppelin

CD and DVD
you bought me
for my birthday
that final year?

you'll always be
a rocker,
you said,  
and those words

repeat softly,
like a summer breeze,
through the corridors,
of my mourning head.

I show Lydia
the toy Bowie knife
which came

with the cowboy outfit
my parents had bought
for my 9th birthday

and there's a 6 shooter
and holster
and other stuff

I say
we're standing
on the platform

at Waterloo
watching for the next
steam train

to come in
it looks quite real
she says

can I feel it?
I hand her
the toy knife

and she rubs
her finger along
the blade

looks sharp
but it's not at all
she says

handing me
back the knife
I put the knife

into the belt
of my jeans
and we look

for a train
if Hem had that
he'd throw it

at me pretending
I was his
knife throwing

assistant she informs
your brother's a ****
I say

she smiles
what's that?
I think it means

an idiot
I reply
I look at her

standing there
with her thin arms
and straight fair hair

and that always
worried stare
that off grey dress

the black plimsolls
and white socks
here comes one

Lydia says
pointing towards
the far end

of the platform
and I see the smoke
in the air

and the sound  
and the smell
that steam trains have

and we stare
as it approaches
taking in the black

steaming beauty
of it as comes
on by

drinking in
the power
as it lets off steam

huge and noisy
like a dragon
in a dream.

He spoke of love
And dead men’s ease,
Of those Degas paintings
And young dame’s knees,
He thought of logic

And Wittgenstein,
French food and Spanish wine,
Smoked cigars
And bedded ******
He spoke with girls

And college bores,
He kissed and laughed,
And occasionally bathed
With those he loved
And thought of much

Like him and her
And such and such
And others whose names
He’s quite forgotten
Whom he treated well

Or treated rotten
Or never treated at all
But let them fall
From grace of God
To whom he seldom prayed

And rarely trod.
He spoke of hate
And dead men’s grief
And waited death
And death’s relief.

I dreamed
of you
last night.

Not the 29 year
old you
who died

as I held
your hand,
but the

younger you,
the young kid
with the smile

and big
blue eyes,
the adventurous

you, the climber,
the you
in the cowboy hat

and gun,
the blue
eyed you,

the one
mischievous
for fun.

I dreamed
of you
last night.

Not the 29
year old who
died and flat-lined

my heart, but
the younger you,
big eyes of blue,

that one,
that you,
my son.

Jane showed me
the tombstone
of the farmhand

who had fallen
under his tractor
the year before

a few wild flowers
were placed
in a jam jar

in front
his wife and daughter
are still in

the tied cottage
Jane said
but they'll need

to move out soon
once the local council
finds them

somewhere to live
I looked
at the words

on the small stone
I didn't know him well
she added

he was a quiet man
cows mooed
from a nearby field

I looked at Jane
next to me
he was only 35

I said
quite a few men
die in the way he did

on the land
she said
she knelt down

and placed
a few cowslips
in the jam jar

and tapped them
into shape  
she stood up

and we walked
around the church
and along the path

onto the narrow road
between
the high hedgerows

birds sang
the sun shone
down on us

how's your father doing?
she asked
he's ok

he likes his work
in the woods
keeps him fit

he says
I said
we stood in

by the hedge
as a tractor
went by

she smelt of apples
as I got close
to her

her dark hair
was tied
in a ponytail

her dark eyes
gazed at me
the tractor sped

along the narrow road
towards the farm
I wanted

to kiss her
but I didn't
I looked at the sky

where rooks flew
overhead
but dreamed

that night
that I kissed her
inside my head.

The loud shush of the steam train shush shush and grey steam turning white shushing out from beneath the train and out of here and there of the huge black dragon and O the power of it Benny says sitting beside Lydia on Kings Cross Railway Station on a seat aged and discoloured watching the steam rise up and upwards and breathing in the smell of the train and steam and she sits with her small hands together between her knees poking out of her white dress with blue flowers her small hands pushing out of her corn blue coloured cardigan her fingers pressing against each other fingertips on fingertips will this train go to Edinburgh? she asks will this train go to Edinburgh? I think so Benny says Ill ask he says and leaps up and goes along the platform and seeing a porter with a trolley stops him and asks the porter glad to rest for a few moments eyes Benny and says yes it does and takes over six hours or more and seeing the boy standing there eyes hazel and bright and the quiff of hair why are you thinking of going? the porter asks smiling revealing a number of teeth missing no not today Benny says noting the absent teeth of the porter or rather the teeth remaining and trying to count the teeth but the porter closes his mouth and smiling walks off with his trolley so Benny walks back to Lydia on the seat yes it does the porter says six hours or more to get there he says thats a long time Lydia says longer than I sleep or my big sister and she can sleep a long time especially if shes been out until the early hours- her mother calls it ******* but Lydia knows nothing of what it means and never bothered to ask-he asked if am I going to Edinburgh and I said not today but it seems exciting to think we could go just get on the train without anyone seeing us and sit in a carriage on our own and if the ticket collector man comes we can say our parents are in the dining car and he might go off and we could go to Edinburgh Benny says smiling at Lydia and she looking at him taking in his grey sleeveless jumper and the white shirt and blue jeans and do you think we could? she says were only nine you and me and Im sure the ticket man would think it odd we were alone while our parents were in the dining car and we were sitting in the carriage alone Benny looks at the train and the steam and the powerfulness of it and says lets get nearer lets get as close as we can and she says all right but not too near Daddy says not too near ok Benny says and they walk as near to the train as they can sensing the powerfulness of the train all the more and the smell of it filling their lungs and been says isnt that great? yes it is Lydia says and reaching out to try and catch some steam but it flows through her fingers and even as she claps her hands together the steam escapes and goes on its journey upwards what do you think? Benny asks Edinburgh today? just us he watches her standing there beside him thin and pale and her hair lank and straight and her eyes peering at him its along way she says her eyes getting larger her mouth opening to a wide oval six hours or more he says although we could sleep maybe sleep until were there where to sleep? she asks rubbing her fingers together nervously wont we get hungry? she asks we never brought food or drink and Ive no money left to buy any she says looking at him wanting him to say it didnt matter they would find food some place but he looks at her and says we can sleep in the carriage our heads against the seat backs or lying down on the seats and food? she says what about that? he looks at her maybe I can get some from the dining car someone might leave things he says rolls or butter you never know what people may leave do you think we could? she says moving closer to him wanting him to say yes of course we could its going to be all right but he looks at the train and the long carriages filling with passengers and the windows having faces looking out at them and says maybe another day when we have some food with us and bottles of drink  and a change of clothes he says got to have change of clothing I havent much to change into she says Mum never gets it done in time some days and I have to wear clothes day after day we can plan it he says make sure it goes to plan with food and clothes and drink and money I can get some Benny says be better then we can go to Edinburgh then like it is on the billboards she looks at him feeling he is right and she does feel it would be a bit of a risky going today without a change of clothing especially knickers she needs those she muses not sure of how much clothing she might need depending she supposes on how long they go for and where to stay once they get there where to stay that is the question she asks herself and she takes Benny hand in hers and says yes another time when as you say we have food and clothes and money and drinks he nods and rubs her hand and says its long way off but we will go yes we will she says excitedly wanting to go that day but yes we will wait to go some other time and they look at the train as it gives out a huge shush of steam like a ******* dragon and they stand back as it gets louder and more powerful and a guard with a green flag waves it wildly and the train huffs away shush shush it goes steam rising and outward like grey white snow.

He dreamt
she was
in his bed,
had crept in

without him
knowing.
He could feel
her hand

on his arm,
resting there,
her breathing slow
not rapid.

He sensed
his body stiffen
with apprehension,
with what

she might do,
and how
to explain her away
should his mother

come in and see?
But when he woke
it was his kid brother
laying there

as per norm,
not her
trying it on
as he'd feared.

But he wouldn't
tell her
when he got
to school,

he'd say nothing
to please her
and hear her say:
Did you?

And add:
of course not,
you wouldn't let me.
He saw

the morning sun
creep in
through the window,
its waking up light,

start of a new day.
He'd not tell her,
not ever,
no way.

Miss Billings was chatting
to one of the customers
leaning on the black
counter top

with her elbows
her chin placed
between open palms
her blonde hair

and spectacled eyes
gave her the poor man’s
Monroe look
you stood behind her

leaning your back
against the wall
hands in the pockets
of your white overalls

and what’s going to win
the 3.30?
she asked
the horse in front

the guy said
she just stared
does a horse with *****
run slower

than a horse without?
she asked
never given it
much thought

he said
she raised an eyebrow
all I know is
I like a young filly

he said
giving her a gaze
you would
she said  

I guess you’d like a mare?
he said
she stood up
and stretched

her arms in the air
I’d rather ride my motorbike
than a horse any day
she said

you studied her
standing there
her blonde tied back hair
her red stockings

and white ankle boots
her curves and ***
the bulge against
her red knitted top

of her *******
and she rides it good
you said
to the guy opposite

I bet she does
he said laughing
he knows ****
she said

giving you her stare
I ride as I’ve always ridden
hard and fast
the best way

he said
you wondered if she would
ever give you a break
and smile or say

something nice
but she had the ability
to freeze you out
like a block of ice

even though
you dreamed of her
at night
**** naked in your bed

playing games
inside your head.

That was the night
I dreamed of Yiska

and she met me
at the back
of the cottage
by the woods

and it seemed summer
it was warm
birds sang
and flowers
were showing off
their colour
and perfume

and she stood there
and smiled and said
I made it here
what do you think?

good to see you
I said

and it was
and I ran to her
before she could
disappear as they do
in dreams

and she kissed me
and it felt real
and warm
and arousing

and we walked
into the woods
and she talked
about her
mother's depression
and how her mother
moaned about
the untidiness
of her room

I thought yes
she is here
and I reached
for her hand
and held it
and felt
with my thumb
her skin

it felt pulsing
and alive
and she talked more
but I wasn't listening

I was trying
to feel her hand
deeper
more alive
than most dreams

and then we stopped
and we were by
the big pond

and she said
let's go swim
let's go swim
**** naked

and I thought
I can't swim
I’ll drown

and woke up
and pulled
the warm
blanket down.

You pause the sewing machine, listen for any sounds other than the machine; there is none. It is oddly silent except for birdsong from the garden. You gaze out of the window in front of you, see the trees, the flowers, the children playing in the garden next door, and smile weakly. Your daughter would have been playing out there now if death hadn’t taken her, if things had been different. You can almost picture her there, her fine black hair, her deep dark eyes, that small smile about her mouth that seemed ready to break out into a laugh at the slightest thing, but the image you try to bring to the scene fades, is gone. You start up the sewing machine again, push the dress through with your fingers, try to drown out the thoughts and sound of children playing, of their happiness and joy, their youthfulness, their innocence. You look up again at the vase of flowers on the windowsill, at the potted plant that Bruno bought for you. He wants more from you than you are willing to give, wants more than you can give any more. Since Kitty’s death, you are unable to respond that way, unable to let his touch feel your flesh, touch you anywhere. You have not made love to him since that dreadful day; have not even thought about that side of things with him anymore. You think of being away from him, going away to the coast, staying with Sally in her house near the sea. You stop the machine and stare at the dress on the table. It is a child’s dress, one you are making for a friend’s daughter. To know Kitty would have been that size now, she would have loved it, would have fitted well inside the cotton dress quite well. Tears swell in your eyes, you bite your lip, you want to cry out loudly so that the entire neighbourhood would hear, know your grief. You wish Bruno would go away, divorce you, say something harsh, something real, but all he does is attempt to make things as they were and it cannot be that way anymore. You will go to Sally, will stay with her, will share her bed as you did that summer of Kitty’s death. Warm, safe, and a completely new lifestyle, a different approach to love and ******* that you had not dreamed existed. The thought cheers you slightly, makes your groin tighten, brings images to mind you thought you had left behind. And Sally will say, Jane, you are all too pale, too thin, and warp you in her arms, kiss you and you will dissolve into her and her love and bed, and Bruno will be gone from you as Kitty is, but she will remain in your heart and memory, will be there beside you smiling, playing with her dolls, singing those songs she sang, as you and Sally drive away the dark days. You start up the machine again, gaze at the trees, push the dress through eagerly to its near completion, watch as seagulls linger over head, calling the welcome of sea and a safe haven, and Kitty’s touch on your arm, ghostly, but near, so near.

Baruch sipped the wine
Geula the waitress
had brought; he watched
her walk away, her hips

hypnotic, the sway of them,
dream inducing. Red wine,
sour, table used, not the best.
He rinsed his mouth, then he

swallowed.  How she could smile,
he thought, the lips of her,
the teeth, the red tongue.
He could dream of course,

dreams are cheap, cost
nothing, are in the end,
nothing. He could watch her
for hours; see her walk the

restaurant in the evenings
serving meals and wine,
the smile always in place,
that swaying of hips, hands

busy, the eyes bright lights.
Some evenings he stayed until
late, she on her last legs,
about to go off duty, seeing

him, stopped to say goodnight.
She said she was not permitted
to date guests. Too complicated,
she supposed. Hotel rules, she

said, nonetheless. She smiled
and walked off. He could dream
she had said yes, of course where
shall we go? Wherever you wish,

he would have said. Knowing
nowhere, he would have left it to
her to choose. Where would that
have been? What cost? He watched

as the last glimpse of her disappeared
beyond doors. The last glimpse of hers
hips and swaying behind. The music
faded, the restaurant lights dimmed.

He stood up, walked away and stood outside.
The moon was full; stars like sprinkled
diamonds, lit the sky. One last look,
he thought, then off to bed, to see
dreams of Geula within my head.

Anne sat in the wheelchair
in the huge back garden
of the nursing home.
The stump of her leg ached,

the one good leg rested
on the footrest. She rubbed
the stump as if this might
ease the aching. She’d get

Skinny Kid to push her out
of the back gate when she saw
him, he was one of the few
kids who seemed to like her,

and often did things for her
where others wouldn’t.  
The little girl named Sadd
was like a fairy: thin, gaunt

looking, whose shoulder blades
stuck out like small wings.
She was on one of the swings
being pushed by one of the

nursing nuns. Where was
Skinny Kid? she mused. His sister
was over by the slide going up
and sliding down. The boy called

Malcolm was hiding in and out
of the avenue of trees playing
war games with some other boy
with a snotty nose. She wheeled

herself along the stony path.
How’s your leg? a girl with burn
scars on her arms and shoulders asked.
Why don’t you ask the fecking leg,

Anne replied roughly. The girl stared
at the impression of the stump just
under Anne’s dress. I’ll tell Sister
you swore, the girl said. Go kiss your

****, Anne said. The girl ran off and
Anne wheeled herself a little more
along the path. Then she spotted him,
Skinny Kid, coming out of the French

windows at the back of the nursing home.
Hey, Kid, she bellowed, over here.
Benedict walked over to where Anne
was sitting, her hands on the wheels

of the chair.  What did you want?
he asked. Push me out the back gate,
she said, I can’t stick being out here
with all theses kids. Ok, he said and

pushed her along the path, between
the avenues of trees to the back gate.
Where are we going? he asked as they
reached the gate and he opened it up

and pushed her through. Along by
the beach, I need the sea air, need
to fill my lungs with it, she said.
He pushed her along, his arms

feeling her weight, his legs like
small pistons. Thanks, she said,
for helping me in and out of the
bath the other night. That’s ok,

he said, recalling her calling him
into the bathroom the other night,
she standing on her one leg by the
bath in a white towel. Help me in

Kid, she had said, I don’t want
one of those nuns touching me while
I bath. He had helped her in trying
to avoid looking at her naked body

as she put her leg over then he had
to ease her down making sure the
stump didn’t bang against the bath rim.
He closed his eyes, having caught a

glimpse of the stump on its way into
the water. He pushed the wheelchair
along the smooth path, avoiding the
other people, trying to hear her mouthed

instructions, watching the top of her
dark haired head. She had said he had
to wash her back in the bath as she
couldn’t reach and he did it softly not

wanting to scratch her or such. Harder
than that, Kid, she had said, I want to
feel the skin rubbed not fecking tickled.
So he scrubbed harder, looking at her

neck and her damp hair.  Hey, Kid,
she said breaking into his thoughts,
got any money on you? I’ve  got half
a crown, he said. Then buy us two ice

creams, Kid, over there, the guy who
looks Italian in that van. So he pushed
her over to the van and bought two
ice creams with strawberry sauce and

he sat on the wall with her parked
beside him licking their ice creams
in silence except for the sound of gulls
and the sea going in and out pushing

the waves up the shore, she watching
the Kid, his tongue white with ice-cream,
his eyes bright as summer. Her stump
ached still; she’d get the Kid to rub it after

the ice creams; feel his hands on her skin,
as she sometimes dreamt, he did in her dreams.

What the dream
was about
I have small

recollection,
only that you
were there,

there in that
black overcoat,
your broadness,

your silent presence,
and I hugged you,
my son,

and yet did not
remember you
were dead

until I woke.
I wanted
to return

to the dream
but it
had dissolved

some place
inside
my head.

Dubrovnik seemed
a second home,
and you, in a street

cafe, sat drinking coffee,
with that book on
Schopenhauer open

on the table, a cigarette
smoking in an ashtray
unattended, thinking

of the girl in the hotel
restaurant the night
before, the waitress

who smiled at you as
she served and went
by your table, and your

brother said, I don’t
fancy yours much,
indicating with a nod

of head, another
waitress over by a
nearby table, plump

and spotted, wearing
a scowl instead of a
smile, and all the while,

he eyeing, as young
men do the beauty
that had caught your

eye going by, but all is
fair in love, so men
have said, so picking

up the book on
Schopenhauer, and
further reading,

holding the cigarette
between the fingers
of the hand not

turning pages, you
inhaled with deep
concentration the

smoke and words
spread across the
page, written by a

philosopher of a
foreign tongue
and different age.

There's a patch
of dull sky
visible through

a parting in
the curtain
of her room

it is morning
Ingrid stirs
in her bed

feels the bruises
on her thighs
moves more carefully

to the side
of the bed
and sits grasping

the day and hour
her father's voice
still echoes

in her ears and mind
both her elder
brother and sister

have now left
last night's row
saw the flight

of the other
leaving just Ingrid
and her mother

and her father's wrath
and spiteful blows
from across the road

in Rockingham Street
the sounding
of the horses' hooves
and coal man's feet
and vans and cars
going past

and she sitting
sensing her bruises
like medals

of a war
similar to beatings
she's had before

Benny will know
he always does
either by her dull eyes
or sensing her

whimpish sighs
as she moves or sits
what's your old man

been up to now
he'll say
and pretends

(from the balcony
with his toy gun)
to blow

her father's
bullish head
away.

I don’t know why you would want to bring those
Types of women into this house Mr
Myner I really don’t it’s not as if

I’m a prudish kind of woman because
I’m not but I have to consider my
Other paying guests who have a rather

Different take on life and who don’t want
To open their doors to those kind of women
Or hear the kind of things I heard last night

And the language Mr Myner I have
Never heard such language in my life and
The type of things those women wear or in

Some cases don’t wear and the make up my
Gosh they look like clowns Mr Myner look
Like regular clowns and the way they look

At me when I complain and they always
Go to your room it’s always your door they
Go to I’ve watched them as is my right to

Keep an eye open to the things going
On and of course I have to take into
Account and consider the welfare of

The bed in that room because after what
I heard last night I’d be surprised if there
Are any springs left on the bed and I’m

Not a rich woman I have only quite
Limited funds and I can’t go around
Replacing beds every time you decide

To bring home here those types of women or
Encourage them to come to your room
And Mrs Tarnshower paused and looked at

Herself in the mirror and said that’s what
I‘ll tell him next time he comes in with those
Kinds of women yes sir I will amen.

Miss Ashdown
faced the blackboard
and chalked leaves
and buds and stems

her fat behind waddled
as she moved
from side to side
and Carmody said

if you peep through
the small hole
in the toilets
you can see

into the girl’s cubicle
and see their *******
you stared
at the teacher’s behind

half listening
to Carmody’s yak
she moved the chalk
along the board

a stem appeared in green
her plump arm supported
her chubby hand and fingers
Carmody went on and on

about what he saw
in whispering voice
now
Miss Ashdown said

turning around
her ******* bulging
behind her purple dress
here I have drawn the stem

of a flower and here
she said
pointing to the blackboard
is the bud and here is the stem  

and so she went on
pointing out each aspect
of the nature study plants
she’d drawn

see her down the front
with her pink bow
and ginger hair?
Carmody asked

you nodded
to his whispering voice
your eyes on the girl
at the front desk

next to Helen
she wears blue *******
Carmody informed
saw them this morning

you saw the girl
raise a hand to ask
questions about the plants
or to be excused to urinate

her blue cardigan covered arm
lifted the small hand
waving in the air
and here

Miss Ashdown said
is the root layout
see how its spreads
to gather food

and moisture
to the plant
she ignored
the raised hand

and the blue cardiganed arm
went down and out of view
and her over there
Carmody said

by the chart of trees
she wears white
you moved away slightly
from Carmody’s head

remembering
some one had said
that morning
he had fleas.

Dylan Thomas boozed
the great belly of his muse
drowned after Milkwood.

Each finds
their own salvation
or not,
Nima said.

Birds fed
in her hair.

Her eyes ******
in black holes,
gave birth to dreams.

I sat beside her,
drank black coffee,
smoked menthol cigarettes,
heard Coltrane
on the HiFi.

How deep
does my soul go?
She asked,
what is *** after all?

I inhaled and looked
at the cavern
of her small
firm *******.

Cold turkey,
she said,
rather have
a cool fix.

I sat exhaling
menthol smoke;
the Coltrane runs
on saxophone
caught in my ears.

I think I’ve spiders
in my ******,
she said;
******* ones
with hairy legs.

I closed my eyes
supping on
the menthol smoke,
sensing Coltrane's sound
invade my soul.

Nima lay back down,
legs spread,
black beetles
and insects
inside
her drained out
head.

Miryam stands beside
two Arabs
and a camel
to be photographed.
Baruch presses
the shutter
of the camera
and the scene
is captured.

She pays
the two young men
and they walk off
with the camel
talking in
their own tongue.

She adjusts the bikini top.
Brauch puts away the camera.
Someone said
they expect to be paid,
she says.
Why not,
Baruch says,
watching her fiddle
with her bikini bottom,
her fine behind.

The Moroccan beach
is deserted, except
for the departing men
and camel further
along the beach.

She complains of the heat,
fingers her fuzzy hair,
stares at Baruch,
scratches her nose,
gives a Monroe pose,
hands on hips.
Take me like this,
she says.

He obliges.
He shutters the camera,
his eyes capture,
stores away her image,
in more ways
than one.

She talks of his drinking
into the small hours
in that Tangier's
night club
the guide took them to,
the belly dancer,
the snake charmer.

On the way back
to the camp
in the back
of the truck
with the others,
he remembers,
the kissing,
the embracing,
stirring his pecker.

She talks
of the early morning sky,
the smell of kebabs,
her feeling heady,
how she thought
he'd come to her tent.

Too tired,
he says,
besides I had to think
of your reputation.
Others would know.

I'm not a nun,
she says,
getting me stirred up
and then leaving to stew.

They walk hand in hand
along the beach,
the tide coming in,
touching their feet.
She talks of her parents,
medical professionals,
the boy she had a crush on
who went off
with someone else.

Baruch feels her pulsing
along the wrist,
his fingers holding there.

She talks of the other evening
when they came down there
to escape the noisy party
at the camp, the dancing,
the music, the wine.

He recalls the darkness,
the deep tuffs of grass
before the beach
was reached,
she and him,
kissing, embracing,
moonlight shining,
stars like scattered
sparkling diamonds.

No one missed us,
she says,
no one knew
about me and you.

He remembers
the echo of music
over head,
the gentle breeze,
distant voices,
her murmurings,
sound of sea
upon the beach,
both feeling
and touching,
giving pleasure,
each to each.

Early July
and Judith sat
on the wooden fence
beside you

over looking the pond
which she called the lake
dressed in a plain grey skirt
and green blouse

her brown hair
brushed untidily
as was per norm
her hands beside her

balancing her
on the top beam
mum said men
are not to be trusted

Judith said
me included?
you asked
you especially

she said smiling
she didn’t mention you by name
just said men in general
and my dad looked at her

sideways on
pulled a face
then carried on
with his breakfast

a jackdaw flew across
the pond noisily
making Judith jump
****** bird

nigh on made me
wet myself
she said
following the bird’s flight

what made your mother
go on an anti men campaign?
you asked
watching two ducks

move across
the water’s skin
I think she saw us
coming through the woods

behind your house
yesterday after school
Judith said
we were too close together

mum said
but where she was
to see us I have no idea
hanging from a tree maybe

you said
don’t think so
Judith said smiling
maybe she’s spying on us now?

you suggested
Judith looked around her
then back at you
don’t say that

I almost had kittens
it’s not kittens
you have to worry about
you said

sunlight flickered
through high branches
birds sang
white clouds

moved slowly overhead
you touched her hand
with yours
felt her warm skin

her fingers
her short fingernails
she looked at the flickering sunlight
I know

she said softly
come on
let’s go near the lake
she said

and jumped off the fence
and so did you
and walked over
the grass

to the pond’s side
under a vast sky of blue.

Early morning sun
and we sat outside
having breakfast
around the tables

on the lawn
the nuns serving
and chiding
pointing out manners

and prayers not said
Anne wheeled
her wheelchair
to the table

and drew up
next to me
you're late Anne
Sister Agnes said

punctuality is a blessings
being late is laziness
Anne poured some cereal
into a bowl

I caught sight
of Sister Agnes’s glare
we are to say grace
before meals

she said
grace
said Anne
pouring milk onto the cereal

the Lord is listening
the nun said
pour me a glass
of orange juice Kid

she said to me
I poured her
a glass of juice
the nun stood there

gawking at Anne
for a short while
then went to another table
where she helped

other kids with breakfast
still chiding others
how did you sleep
last night Kid?

all right
I said
I slept poorly
my leg ached

and no ****** came
when I rang the bell
well she did eventually
what is it Anne?

she said
I told her my leg ached
your leg has gone
there is no leg there

any more
she said
I know that
I said

but it still ****** hurts
anyway she gave me
some pills eventually
after me moaning

at the ***** long enough  
she sipped her juice
how does your leg ache
when it's not there any more?

I asked
nerves
freaking nerves
that's why

she said
I ate my breakfast
and looked at her
sitting there

her dark hair
her eyes settled
on the nun's back
look at her backside

Anne said
even her black habit
can't hide that ****
I sipped my juice

looked at the nun
then at the sky  
seeing the morning sun
feeling shy.

Easter Sunday Grumore sits
Down in the chapel of the old
Church light pouring in from
High windows and he watches
A young woman dressed all in
White with long black hair by
The statue of the ****** kneeling
In prayer and he imagines what’d
Be like to wake each day in his
Large bed to see her there sleeping
Naked and him able to have her
There and Monica deep in her
Prayer to the ****** is unaware
Of Grumore there sitting behind
His dark brown eyes drinking her
In lapping her up to his ***** mind
And *** dreams and kneeling there
Her knees aching her prayers pouring
Remembers boys in her school days
Chattering her up thinking her cheap
Putting their hands on her body God’s
Small chapel while Grumore’s eyes
Sitting behind sweep over her his
Tongue hanging out of his mouth
Like a thin snake and he dreaming
He was licking her naked flesh then
Monica opens her eyes and sees the
Blue clothed ****** there gazing at
Her a gentle smile the bright blue
Eyes but Grumore sees the ******’s
Stare the judgment gaze no smiling
Lips upon him there in the chapel
Easter Sunday he looks away.

It was the year
man first walked
on the moon

but the third year running
you and your brother
walked the streets
of Edinburgh

and stayed
at the guesthouse
where the Yank guy
told you how
he was mugged
in some bog
at Waverly Station

I was in the stall
on the seat
when there was a banging
on the door
and someone yelled
open up I’m going to puke
so I did the
Yank said
and some guy
stole the wallet
from my pant’s pocket
and ran off

your brother sat
at the breakfast table
bemused

why did you open
the door?
you asked

well I guess I thought
it would help
the Yank said
holding his coffee cup
with both hands
you know
kind of threw me
off course

I’d have told the guy
to go puke elsewhere
your brother said

but he seemed desperate
the Yank said
looking at your brother
with a Humphrey Bogart gaze
won’t do that again
he said
sipping his coffee

you studied the guy’s plump face
his bulky frame
his sausage size fingers
the gold ring
on his third
right hand finger
his I LOVE AMERICA tee-shirt
his blue shorts

no matter
guess we all learn
from our mistakes
you said
next time
someone bangs
on the bog door
tell them
go puke on the floor

the Yank nodded his head
his Bogart impression
faded
to a saggy dog face

and you thought
gazing at
his blonde hair
there
but for the grace of God
go I  
and your brother smiled
and winked a blue eye.

Elaine sits
in her room
the door shut

her sister
in the room
next to hers

plays records
all too loud
an Elvis

Rock and Roll
kind of song
but Elaine

shuts it out
as best as
she now can

curtain's drawn
***** of light
through a gap

gazing hard
at herself
in mirror

her features
those two eyes
her thoughts on

the boy John
what went wrong?
almost there

getting close
yet so tense
lost in words

burnt in touch
scared to feel
love as this

undoing
lost balance
this love feel

this chasm
she pretends
to kiss him

her eyes close
Elvis sings
from nearby

the song hurts
feels undone
makes her cry.

The water
in the bath
is quite hot

and soapy
Elaine's mum
has run it

put in her
own bath stuff
Elaine lays

all stretched out
her feet at
the tap end

the water
soapy hot
caresses

her small *******
she hates them
and loves them

they tell her
she's growing
into a

young woman
her childhood
almost gone

they look like
small piglets
drowning there

she muses
she hates it
when at school

in P.E.
when the girls
point at her

look at those
small *******
they tell her

the boy John
whom she likes
at the school

doesn't look
or seem to
but maybe

he does gaze
secretly
she muses

and that thought
undoes her
he looking

mentally
he touching
each of them

how to get
such a thought
out of mind?

she sits up
in the bath
she'll ask him

if he does
when at school
the next day

but she won't
she knows it
but she'll watch

as he talks
of bird's eggs
or new seen

butterflies
where he looks
with his eyes

what beneath
her white blouse
and small bra

bunched up lies.

It's all there
in her head
the words said

while at school
in the class
whispered so

just near her
and outside
other girls

say things loud
how's the ***
frumpy girl?

she lies back
on her bed
while at home

some Elvis
song next door
her sister

playing loud
on the old
gramophone

if only
John would kiss
her again

but this time
to tell her
and softer

on the lips
she blushes
she senses

the redness
in her face
her body

responding
she hates school
hates lessons

all too hard
to take in
how's the ***?

what is it?
this *** stuff?
would John know?

the window
the sun's soft
warming glow.

Elaine prepares for school
she slept bad
odd snap dreams
of John

but then
he was gone
she ties her
brown shoe laces

and has made
an effort
with her black hair
brushed it

into some kind
of style
(her younger sister
smirks)

her mother reties
her school tie
must look tidy
her mother says

can't have you
setting
a bad example
Elaine wonders

if John will be
on the school bus
and how
she will feel

if he is there
after yesterday
and the row
or whatever

it was
her mother
smiles at her
have a good day

she says
she and her sister
wait
for the school bus

to come
her sister talks
to others waiting
next to them

but all Elaine
can think of
is John
and if he

is on the bus
and will he
look out at her
when the bus stops?

the thought
of him staring
at her
from the bus window

makes her feel flushed
has she blushed?
she wonders
she fiddles

with her satchel strap
touches her hair
she sniffs
her mother's scent

she borrowed
not too much?
she sniffs again
where is the bus?

she breathes in deep
that kiss
began it all
that one kiss

and all this
the school bus
comes around
the corner

she tenses
her eyes look
at the ground
in case he's looking

at her
she becomes
self conscious
imagines him

staring at her
she senses
her body leak
as she climbs on board

behind a boy
with ginger hair
she wishes she
was elsewhere

not here
not anywhere
where he
can stare

she thinks
sitting in a seat
all emptied of self
staring at her feet.

As the school bus
drove away
Elaine watched it go
she had smiled at John

but it had been
an uncertain smile
unsure if he
would smile

if she smiled
and that uncertainty  
reflected itself
in her smile

she had looked over
at John on the bus
but she had blushed
as he looked at her

and she didn't look again
in case she blushed
and her sister saw her
and that would

have meant being
teased later
the bus went
from her sight

and she walked home
beside her sister
wishing she had
smiled more

and had looked over
at the boy John again
but she hadn't
the walk home

seemed endless
and her sister talked
of her day
and what so and so

had done or said
and who had said
what to whom
but Elaine was lost

in her own thoughts
and once she got home
and had said hello
to her mother

who was preparing tea
she went to her bedroom
to change out
of her school uniform

and into something casual
and having done that
she lay on her bed
and looked

at the ceiling
wondering what she
really felt
about John

and how his being
around her
and talking to her
affected her

she sighed and wished
she was more confident
as her sister was
more sure of herself

and her feelings
the kiss the other week
from John
had unsettled her

and she was still
trying to make out
if he was really
interested in her

or if it was just
some joke
he was playing
although she didn't

think it was a joke
because he seemed
too honest and why
would he carry out

a joke to such lengths
and no one else
at school seemed in
on any joke against her

apart from calling her
Frumpy and teasing her
no one seemed in
on any joke

the kiss was so sudden
and so unexpected
that it pushed her
into unknown territory

but as she lay there
on her bed
and closed her eyes
she thought what it

would be like
if he was in the room
with her and if he lay
beside her

and kissed her again
what would she think
or feel?
she mused

hugging
her Teddy Bear
close to her *******
and kissing the Teddy's head

and even though
John wasn't there
she still blushed
bright red.

Laying down
on her bed
Elaine thinks

of her day
while at school
other kids

the things spoke
not in jest
or in joke

boys and girls
hey Frumpy
been kissed yet?

who'd kiss you?
their laughter
or silence

just staring
the ceiling
is off white

in her room
curtains drawn
a spider

big and black
lingers there
by the rail

she wants John
to kiss her
once again

but then not
she's confused
feelings mixed

part wanting
the kissing
but part not

other girls
talk of boys
how ****

and how hot
she's silent
feeling not.

Elaine dreamed of herself
and the boy John.

Elaine dreamed
she was in a field
of long grass
with a cornflower
blue sky and white
cotton wool clouds.

The Elaine in her dream
was lying on her back;
her hands across her stomach,
eyes on John at her side.

He was talking of butterflies
or birds or bird's eggs.

She wasn't listening;
she was studying the sky,
and cloud movement,
feeling shy.

She turned in her sleep;
pulled the pillow
close to her face.

The John in the dream
put his hand up
inside her skirt;
he said he was looking
for her butterfly;
the Elaine in her dream
said nothing;
the Elaine smiled.

The hand became fingers
or a finger and entered her.

She turned over in her sleep
and lay on her back.

She sensed him there
a feeling of opening up
and needing to ***.

Alarmed she awoke;
the moon was in
the corner of her window
giving out a bright glow.

Why didn't the Elaine
in her dream
say something
not just lay there
she wanted to know.

She'd slept bad.

Thoughts of John
invaded her head
as she lay in bed.

She'd hugged her
Teddy close; kissed
him pretending.

Stroked Teddy's
head, his arms,
kissed him repeatedly.

Her sister snored.

Her sister talked
in her sleep.

Elaine wished
for morning.

Wished for dawn's
light and birdsong;
wanted John there
in her bed;
in her head.

Breakfast was a chore;
she didn't want to eat;
her mother said
she had to: none of
that slimming nonsense.

She ate feeling full,
feeling ill.

Lovesick her
father said jokingly.

Her mother
was not amused,
said just a slimming thing.

Elaine ate and mused dully.

Wondered if John
would kiss her again.

Did she want him to?
She didn't know;
half yes, half no.

The kiss made her
feel out of her
comfort zone;
made her feel
unknown feelings;
buzzes in her *****.

She sipped the lukewarm tea:
sugary sweet, drowned in milk.

Her sister chatted about boys
and what so and so did.

Her mother said boys
were not for breakfast talk.

Her father said Elaine
-his Frumpy hen-
didn't need to slim,
was OK as she was.

Elaine wanted John;
wanted a kiss;
wanted him to touch;
a little not over much.