Yiska pares her nails,
files away
along the top
in a focused motion.

Her fingers grip
the nail file,
her eyes are looking
at the Indian woman
sitting cross legged
on the sofa,
mumbling to herself.

Naaman watches
them both, standing
by the door
of the ward
his dressing gown open,
the cloth belt confiscated.

The morning sun shows
smears on the windowpane,
the kid who comes each day
in care, stands there
licking like some cat.

A book of philosophy
is wedged in Naaman's
dressing gown pocket,
a torn off cardboard lid
of a Smarties pack
is the marker,
he's on the Spinoza page.

Yiska puts the file
in the pocket
of her nightgown
and stares at her nails,
bringing her fingers up
for close inspection.

A nurse passes by
and holds out her hand
towards Yiska.

You ought not have
that file,
she says.

Why not?
Yiska says.

Some might use it
to cut open their wrists,
the nurse says.

Yiska gives up
the nail file reluctantly,
staring at the nurse,
who walks off
towards the ward office
to lock away the file.

The Indian woman
puts her hands on her knees,
closes her eyes.

Naaman sits next
to Yiska and says,
Nothing's sacred here.

She's right though,
Yiska says,
someone may
have used it
to dig open their wrists.

I would have done,
after he left me
at the altar
on our wedding day.

I'd have slit my wrists
or neck or any place,
if it had got me
out of this hell hole
of a world.

I'd not have left you
at the altar,
Naaman says.

But he did,
she says,
laying her head
on his shoulder,
wiping her nose
on the back
of her hand.

Naaman studies her feet
which are bare,
no slippers or socks.

She has folded her legs
beneath her
so that her feet
stick out at the end,
her knees showing
where the nightgown ends.
After the last ECT,
Naaman woke in
the same side room,
she after him,
on another bed.

He had seen her there,
spread out
in her white nightgown
as in a shroud,
eyes shut,
mouth open,
teeth showing.

When she woke,
she said,
I hate that treatment,
gives me a fecking headache.
Me, too,
he said.

She stared at him,
her eyes opening wide.
Sit me up,
she said,
or I'll puke.

He got off the bed
and helped sit her up.

She sat on the edge
of the bed and said,
Thanks, you're a life saver.
She kissed his forehead.

The Indian woman picks
at her toes with her fingers,
her forehead is lined,
her black greying hair
is tied behind her head
in a knot of cloth.

Yiska laughs.
You certainly gave
the nurses a joint heart attack
last week
with your hanging attempt
in the boghouse.

Dark place at the time,
Naaman says.

She nods.
Like headless chicken
they were, she says.
I tried to OD,
but I was found too soon,
she adds.

The kid at the window
turns round.
He pokes his tongue out
at them both.
Naaman had bopped him
the other day
when he pinched
Yiska's arm.
Short memory, I guess,
Naaman thinks.

The big day nurse
comes in with morning
teas and coffees,
his broad smile
and jovial voice
brighten the day.

Yiska's hand lies
on Naaman's thigh,
he hopes
it will never leave,
but always stay.

Shlomit (whom most
of the boys disliked)
stood in the playground
holding one end of the

skipping rope while another
girl held the other end as
another skipped. Her wire
rimmed spectacles stayed

in place as she moved, her
holey cardigan had seen
better days, her grey dress
had been handed down so

often that it shone like steel.
Naaman stood and watched
her from the steps leading
down to the playground. She

sometimes smelt of dampness
as if she’d been left out in the
rain and brought in to dry over
a dull fire. He looked at her dark

hair held in place with hairgrips,
the hair band of a dark blue
remained unmoved by her motions.
Some girl pushed her away from

the end of the skipping rope and
she walked to the wall and stared.
That seemed unfair, Naaman said,
you were doing your bit ok. Shlomit

looked at him with her nervous eyes.
They always do that, she said; never
let me play for long. He stood beside
her; he could smell dampness mixed

with peppermint. Maybe you’re too
good for them, he said. She smiled and
pushed the hair band with her fingers.
Her nails had been chewed unevenly,

he noted, her fingers were ink stained.
Would you like a wine gum? he asked.
He held out a bag of wine gum sweets.
She put her fingers into the bag and

took one and put it in her mouth.
Thank you, she mouthed, her finger
pushing the sweet further in. Naaman
walked with her up the steps that led

up from the small playground and stood
on the bombed ground and looked down.
There used to be a house where the
playground is now, he said, it got

bombed out. The playground was
once the cellar. Oh, she said, I didn’t
realise that. The bombs missed the
school, shame, he said, smiling. Daddy

said I ought not talk with boys, she said,
looking at Naaman then quickly around
her. Why’s that? he asked. She looked
at her fingers, the thumbs moving over

each other. He said boys were rude and
mischievous, she said. I guess some are,
Naaman said. She looked at him. You
seem all right, she said. But you are still

a boy and he might find out I talked to you
and then there would be trouble. How
would he find out here in the playground?
Naaman asked. Someone might tell from

here that saw me, she said anxiously.
Last time someone told him he beat me,
she added quietly. She pushed her hands
into her cardigan pockets. Best go, she said.

I like you, Naaman said, you remind me of a
picture I saw of a girl standing beside Jesus
in that Bible in the school library. Do I? she
said, did she have wire-rimmed glasses?

No, Naaman said, but she had a pretty face
like yours. She laughed and took her hands
from her pockets. He saw two reflections of
himself in the glass of her spectacles behind

which her own eyes gazed out. Maybe it was
me, she said playfully. Oh, yes, he said, taking
her thin ink stained fingers in his, no doubt.

Mrs O’Brien stood
at the office hatch
of the factory
as Naaman approached

he stood there
gazing at her
how long
were you on that job?

she asked
about 6 inches
he said
looking at her

standing there
with dyed brown hair
and glasses
making her eyes

look larger
seriously I mean
in time how long?
she said

about 2 hours
he replied
about?
she said

I need accurate time
I am doing a time
and motion study
he looked at her

non plus
1 hour and 45 minutes
and 45 seconds
he said

trying to see himself
in the glass
of her spectacles
trying to gauge

how old she was
seeing the crowfeet
at the corner
of her eyes

she sighed
accurately?
yes
he said

she looked at him
as if he were her son
and had spoken
out of turn

any problems
Mrs O'Brien?
the manager asked
no Mr Nede

she said
giving Naaman the eye
just a bit of confusion
with Naaman here

about timing
she said
it was how long
Naaman?

Naaman took out
a piece of paper
from the pocket
of his jeans

and handed it to her
she read it
and scribbled it down
in a notebook

thank you Naaman
she said
giving the look
of a mother at a child

who had been punished
anything at any time
Naaman said
winking an eye

she looked at him frowning
as if a small window
had opened in her mind
and let in light

she walked away
from the hatch
carrying the notebook
and Naaman watched her

studying her
swaying behind
the patterned skirt
the dark brown stockings

the high heeled shoes
she sat at her desk
and saw him
still there at the hatch

anything else Naaman?
she asked
if you like
he said quietly

what is it
I can do for you?
pleasure
he said

and walked off
along the factory floor
between noisy machines
and the other workers

wondering how well
she'd pleasure
if at all or
even if he'd

want to
and switched on
his machine again
with more work to do.

Yiska sits on the sofa staring.
Music on the radio, background
noise. Naaman walks the length
of the locked ward, right hand
in his dressing gown pocket.

White bandage, blood stained,
wrapped around his left wrist.  
Avshalom’s razor did the job
unsatisfactorily, he muses,
feeling the soreness where

the wound’s wrapped. Yiska
taps the sofa seat and beckons
for Naaman to sit beside her.
He sits down, hands on knees.
She’d found him in the locked

ward washroom wrist slit,
blood drenched. She talks to
him, low voice, muttering words.
The nurse at the desk eyes them.
Slit wrong way, Yiska says, the

Romans had it down to a fine art.
Naaman senses the wrist throb.
He smells her soapiness, wants
to wrap himself into her. Some
deem it a sin to take your life,

she says. Doesn’t matter a ****
once you’ve gone, she adds, tracing
a finger along his artery. More
ways than one to go, Yiska says,
reaching the bandaged wound.

Naaman says, I know, I tried each
in turn, failed me each. She smiles.
That hanging **** was a no no, she
says. Need to go beautifully, not
boggled eyed with protruding tongue

like some rabbit hung. The nurse
takes his hand and feels the bandage
hold. She unsmiling looks at both,
their conversation dumbed. Naaman
senses the nurse’s hands trace a

line around the wound. Unimpressed,
she moves away, eyed by Yiska’s dark
stare, watches the nurse talking to
another standing there. Makes work
for them, Yiska says, no feathers in

their caps if you break through to the
other side. Naaman sniffs her soapiness,
warms to her nearness, seeks to dissolve
into her otherness. Sylvia had it off to
pat, Yiska says, head in the oven dozed

to a death. Sylvia? Naaman asks, his eyes
skimming along her thigh where night
gown showed. Plath, she says, the poet,
back in 63. Naaman drinks in her dark
valley where her night gown gapes, his

black dog mood barks in his brain. Look,
Yiska says, pointing her finger window
wards, after the freezing snow, comes rain.

Fay sat opposite Naaman on the bus
from outside the cinema
to London Bridge
her fair hair tied

in a ponytail at the back
wearing the lime coloured dress
that Naaman liked
the white open sandals

touching at the toes
she was quiet
and looked out
the window

as the bus moved off
Naaman studied her profile
the way her hair
was drawn back

and tied with a black ribbon
her ear
with the small ear ring
her pale cheek

the eye blue
and gazing out
one hand over
the other on her lap

the nails clean
and neatly clipped
the bus stopped
and started

and people got off
and on
talking
staring

some standing
most sitting
when the bus
came to London Bridge

they got off
and crossed the road
and down by the Thames
where they stood

looking at the passing water
you’re quiet today
Naaman said
looking at her

beside him
her elbows resting
on the low stone wall
I was almost

not allowed to come
she said
why?
he said

because the nuns said
I hadn’t performed as well
as they had expected
in my tests at school

she said
and so what happened?
he asked
my father was adamant

I was to stay home
and work at my school work
she said
but my mother said

I could do that
when I came back
and that it was only fair
that I have some time

of relaxation
and that caused a row
and then after fuming
and slamming around

the house he relented
and said I could go out
providing the visit
to London Bridge

had some historical merit
and I said it had
and that I was going
with you

she paused
and looked away
at a sailing boat
going by

and then what?
Naaman asked
he wasn’t happy about that
she replied

but I said you knew history
of the Bridge
and were going
to show me things

and he said do you
have to go
with the Jew boy?
I said I liked you

and he said
but his lot killed Jesus
and so on
Naaman gazed

at her lips as she spoke
he liked the way
her lips moved
as she talked

her eyes were bright
with an inner anger
then what did he do or say?
Naaman asked

he said I could go
but if he heard
any bad reports
there’d be trouble

and to know
what to expect
she sighed
he knew what was meant

but said nothing
how about something
to eat and drink?
he asked

I’ve only got 1/-6d
she said
which my mother gave me
on the quiet

I’ve got money
he said
my mum gave me
for chores I did

so they walked along
the embankment
to a cafe
and ordered two cokes

and shared sandwiches
and sat and talked
and watched boats
and ships pass by

on the river
she dreading going home
to her father’s possible
chastisement

but not saying
he thinking
of the Roman fort
across the water

centuries before
she looking at Naaman
thinking of the kiss last time
now wanting it more.

Naaman's father
frequented ******
or so his mother said.

Naaman had no idea,
as a kid, what ****** were,
but his mother's tone
of voice and look
gave the impression,
this was not good.

His father never mentioned
the said ******,
never a gave a hint
or clue, so Naaman
just accepted the fact
his father did; what more
could a Jewish kid do?  

There was the woman
who stopped his father
in the street Up West,
gave smile
and whispered words,
looked at Naaman
and walked away,
waggling her slim behind,
rattling keys
from her fingers,
looking back,
then away,
what it was about,
his father didn't say.

Maybe, thought Naaman,
that was the said *****,
but what she did or what
she was for, he wasn't sure.

His mother didn't say,
just glared and froze
her husband out,
or rowed and rowed,
and slammed things down
in the kitchen while cooking,
Naaman just played
with his toys
and pretended
he wasn't looking.

But that dame
in the street
who stopped his father,
her wiggling behind,
her red lips,
big blue eyes,
her keys
and ringed fingers,
maybe she was the *****,
maybe she was the lady
who made
her mother angry,
the one his father frequented
( whatever that might mean),
but to Naaman
she was just a painted lady
who smiled a lot
and whispered soft words
and wagged her behind.

Whatever his mother thought,
Naaman mused,
his father didn't mind.

Naaman met Amana
as she was on her way
to the shop for her mother.

He was counting out change
in the palm of his hand.

The morning sun
was coming over
the fishmonger shop,
the sky was grey blue.

She spoke
of her parents rowing,
how she never slept
until late,
a series of slaps,
then silence,
she said.

Naaman put the change
in the pocket
of his school trousers;
he saw how tired she looked,
even though her fair hair
was well brushed,
there was a haunted
look about her.

He knew of rows,
slammed doors
at night,
weeping into
the small hours
from his mother’s room.  

Amana showed him
the list of shopping
she had to get.

He showed her his.
Doughnuts are warm
from the shop,
we can share one,
he said.

Won’t your mother mind?
she asked.
You can only eat them
once she’ll say,
Naaman replied.

They walked to the shop
across Rockingham Street
and entered in.

The smell of warm bread
and rolls and coffee
being made.

He stood behind her
as she showed
the woman her list.

Amana had on
her school uniform,
the dress well pressed;
the white socks contrasted
with the well blacked shoes.
Her hands were at her sides.
Thumbs down,
soldier like.

He had held that hand
home from school once,
warm, tingling
with the pulse of her.

That time on the bombsite,
collecting chickweed
for the caged bird
his mother kept,
she had kissed
his cheek.
Never washed for a week
(least not that part).

He could smell
the freshness of soap
about her
as he neared to her.

The woman handed
the shopping over
the counter
and Amana paid in coins
which the woman counted.

Naaman handed
the woman his own list.
Rattled the coins
in his pocket.  

Amana waited;
the bag by her feet.
She spoke
of the Annunciation
being taught at school,
the Visitation of an angel.

All beyond Naaman’s grasp
at that time.
He knew of catapults
and swords ,
of old battles in fields,
and the Wild West
where he rode
his imaginary horse.  

He wanted to kiss
her cheek as she
had kissed his.
Shyness prevented.

She spoke
of the ****** birth
the nun’s spoke of,
the wise men coming
from afar
following a star.

Naaman liked the stars,
the brightness of them,
the faraway wonder
in a dark sky.

After he had received
his shopping and paid
they walked back out
into the street
and crossed to the *****
that led to the Square.

Then beneath
the morning sun,
bag in hand,
she leaned close,
pressed her lips
to his cheek
and kissed him there.

Having run across the field
to the river’s edge
she sat down on the grass
and he followed

out of breath
and sat beside her
she laughed
told you couldn’t catch me

Milka said
I can run like a gazelle
Naaman breathed in deep
Holding his groin

I gave you a head start
he said
I still won though
she said

pleased with herself
only just
he said
she lay back

on the grass
he watched her breathe
her chest rising
and falling slowly

she had her hands
over her stomach
her short fair hair
mixed with the green grass

she smiled
what are you looking
at me for?
I like looking at you

he said
why?
he looked at the river
because I do

must be a reason
she said
looking at him
with her dark eyes

I think of you
when I’m not with you
and so I need
to capture the image

of you for when
you’re not here
he said
do you think of me

all the time?
she asked
pretty much
he said

my brothers will think you
have gone soft
she said
he looked away

trees blew slightly
in the wind
the clouds were moving slowly
only with regards

to you
he said
he gazed at her
lying there

her legs raised
heels flat on the grass
her skirt showing
her thighs

I dream of you
she confessed
most nights
and pretend Teddy is you

and squeeze him tightly
near to me
so that he is right
against my *******

lucky Teddy
Naaman said smiling
taking in her lips
slightly parted

her teeth
just visible
poor Teddy
only has one ear now

and my mother
has sewn his arm on
many times
Milka said

Naaman lay down
on the grass
next to her
laying his hand

on her arm
feeling her pulse
her warmth
maybe you treat him

too roughly
Naaman said
she smiled
her lips spreading wide

well you’re not there
and he is a poor substitute
she said
I can’t be there

he said
your mother
seldom leaves the house
and if she is out

your father is there
or your brothers
besides you’re too young
for such things

what things?  
she asked
looking at him
trying to look serious

ask Teddy
he said
I’m 14
only 2 years

younger than you
she informed
I know
he said

your brother told me
when we were practising judo
last weekend
does he know you see me?

he knows I take you out
but he thinks I do so out of pity
because I feel sorry for you
she laughed

putting her hands
over her mouth
to stop the loudness
of her laughter

he thinks that?
Naaman nodded
what’s he think we do
pick flowers and watch butterflies?

he thinks we go see
the peacocks
he said
we do

she said
but not this
not what we did
last Sunday

Naaman added
we just kissed
nothing else
she said

more than he thinks
or your mother
he said
she looked at the river

the water flowing slow
best then
she said softly
they don’t know.

Yiska rests on her bed,
smoking a cigarette.

The sky is dull,
the room darkened.

She inhales,
watches the smoke,
she's just exhaled,
rise ceiling wards.

Her husband is out,
fishing, *******,
who knows, or cares.

She exhales again,
at times like this
she reflects
on her young days,
her schoolgirl years.

Naaman was a love
back then.

School crush thing
some thought.

But no,
more than that.

She inhales so deeply
that it seems
her whole body
is filled
with nicotine and smoke.

Naaman kissed good.

That time on the field.
Lips and tongue.

She exhales and smiles.

He'd be in his 30s now,
a year older than she.

She can still,
if she shuts her eyes at night,
see him as he was.

Even when her husband
is giving her a quickie,
she thinks on Naaman,
imagines it's him on top,
not her husband's sad efforts.

She inhales
and closes her eyes.

He is there
in her mind still.

Even on the day
she married,
she hoped Naaman
would show
and whisk her away
on the back
of a motorcycle,
her white dress
flapping in the wind,
she giving her groom
to be, an up you sign
of *******.

But he didn't show.

She knew he wouldn't;
she'd not seen
since he left school,
the year before she.

Moved away some place.

She exhales
and smiles out smoke.

When she goes shopping
in other towns,
she wonders
if she'll meet Naaman there,
bump into him
on an aisle,
next to cereals or cheeses.

She recalls that time
in the school between lessons,
seeing him,
and wanting him
to drag her into some room
and kiss her
and do things.

But he just smiled
and walked on
and into a classroom,
leaving her hot
and gagging for it
(a term some girls
used back then).

What if he had?
Some empty room
in the school?
That day would have been
burned into her memory
if he had.

As it was,
she walked on,
to her boring art class,
bubbling
with upset hormones.

She sighs,
opens her eyes,
and moans.

Evenings were sandwich time
brought in by big Ted
sandwiches cut in triangles
in white and brown

and he laid the plates down
on the center table
and the patients
bored out

of their fragile brains
pounced upon them
and ate ravishingly
as if time

was running out
to eat
but  
Yiska nibbled hers

took small bites
her finger tips
holding the brown bread
her white teeth

nibbling gently
Naaman watched her
his sandwich held
but uneaten

smelt
viewed
but held away
from lips

he took in
Yiska's nibbling
the way her fingers
held as if a holy host

not fish paste
and her lips
parted just so
her tongue seen

the white teeth
and her eyes
unfocused
her nightgown

buttoned at the breast
with a missing button
and he wanted
to be that sandwich

in her fingers
wanted her lips
to feel him
her teeth to nibble him

but then
the foreign woman
distracted him
by taking

her sandwich apart
opening it
between fingers
sniffing the contents

******* up her nose
muttering something
in her foreign tongue
throwing it on the plate

and picking up another
don't waste them
a nurse said
ask if you don't see

what you want
the foreign woman
chewed on the sandwich
she'd picked

the nurse removed
the torn open sandwich
Naaman ate
a small portion

viewing Yiska meanwhile
licking her fingers
******* the ends
in and out

and he wished
it he she was doing thus
he looked away
the evening sky

was darkening
through the locked
ward windows
the bright electric lights

above their heads
made mirrors
of the windows
and Naaman saw himself

in his blue dressing gown
sans belt in case
he tried to string
himself again

and he gazed at Yiska
once more nibbling
another sandwich
the same *******

technique
the similar lipping
routine
and the missing button

on her nightgown
revealed a small portion
of flesh viewed
her small *******

pressing the cotton cloth
of the nightgown
and he ate unceremoniously
the last of his bread

watching her fingers
licked again
while outside the window
the sound of fresh rain.

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.

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.

Atara loved Dubrovnik
loved the old city walls
the shops and cafés
the churches and narrow streets

she liked sitting
drinking coffee
outside the restaurant

reading her
Schopenhauer book
a cigarette held
between fingers
watching now and then
people passing

Naaman had gone
to see a few sites
he said
rid himself
of his hangover
more like
she mused
by the sea edge
thinking
of the previous night
and too much wine
or Slivovitz

she sipped her coffee
even ***
had to be aborted
room swaying
he pronounced
although it was doing
no such thing
least not
in her head
lying in bed
wanting to sleep
not ***

she heard him snoring
some time after
from the bathroom
sprawled on the floor

the Schopenhauer book
was good even if
somewhat pessimistic
with that Eastern perspective
regarding the Will
and negation

she sipped the coffee
once more
but held the mouthful
sampling the flavour
the sense on tongue
the sensation
on the inner skin
of cheeks
warm and wet
and strong
but not bitter

she swallowed
and smiled
good
better than
the attempted ***
or that achieved
in recent months
and days

she loved Dubrovnik
and Naaman too
but he must
she mused
inhaling smoke
change his ways.

Yehudit lay on her stomach,
chin propped on her hands,
staring over the pond, she
called their lake. Ducks were

there, floating like small boats
on the water’s skin. Naaman
lay beside her his head leaning
on his hand. Last time they had

laid there they had just made
love in the dense woods behind.
Early evening that had been,
moonbeams played on the

surface of the water, the night
cool. She had been concerned
of her mother’s rebuke because
of the lateness. The *** would

have been beyond her mother’s
grasp. You used to fish here, she
said, turning to look at him. I got
bored, he said. I used to swim here

as a child, she said, until one of
the gamekeepers saw me and
informed my father. What did
your mother say to that? he asked.

Father didn’t tell her, he told me
not to swim there again. I missed
that then, he said, smiling. Yes, you
did, she said. It was hot that summer,

I wanted to cool down.  Maybe it
was like a baptism? he said. In the
****? she said. Maybe it was a new
kind of baptism, he said. It nothing

like that. It was innocent fun, she said.
He touched her hand by the pond’s
edge. Her fingers squeezed his. Her eyes
smiled. The sunlight filtered through the

branches overhead, glimpses of blue sky
reflected on the water. That evening we
made love back there, you said you loved
me, she said, did you mean that? Yes, of

course, he said. It was special to me, she
said, not just the making of love of you
and me, but the evening and the moon
and the stars and the smell of you and me

and the flowery smell of it all. He watched
as a duck took off from the pond, its wings
outspread, breaking the air, and she looking
at the pond’s surface with her far away stare.

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

Her blonde hair
and blue eyes
have him enthralled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

His eyes drink her in,
sup up her beauty.

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

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

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

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

I sit on the grass
of the playing field
at high school

hey Naaman
Ro says
who's the skirt?

he points over the field
at a girl
looking at me
searchingly

no idea
I say
why?

she's been gazing at you
for ages
he says

I look at her
standing there
dark hair
sad looking face
gazing back at me

I saw her in the playground
the other day
when it was beginning to rain
and I called out to her
I remember now
I say

Ro shrugs
so what?
she's just a piece of skirt
he says
how about a kick around
with a ball?
he asks

sure I’ll be there
in a minute

he goes off
with the ball
to join other boys
on the field
calling him

I watch him go
then look at the girl
she looks away

I walk over to her
hands in my pockets
put on my Elvis smile

she hesitates
as I approach
you ok?
I ask

she looks at me
her eyes are dark
as her hair
deep and warm

just looking at you
that's all
she says
nothing wrong
in looking is there?

no nothing wrong
I say
want to have a walk?  

she looks at her feet
the shoes are well worn
the black faded

your fiends might not
like me with you
if you want to play
their ball game
she says
not looking at me

we can walk
no harm done
I say

she looks at me
her eyes are shy

don't know
she says

ok
I say
up to you

I begin
to walk off

wait
she says
I guess I could
walk with you

I wait for her
she comes beside me
and we walk away
from the boys
and their ballgame
and along the fence
towards the play area
with seats and benches
along the walls

I feel her nervousness
she seems tense

relax
I say
I won't bite

we walk by the wall
she says nothing
her eyes on the ground

you got any
sisters or brothers here?

she shakes her head

what's your name?
I ask

Shoshana
she replies
looking across
the playground
your is Naaman isn't it?
she says

yes
I say
how did you know?

I heard someone
call you the other day
she says

I want to touch her
feel her hand or arm
or maybe talk longer
but she seems out
of her comfort zone
and I hold back

best go now
she says

and walks off
back to the girls' area
and I watch her go
holding on
to the slight perfume
she had
I sniff it in it
breath in into me
it's not bad.

Nima waits
by the Embankment
of the Thames
she has a few hours

freedom
a few hours to do
as she pleases
(within reason)

the doctors said
OK but no
needle pushing
no pill popping

and so she agreed
and was on her way
although the ward sister
wasn't pleased

she didn't like
her wordiness
her being
too up front

for lying
on her bed at night
******* her ****
thinking of Naaman

but she went anyway
took the train
and sits waiting
having put

on the all
too tight dress
(her father's words
on his rare visits)

and the tight top
with yellow birds
and she watches
the water flowing

the boats and barges
and the occasional
row boat going by
and then he's there

having come out
the tube station
concerned looking
his hair dark

and groomed
the jeans
and open necked shirt
been waiting long?

he asks
yes been almost
picked up twice
as a *****

she says
told them
go **** themselves
he looks at her

and beyond
the river's dullness
buses passing by
cars

motorcycles
lorries
the city alive
sorry about that

he says
train delays
she smiles
no matter

you're here now
how long
have you got?
he asks

a few hours of grace
she says
the doctors were good
said I could come

although the ward sister
the *****
almost put her oar in
but here I am

all yours
well for a while
at least
so where are we going?

how about a coffee
in the park
and a lay down
on the grass to chat

and smooch and relax
no art or cinema
or record shops
or window shopping

he says
or ***
she says
no place

unless you want to
want to have ago
in the bushes
or maybe be daring

and have it away
on  a park bench?
she smiles
no coffee

and a chat will do
he says
besides
I don't perform well

in public
and so they walk up
the road
and cross

by Trafalgar Square
and on down
and into the park
she talking about

dying for a fix
and other things
and he talking about
his boring job

the sitting
and drilling holes
into metal
or the pressing

of two sides
of metal together
and how he'd heard
the new Beatles' LP

something about
a Doctor Pepper
they buy two coffees
and talk on

she gazing at his hair
the eyes staring at her
his mouth opening
and closing

bringing her words
his fingers touching hers
his having dark hairs
along the fingers

hers none
white
thin
good for *******

and he studying
her eyes
seeing himself there
in that darkness

in that faraway place
far from God's kingdom
but near(he thinks)
to His grace.

Yehudit likes
the Mahler 6th
Naaman has given her

but says he ought not
to spend
his money on her

he likes her
he thinks of her
all the time

even when he's away
from her
and she's at home

or abroad
like that first time
when she went Belgium  

and sent him
a postcard
of a Russian artist's

artwork
and he pinned it
to his bed board

along with the photo
of her she'd given him
and he likes

how her fair hair
flows as she walks
the mild wind

taking it
and her eyes
icy blue

like small pools
and he wants
to swim there

and sink in deeper
to find her soul
(sentimental fool

he later thought)
and she has the small
but most delicate

******* he's seen
and held them
and kissed them

that time
at her house
when her parents

were out
after she'd played
some Mozart minuet

on the piano
and he'd almost got
into her *******

when the parents' car
came into the drive
and they had

to sort out
their clothes
and he carried away

the softness
of the *******
I prefer his 2nd symphony

she says
but I'll like the 6th too
and she tucks it

under her arm
as she walks with him
along the country lane

the moon out
and the stars spread
about the sky

and the parents are in
and he is out
the evening cool

the hedgerows
becoming dark shadows
and he smelling

her scent
and nearby
an owl hoots

and a bird
takes flight
and he walking

next to her
in an August night.

Shoshana sees him,
watches him, he walks
through the playground
towards the cloakrooms,

his head turned away
from her, his profile,
snaps it with her eyes
like a camera, Naaman,

she thinks his name is,
the stride of him, so
goose-bumpily he makes
her, somersault of her

innards, her brain alive
like a wire shot through.
He stops, holds out a hand,
palm upwards, eyes the

sky, then her, standing by
the fence, Monkey's Wedding,
he says, smiling, then down
it comes rain and the sunshine

almost hand in hand like a
weird bride and groom, then
downwards falling, go run,
she hears him loudly calling.