Outside Stockholm
in that base camp
having put up the tents
and unloaded the bags

and suitcases
from the top
of the truck
you walked with Moira

to the camp cafe
and order two beers
and burgers and fries
and looked out

the window
at the spread of tents
over the campsite
and Moira said

if I have to share a tent
with that Yank girl another night
I’ll go mad
her and her talk

and boasting
of how many men
she’s *******
and where she’s been

and what she’s done
and always wearing
that leather gear
all black and tight

showing her backside
and small ****
and so Moira went on
and you listened

half heartedly
wondering what Judith
was doing in Florence
and who she was with

and if she remembered you
and would bring you back
some gift like she did
from Amsterdam

that postcard
of a Chagall print
which you pinned
to your wall  

and if she so much
as boasts of her education
once more
I’ll break her

FECKING JAW
Moira said loudly
so that people nearby
turned their heads

and stared
your thoughts of Judith
blew away
and the image

of the Chagall print
pinned to your bedroom wall
maybe she’ll sleep elsewhere
you said

who else to sleep with?
she said
huh? who else is there?
what about that Yorkshire girl?

you asked
maybe she will
I’ll ask
Moira said

can only say no
and she sat
and thought
and sipped her beer

and the other people
looked away
and returned
to their conversations

and you sipped yours
taking note of her small hands
and plumpish fingers
and the small *******

pushing through
the tight tee shirt
and the small
silver crucifix

hanging down between
and her moving chin
and you wondered
how well she *******

but didn’t ask
being
you thought
rather rude.

Elaine sat in class.
She'd seen John
on the bus, but he
had not looked over

at her, but gazed out
the window, sitting
beside the boy Trevor.
She looked back and

he was sitting at back
of class with a boy
called Rowland, he
looking at some book

the boy was showing him.
Once the pupils were
all there Miss G took
the register calling out

the names. Elaine wished
John was beside her at her
desk; wished he was talking
to her not the Rowland boy.

She sat uneasy, her body
plumpish, her glasses smeary
needing cleaning. Miss G
talked about music; about

Mozart; about his piano
works and put on a LP and
the pupils sat arms folded
or hands over faces listening

-or not- to the unfolding
Mozart music piece. Her sister
talked of boys over breakfast;
what so and so had done and

where and their mother had said
NOT AT THE BREAKFAST TABLE
loudly but did boys really sniff
after girls as her sister had said?

Elaine never heard John sniff her.
He had kissed her that day, but
not sniffed-thank God- and she looked
at Miss G as the music played away.

Penguins painted pink,
peacefully practising pragmatic pebble placement.
Perfectly pointy piles, please!

Profoundly pious Pandas ponder pancreatic problems,
predict potential palsy.
Prognosis? Perilously poor.

Pale porpoises proudly plunge purple pools,
placidly pasturing petrified plankton.
Poor protozoans perish.

Portly, paunchy, plumpish, porcine, porky pigs
populate putrid puddles,
Pulverizing pumpkin pies.

Purposely Prickly porcupines pursue palatable plants,
pin-pointing precisely.
Puce petunias preferred.

Pill popping puppet people perpetuate planetary perdition,
pardon profuse pollution.
Pretentious ******.

Mamie met you
in the base camp bar

in Malaga
her curly red hair

damp from a recent shower
and said

Picasso was born here  
In this bar?

you said
No

she moaned
In the city

in 1881
and she took the drink

you’d bought her
I like Picasso don’t you?

she asked
taking a sip

of the drink
and you noticed

the tight tee shirt
snugly holding

her firm *******
and her eyes bright

as sunlight’s breaking dawn
yes

you said
I like his later work

not the Blue
or Pink period or

that Cubist *****
and your eyes

slipped downwards
along her slender frame

the tight blue jeans
caressing her small

but plumpish ***
her fingers holding

the glass
and you thinking

of other things
far removed

from Picasso‘s art
though knowing he

would understand
where your mind

had wandered
and what the scene

your mind had set
like some dramatist

preparing for a play
she sipped more

of the drink
her head thrown back

the nice turn
of the neck

the chin
the nose

the ears protruding slight
between her red

and curly hair
and wondered deep

as you drank your own
if the other hair below

between her thighs
was as red and tight

as that above
and she said

breaking through
your thoughts

Was it lust or love
that moved his brush

Picasso I mean?
and oh you mused

taking on her words
and squeezing

the meaning
from each syllable

that was uttered
on her breath

to lay my head
upon her breast

not to sleep
but dreaming rest

and you turning to her
said High love or low lust

fed by his fond muse
moved his brush I trust.

Elaine sat
on her bed

her plump hands
in her lap

palms upward

wondering
which lines there

was the life
and which was

the love line,
she'd read it

in some place
on a page

in her mum's
magazine,

which her mum
had left there

for Elaine
to study

about girls
and bodies,

periods,
the naming

of each part,
with a line

like a thin
black arrow

showing there
what was what.

What she saw
made her blush

and quickly
turned the page

to see where
her love line

or life live
was on her

upturned palm.
The bold word:

******,
stuck in her

mind like glue;
like having

a brand new
item in her

plumpish palms,
turning round

with fingers
anxiously

not knowing
what to do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Janette Richie
didn’t like you much  
as was shown

that time
in Mr Finn’s class
when she slapped

your face
for something you’d said
leaving you

with a spinning head
and a red cheek
but that aside

and her rather
plump frame
and maybe spectacles

you kind of like
her motherliness
the bossiness

around the class
the way she walked
the wiggly ***

but whatever it was
you’d said to her
to invite the slap

it was just a string
of words carrying
no malice or meaning

to hurt and the sensation
of her hand of flesh
touching your

young boy’s cheek
a nearness
she hadn’t thought on

or given any deeper
probe than the desire
to swipe an annoying boy

not realizing
that the gesture
and the plump hand

landing had more
than a momentary
feel or touch

you there after kind of
liked her in your
secret way

never repeating
the words said
about her plumpish

frame or swaying ***
or the spectacles
of thick glass

and maybe the other
boys laughed
and thought it some

joke of misjudgement
on your part  
but you found

a secret place for her
in your nine year old
heart.

Bring some wine around
Chana said
and I’ll put on
the music

and take off
some clothes
so I took some wine
(red she liked best)

and she put on the Mahler
and we sipped our wine
and she brought out
some small cakes

those fancy things
with small cherries on
and we ate and talked
and I listened to the Mahler

and looked at her
sitting there
with her big blue eyes
and that beehive

hair style
and her plumpish frame
and she said
how's the writing going?

not bad
still typing away
still learning my craft
she put her hand

on my thigh
and said
how about I
show you my craft?

I finished off my fancy cake
and drained my wine
(two glasses after)
and she took me

to her bedroom
with the big double bed
with purple sheets
and cover with large flowers

a picture or two
on the walls
and from the other room
the Mahler still played

and she lay on the bed
after *******
and I looked out
onto the evening sky

and stars and moon
and street lamps
showing a young couple
going by

and I was there with Chana
and she waited there ready
like some big mountain
waiting to be to climbed

and she said
aren't you coming on over?
sure
I said

and began *******
to the distant Mahler
the final movement
of the 2nd symphony

and went on over
and she said
how do you want me?
I told her how

and that was it
we made love
as the Mahler ended
the other room quiet

the far off sound
of a barking dog
from the window
the pale moon

quite bright
and we made love
( sans Mahler)
for most of the night.

Ann has long
brown hair
and a wide spam
of forehead
and deep eyes.

She's Jimi's sister;
he's my best friend,
she has a temper
like a wild horse
and I avoid her
when she's moody.

She opens the door
to her parent's flat.

Yes?

Is Jimi home?

He's out,
gone with Dad
for a while.

When will he
be back?
I ask.

When he arrives.

I look pass her shoulder;
look for her mother.

Can I come in?
Or do you
want to come out
and go to
the bomb site
or park?

What for?
She looks at me;
hands on her hips.

Something to do,
something to pass
the time.

She looks at my clothes
and says:
do you have only
the one pair of jeans?

No, but I like
theses best.

What’s to do
on the bomb site?

Light a fire;
pick small stones
for my catapult;
play cowboys
and bad guys?

Have you got
a spare gun?
I'm not just being
a silly saloon girl;
I want a gun
to blast
the baddies away.

I pull out one
of my 6-shooters
from my S belt;
here have this one;
I hand her a gun.

She holds it
in her hands
and spins it
round her
plumpish finger.

Ok, but I’m
Annie Oakley.

Sure, you be her,
and I’ll be
Wyatt Earp.

So I wait until
she's got her
shoes on
and her cardigan
with flowers on.

We go through
the Square
and down the *****.

She rides her
brown horse
(so she says)
I ride my black horse
across Rockingham Street,
gun at the ready
for the baddies
we might meet.

Are the boys in?
Benedict asked
no they've gone fishing
with their big brother

Milka said
O right
Benedict said
looking at her

standing there
in her Baby Doll
nightie
best go then

I was going
to the cinema
this afternoon
not sure

if they'll be back
in time
she said
he  looked beyond her

into the kitchen
your mum
not about?
no Dad's

taken her shopping
I’m on my own
she said
gazing at him

want to come in
for coffee or tea
or something?
she asked

no best not
he said
she expressed
disappointment

if your parents
come back
they'll put
two and two

together
and come up
with ***
he said

no they wouldn't
they would think
you'd just come
and were just going

I’ll say you came
for the boys
and had only
just found out

she said
you'd lie to them?
he said
if needs must

she said
needs?
he said
how long

have they been gone?
20 minutes
how long
will they be?

long enough
she said
he looked behind him
at his bike

by the fence
of the field
chickens were pecking
around the barn

I’ll come in
for coffee
he said
she backed in

and he followed
watching her cute ****
swaying before him
take a seat

she said
he sat on a seat
at a large oak table
strong or weak

black or white?
white strong
two sugars
she smiled

and took two mugs
down from a shelf
and prepared the coffee
in both

a radio was playing quietly
in the background
the Kinks
were being played

he noticed
she had nice legs
plumpish but neat
from ankles to ****

she poured water
into both mugs
and dripped in milk
she gave him his

and sat down
gazing at him
we have the house
to ourselves

she said
my bed
lonely upstairs
wanting company

she pouted
and pulled
a baby face  
how comes

your not dressed yet?
I seldom get dressed
till late on Saturdays
unless Mum

has a moan
Milka said
Benedict sipped
his coffee

she sipped hers
we could be doing things
she said
we are doing things

he said
we're drinking our coffees
you know what I mean
she said

he looked
at the wood stove
with logs on the floor
warmth came across

a picture hung
on a wall
by a Welsh dresser
they may not

be back for hours
she said
time enough
he mused on her words

but the image
of her parents
coming back
whilst in play

haunted him
not today
he said
your mother trusts me

Milka frowned
and sipped her coffee
shame she does
Milka said sulkily

a Beatles' song
came on the radio
I could sit on your lap
she said

the door of the kitchen
opened and her mother
came in
with shopping bags

and plonked them
on the table
O hello Benedict
come for the boys?

yes
he said
Milka made me a coffee
while I waited

good girl
she said
but still
in that silly nightie

just as well
Benedict is a good boy
or I don't know
what would have happen

my girl
Milka stared at him
as her mother
put away

the shopping
he looked innocent
as a peach
and knew now

that Milka
was out of touch
and out
of his reach.