The stables
where horses
snort and move

and grooms work
and sky dull
and greyish

Alice walks
holding on
for dear life

to the hand
of Mary
the one she

has chosen
to be her
new mother

fingers red
with washing
chores and things

but it's warm
as she holds
the hand tight

Mary talks
of cold nights
noisy bed

attic mice
and spiders
in corners

of the room
Alice says
I could stay

in your room
keep you warm
cuddle up

hold you close
as I did
with Mother

in her bed
before she
was locked up

with illness
of her brain
Mary sighs

feels the hand
in her own
small and warm

small fingers
tiny nails
pink and pure

different class
than her own
we will see

Mary says
stable sounds
horses snort

their large heads
looking out
******* eyes

large white teeth
busy grooms
at their work

Alice looks
inner fear
but draws near

wants to stroke
Mary lifts
Alice up

her red hands
wedged beneath
small armpits

mother's love
smells the soap
in the hair

on the blue
pinafore
Alice smiles

feels the horse
smooth and hot
on her hand

Mary holds
feels the heart
beating soft

as she holds
Alice up
to the horse

secret child
adopted
in her heart

none must know
of this love
secret pact

lift her on
a groom says
Alice thrills

lifted there
Mary holds
the groom laughs

in loud barks
in the blood
this horse love

the groom says
Alice smiles
happiness

shining out
of her eyes
Mary holds

her tightly
keeps her there
on the horse

safe and sound
then later
after that

lifts her down
to the ground
as the horse

with the groom
walk away
come on then

Mary says
let's go back
your father

will wonder
where you are
Alice nods

holds the hand
soft and warm
wants to be

close to her
but she sees
by the house

Nanny stand
arms folded
grim features

dressed in black
Mary holds
the child's hand

tighter still
walking back.

Baruch sat with Fay
on top of the concrete
bomb shelter
on the grass area

of Banks House
in early evening
looking skyward
taking in the stars

sprinkled in the dark
blue sheet of sky
and the moon quartered
as if someone

had taken a slice
out of it like cheese
the coal wharf
was closed up

the shops shut
a few stragglers walked
to the Duke of Wellington
for a drink

deserved or not
steam trains
still went over
the railway bridge

over Rockingham Street
disturbing the air
Daddy said
Jews killed Jesus

Fay said
looking side ways
at Baruch beside her
is that true?

I think the Romans
did the killing
the Jews kind of
egged them on

I suppose
Baruch said
but Jesus himself
was a Jew

he added
watching a bat
flap across the sky
catching his eye

was he?
she said frowning
he doesn't look Jewish
in the picture

in my Bible
she said
he looks
kind of unJewish

Baruch smiled
I guess they painted
the Jewishness
out of him

he said
she lay back
on the shelter roof
her hands resting

on her stomach
looking at the sky
Baruch lay beside her
the density of space

is fascinating
he said
kind of
makes you wonder

how far in it goes and on
Heaven is out there
Daddy said
Fay suggested shyly

beyond the deep dark
Baruch watched
another bat
flap by

the light of stars
reaches us
long after the star
has burnt out

and died
he said
it's like seeing
ghost stars

she laughed
and reached
for his hand
really?

she said
sure are
stars are light years away
their light takes

many years
to reach us
she held his hand
it felt warm

in the evening air
the light
from the nearest star
left there

when we
were 8 years old
and now we're 12
and seeing it

here and now
she liked to feel
his hand and skin
she dismissed

what her father said
that to touch
a Jew
was a deadly sin.

Alice sits
in the room
with blackboard

and easel
and small desk
and small chair

with Nanny
stern and strict
pointing at

the blackboard
with her stick
teaching her

her letters
the grammar
paragraphs

sentences
by long rote
and command

and Alice
knows now that
any cause

of Nanny's
discontent
will bring her

punishment
her father's
hard hand smacks

whack and whack
she sits still
taking note

but bored she
stares out high
windows at

tall tree tops
and blue skies
thinking of

her mother
locked away
(ill in her

head Nanny
coldly said)
then she thinks

of her new
adoptive
mother who

works below
stairs(low stairs
her father

often says)
the one with
the red raw

fingers thin
and young who
secretly

said she would
be her new
adopted

mother but
to strive to
learn to do

her best and
so she does
but thinks of

the time when
lessons are
over she

can sneak down
below stairs
and along

passageways
to where her
adoptive new

mother works
and feel her
embrace her

earthy smell
her soft cheek
against that

rough cloth of
apron the
red fingers

caressing  
her long hair
whispering

words but still
the nanny
drones on the

lesson now
taking its
toll boredom

sinking in
wishing her
adoptive

mother would
come and take
her away

for a walk
to the horse
stables or

into town
holding her
hand the red

hand holding
her pink one
or dreams of

snuggling
up to her
in her bed

feeling her
motherly
tender warmth

but Nanny
still drones on
the long lesson

word on word
keeping her
from the arms

and caress
and earthy
smell of cloth

of her new
adoptive
young mother

below stairs
Alice yawns
secretly

her small hand
over mouth
knowing this

blowing soft
from her palm
to her young

adoptive
mother a
secret kiss.

Under the railway bridge
in Rockingham Street
where the steam trains
go by overhead

quite frequently
going to somewhere else
by Baldy's
the grocer's store

where you get merchandise
quite often
for your mother
you sat with Janice

waiting to have
your hair cut
(your mother sent her
with you

to make sure
it was done right)
she had her
red beret on

the fair hair
flowing from beneath
her bright eyes
and straight white teeth

when we marry
she said
(why do girls do that
to a kid of 8?

at 9 maybe
that's fine
why spoil his day
with wedding days

and such?)
shall I wear
cream or a white dress?
(cream would be better

than white
make her look
less pale
more quaint

make her look
less likely to faint)
cream'd be good
you said

and what about my bouquet?
what flowers
should I have?
(God knows

you mused
I know nothing
of such things
whatever

the flower guy brings)
I don't know
flower names
you choose

you said
she smiled
and nodded her head
who will be

your best man?
she asked
Carmody or Jupp​?
you said

she didn't
look impressed
or Jim?
you added

he'll do
she said
(why ask you?)
you liked the way

her eyes went wide
at the mention
of Jim
(did she fancy him?)

and the way she leaned
her head to one side
when you said
cream to the colour of dress

(to you
it was a thing
to keep from life
and head

it would seem
but to her
it was a dream)
but who

will give me away?
she said
my Daddy's dead
and mother too

would my old man do?
you said
but she shook her head
(wise kid you thought)

Gran may
if she's not too old
she added
looking straight ahead

or too ill or dead
my brother could
if he's old enough then
(many years hence

you hoped)
a boy amongst men
you said
she just smiled

and gave nod of head
and how many kids
shall we have?
she asked

(why ask me
you thought
how many there'd be?)
two or three?

you said
or more
she suggested
gazing at the barber

who was finishing off
a middle-aged man
with a comb and mirror
wearing a smile

who's next?
he asked
taking off the cape
from the man

he is
Janice said
pointing to you
and a short back

and sides
his mother said
Janice added
the barber nodded you

to the chair
and you sat there
gazing at Janice
in the mirror

imagining her
as a bride in white
or cream
on some one's arm

coming down the aisle
with her smile
but not tomorrow
or next year

or after that
but off
some where
in quite awhile.

After the dance,
what then?

The satisfaction of self
or that of men?

The music has stopped,
the dancers prepare
to go home,
remove clothing,
wash, do hair,
prepare.

If only
the dance was all.

Paid sufficient,
paid enough,
not to have to labour
elsewhere or when.

She has danced
until worn
at feet and legs
and head,
but still to please
the men in bed.  

The ballet an art form,
the dance
as old as gods,
but so too,
the bedding
and loving,
and all such things,
that being
all too human brings.

While the music sounds
she's in
some strange heaven,
the dance lifts
and caresses
and loves
and thrills,
but after,
the dullness
of the stillness,
the unapplauding,
the waiting men,
wanting you
in their bed
for *** again,
and then?

Satisfied
and satiated,
they'll turn to their sleep,
wrapped in their dreams,
in their mistress
called slumber,
but the dancer,
the *****,
what for her ?
after the dance,
what more?

Sonya likes
Paris streets
dark cafés

black coffees
cigarettes
those French ones

she likes nights
with wet streets
like oil slicks

those artists
selling cheap
second hand

Picassos
or such like
but mostly

she likes ***
between sheets
in back street

hotel rooms
with windows
with shutters

listening
to a cheap
transistor

radio
some French dame
singing of

a lost love
as she feels
Benedict

kiss each inch
of her flesh
his warm lips

and wet tongue
slide along
her soft groove

the outline
shadowy
of his ****

rise and fall
as they ride
the wild waves

of hot ***
between sheets
Sonya loves

Paris streets.

She missed him
in her bed

missed the smell of him
the indentation

in the pillow
where his head lay

the silly
romantic things

he used to say
the kisses

on her body
every place

ending
on her face

but it wasn't
just the kisses

or the *** she missed
or the way

he fired her up
on entering her

the way
he did each time

no
she missed of all things

the deep joy
he brought

the kind
that only

happiness brings
she turned over

and gazed at the pillow
where his head

once lay
the missing indentation

the dark hair or two
the sight of him

smiling back
after having ***

another time
(he was never slack)

she felt
his absence

more so then
no ghostly smiles

or gazes
just the white

dumb pillow
laying there

smooth and silent
like a sleeping sheep

she ran her finger
along the bed

where once
his body lay

that is where
his **** would be

and there
is where

we made love
that last day

before his death
took him away

she sighed
the echo of it

filling the room
spreading out

each bit of space
sometimes

she thinks
he's still kissing her

first her body
then her face.

He'd already
slit his wrists
and tried
to hang himself

in the crapper
from the water
pipe system
and now they kept him

in the locked ward
sans belt or laces
and kept him
in sight

of at least
one nurse's sharp eyes
but still he managed
to liberate laces

from some old guy's shoes
while he slept
and had just about
tied one end

of the tied laces
to the pipes
when a nurse
seeing him

through the curtains
raised the alarm
and banged
on the door

and raised
merry hell
but he just set about
his slow task

attempting to put
the narrow noose
about his head
when some big

male nurse
(ape build)
banged open
the door

and pulled him down
sans the laces
and pinned him
to the floor

Benedict smelt
body odour
and cheap aftershave
and still

the ape nurse
held him down
there was that
Beatles' song

on the radio
on the locked ward
HELP
I need somebody

the nurse joined in
the chorus line
Benedict caught sight
unwittingly

of the female nurse's
pale pink *******
as she moved
on over to help

and her perfume
was better
and has she
pressed down

nearer
to give aid
he closed his eyes
gentlemanly

so as not to view
the cleavage
coming his way
can’t have

too much excitement
(he mused darkly)
in one suicide
attempting day.

Miryam unzipped
the tent flap
and looked out
pretty dead out here

she said
Benedict looked at her ****
hiding behind
the blue jeans

come back in then
no point
in going out yet
she zipped it

back up
and crawled back
beside him
and lay down

looking up
at the blue tent canvas
what do you think
Morocco's like​?

she asked
Morocco
he replied
she laughed

I know that
but to experience it
apart from what
was in the booklet

they sent
with the other stuff
she said
have to see

when we get there
he replied
are you sure
that ex-army bloke

won't be back?
she asked
not for a few hours
he's gone to see sights

in Malaga
lucky us
she said
make the most of

he said
she gazed at him
is there no
satisfying you?

pretty much not
he said
she smiled
I’m sure people

heard us earlier
she said
your fault
if they did

he said
all that noise
and giggling
and oh oh oh

more more
I didn't
she said
you're making it up

pretty much so
he said
she kissed his cheek
to think I thought you

were the quiet one
she said
I am quiet
as a mouse

he replied
what if he comes back early
and we're making out?
she said

he won't
he's off to see
where
Picasso was born

and other
arty things
Benedict said
people might talk

if they see me
in here too much
she said
they can't see you

in here
he said
they might hear me
then be silent

he said smiling
trying to unbuttoned
her jeans
she watched him

biting her lower lip
seductively
and turning her head
at an angle

who said you could?
shall I stop?
he said
no don't you dare

she breathed out
she held his fingers
and helped unbutton
until it was

all done
there now you
she said
and unzipped his jeans

with one motion
why would he want
to see
where Picasso was born?

she said
taking off
?her jeans
and what other arty things?

Benedict undressed
listening
watching
takin
her tight ****
in the blue bra
museums
art shops

galleries
that kind of thing
boring ****
she said

putting her jeans
and underwear
to one side
yes guess so

Benedict said
what if
he changes his mind
and comes back?

she said
laying down
next to him well he'll get

a free lesson
in biology
won't he
Benedict said

she smiled
and kissed his neck
and said
utterly ****

what the hell
what the heck.

Having met Julie
at Victoria railway station
and travelled by tube
to Charing Cross Road

you sneaked
into Dobell's
jazz record shop
and listened

to some Coltrane
in the small record booth
up close
she having got out

of the hospital
for the day
although
the drug withdrawal

was getting her tight
her short skirt
was riding high
as she sat there

squashed up
near to you
her eyes closing
and opening

her hands
in prayer mode
in her lap
can we go now?

she said
I need a drink
and smoke
so you left the booth

giving the guy
back the Coltrane
record sleeve
and left the shop

taking it on foot
to the café
and ordering
two coffees

and she took out
her smokes and lit up
and she gave
you one too

and she talked
of how her parents
hadn't visited
and how

the whole show
at the hospital
was getting her
on the edge

and you sat
watching her
the dark hair
drawn back

with a black ribbon
the red
high necked jumper
the short black skirt

her eyes bright
as stars
her lips making
a large O

then closing up
and going
like a narrow slit
you remember

that quickie
we had
in that small cupboard?
she said

those brooms
and boxes
and then she smiled
and you smiled too

that was my last time
she said
last time I had it
she said louder

she took a drag
of her smoke
and sat silent
watching the smoke

rise before her eyes
Warwick’s worried
about you
you said

is he now
she said sarcastically
well he can go pray
to his God

for me then
she said
sitting back
in the seat

yes you thought
the ***
had been good
but quick

unexpected
out of the blue
she in her night gown
(and little else)

and in the background
the music playing
from the radio
some Beatles' song

along the hospital ward
what did you think
of the Coltrane album?
you said

breaking the silence
in the café
bored my **** off
she said

I’ll get it anyway
you replied
and she looked out
the window darkly

as if someone
had fingered her
slowly
then died.

Sophia was out of luck
if she thought Benedict
was going to fall for that
that mid morning ****

and on
old Mr Atkinson's bed
(how he liked
his Wagner)

creeping up
on him like that
grabbing him
around the waist

and pushing him
to the bed
and saying
O come on

just a quickie for me
(Polish accent
not shown here)
no no

he said
not here and now
I’ve jobs to do
baths to attend to

old men
to get ready
and she lay over him
spread out on him

her bulging *******
kind of pinning him down
but it is my birthday
she said

it is good to do
the unexpected
now and then
her breath smelt

of peppermint
her body
eased on him deeper
he kept his hands

away from her
at his sides
best he could
all temptations

held in check
you can do
what you like
she said

good then
let me go
and I’ll go run
some baths

he said
anyway
it's near morning
coffee break

I need my fill
of coffee
you could take me here
she said

from the front or rear
no no
he said
trying to get off

the bed
his hands attempting
to push her off
touching her body

soft and supple
her breast touched
accidentally
what if I scream out

and say you tried
to have me?
she said
go ahead

he said
they know me
they know
you're always after me

I’ll say you tried
to have me here
on Mr Atkinson's bed
they believe me

she said
I'm the female
go ahead then
scream off your head

he said
but she moved off of him
and arranged
her clothes tidily

pushed her hair
into shape
and said
I’ll have you next time

Benny boy
next time
we have it quick
and on some other bed

and he rearranged
his shirt and tie
and watched
as she walked off

down the passageway
her fine behind
giving it
that **** sway.

Alice stands
in the room
by the stairs,
at the end
of the house;
the low end,
servant's end,
Father said,
don't go there,
but she does.

She goes down
the back stairs,
down long dark
passageways,
watching staff
in their world,
the kitchen,
scullery,
the wash room,
other rooms.

And this room.
She watches
the thin maid
called Mary
ironing.

Why're you here?
Mary asks.

To see you,
Alice says.

Why see me?
Mary asks.

I love you,
Alice  says.

Mary frowns.
You shouldn't
use those words,
Mary says
turning round.

Alice stands
her small hands
in pockets
of her blue
pinafore.

But I do,
I love you.

Why is that?
Mary asks.

You are kind
like Mother
used to be
before she
had to leave.

Mary heard,
rumours spread,
the mother
had to leave,
had problems
in the head,
locked away
so they say,
for a year
and a day.

She'll be back,
Mary says.

Alice sighs,
I love you,
I want you
to stand in
for Mother,
between us,
Alice says.

Mary sits
on a chair,
flushes red,
between us
I can be
I suppose,
Mary says.

Uncertain
of her pledge
she gazes
at the child
standing there.

Need a hug,
Alice says,
motherly.

Mary feels
at a lost
what to do.

Can I sit
on your lap?
Alice asks.

Mary nods
and opens
her thin arms.

Alice walks
to Mary
and climbs up
on her lap,
lays her head
on Mary's
silky *******,
smells apples
and green soap.

Mary hugs
her closer,
kisses on
the child's head.

Love you, too,
Mary says.

Our secret,
Alice says,
none must know.

None will know,
Mary says,
just we two.

Nanny's voice
echoes down
the passage
Best go now,
Mary says,
learn for me
at lessons,
do your best,
my daughter
adopted.

Alice nods,
kisses quick,
then goes up
the back stairs
out of sight.

Seen Alice?
Nanny asks.

Not at all,
Mary lies,
sees the dark
cruel eyes
scan the room.

She'll be pained
if she's caught
down this end,
Nanny says.

Then she gone,
her black skirt
swishing loud,
the black shoes
going click,
clack, click, clack.

Mary gives
a rude sign
with fingers
behind fat
Nanny's back.

Milka sat on her bicycle
looking at you
the Saturday morning sun
was warm

you'd just finished work
and had met her
by the bridge
where we going?

she asked
we could leave the bikes
at my place
and go into town

to the cinema
you said
what just sit there
in the dark

and not be able
to see each other
or such?
she said

we could ride
to where I used to live
and see the pond there
where I used to fish?

you said
is it far?
she said
not too far

she pulled a face
can't go to my place
she said
my mother's home

as she usually is
no chance
of being alone
with you there

she said grumpily
mine is no good
at weekends
you said

she looked at you
her eyes gazing
the old pond then
it is

she said
and you began to cycle
with her beside you
back up the hill

and by the farmhouse
where she lived
and along narrow lanes
between hedgerows

and birds flying out
and the occasional
car rushing by
she beside you

talking all the way
about how her mother
moans about her
not doing this or that

or not doing
the chores properly
and how her two brothers
tease her

about going out with you
and how you needed
to see a shrink
and you smile

knowing her brothers well
then you're on the main road
and a mile or so
and you are there

and go in
by the back way
along a narrow lane
and into the woods

behind the cottage
where you used to live
and along the narrow ride
through the woods

to the field
and then the pond
which is peaceful
and the water is still

and a few ducks
swim there
and birds sing
from tall trees

you rest the bikes
against trees
and sit on the grass
by the pond

quiet here
you said
we used to call this
the lake

who's we?
Milka said
my old girlfriend and I
you replied

where is she now?
we don't see
each other any more
you said

Milka said nothing
but gazed at the water
of the pond
at the ducks there

and looked
at the fish
just beneath
the surface

did you make out here?
she asked
now and then
you said

why bring me here?
she said moodily
it's quiet
and we can be alone

you said
is that all?
not wanting relive
old memories with me?

she said
you gazed at her
no of course not
that was a different thing

different love
so you say
she said
should we leave then?

you said
she stared at the pond
at the ducks drifting
and the sunlight

through the branches
of tall trees
no
she said

I like it here
she lay down
on the grass
sunlight on her face

her hands resting
on her abdomen
you lay beside her
did you really

make out here?
now and then
did no one see you?
not that we ever knew

you said
she smiled
risky
what if someone had?

we didn't think of that
at the time
bet you didn't
she said

what was it like
the first time?
it's history
you said

we're what matters now
she nodded
yes I guess we are
she said

and the sun shone bright
through the tall trees
and a bird flew by
over head.

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.

Judith sat on her bed
the window showed
night sky

and moon
and stars
she'd been

carol singing
with the choir
walking the route

outlined
singing at houses
to people

she and Benedict
amongst others
the parson

had the torch
others battery lamps
to read from sheets

she had walked
with Benedict
close by

near to his elbow
breathed in
his air

not cold
his hands
holding the sheet

if I lean closer
I can rub mine
against his

she did
skin on skin
she lifted her eyes

from the sheet
with words of carols
studied his face

lit up by
lamp light
hazel eyes

lips open
now closed
kiss

O if
maybe he will
if

she leaned in
he looked up
from the sheet

looked at the others
nearby rustling sheets
moving lamps

shadowed
he moved in
please kiss

she sensed him near
lips brushed
closer please

touch me
fill me
empty me

he moved in
pressed his lips
to hers

all else blanked
moon
stars

sky
others
rustling sheets

light gone
all else
but the kiss

the lips
undone
opened up

filled
she sensed
knife-like wounds

in her being
in her heart
in her ***

her heart somersaulted
her lips burned
to bright red

and branded his
more more
press

into me
seal our lips
as one

his free hand
encircled her
hers

encircled him
her bed creaked
she moved

further back
their lips
had parted

carols began
others sang
he and she

rustled sheets
lips aflame
she felt older

than her 13 years
at that moment
in time

he seemed ancient
in his 14 years aged
just love

lips
kiss
no crime.

Jane opened her hands
and the butterfly
fluttered off

across the grass
and you watched
and she told you

what its name was
and its colouring
but you

were more focused
on her hands
the fingers held so

as if Michaelangelo
might have
painted them

in a creative urge
to pin down
an example

of beauty
and as her voice
spoke on

you saw the hands
come together
and embrace

and caress
each other
as you both walked

along the lane
between
high hedges

first this finger pointed
then that
gesturing towards

this flower
then that
names came

and colouring
and her voice sang
as she talked

the words
being flung
in the air

like a juggler's *****
and you reached out
to catch each word

and place
its meaning
but her eyes

caught you
the colour
the brightness

and fires flamed there
and they grow
only here

she said
so I’ve read
her words said

and the lips parted
just to allow
words to go

like busy bees
to work
and the glimpse

of teeth and tongue
and what do you think?
she said

beautiful stuff
you replied
not quite

the words
you wished for
but which came

like lazy boy's
to school
they are

she said smiling
her hands parting
one reaching

for yours
O that
may have been Heaven

for all you knew
a bright
sun-blessed smile
out of the blue.

Fay stood next
to Baruch
in the Square

have a ride
if you like
on my new

blue scooter
he had said
so she did

with one foot
placed firm on
the scooter

the other
pushed away
the hard ground

moving on
the scooter
hands gripping

the rubber
handle bars
and she sensed

air in her
face and hair
moving fast

Baruch left
behind her
in the Square

he thinking
how happy
now she was

moving on
over ground
other kids

shouting out
faster Fay

and she did
as if all
pent up fears

had gone bang
and had then
disappeared

get off that
Jew's scooter
her father

shouted out
and she turned
and the fears

all returned
she got off
the scooter

handed it
to Baruch
all joy gone

happiness
had dissolved
her father

gripped her hand
hauled her off
looking back

at Baruch
hatefully
but Baruch

merely smiled
his contempt
his green eyes

or hazel
as some said
shooting off

those arrows
pretendingly
in the ****

of Fay's strict
catholic
father but

to Fay he
blew to her
from his palm

the unseen
pink kisses
of concern

then she'd gone
up the stairs
to her fate

a lecture
against Jews
murderers

of Jesus
he will say
or worst still

punishment
a beating
to enforce
his strict will.

Her parents are rowing.

Alice hides in a door way
of the semi-dark passage,
pressing her back against
the door's old wood.

His baritone bark,
her mother's soprano screech,
words reaching beyond
walls hold and depth.

She closes her eyes
against the dimness
and half light,
to hear more or better.

She has evaded
the nanny's search,
ignored the siren's voice,
had hidden and smiled.

The row goes on,
voices higher,
her ears catch at sounds
that float her way.

Far off,
she hears the nanny's voice
grow more desperate
in the morning search.

She misses
her mother's touch and hold,
misses the bedtime
reads and kisses,
instead,
the nanny bids her goodnight
and shuts out the light
with neither kiss or hold
or any caress
as her mother gave.

Silence greets her ears;
the row has ceased.  

The semi-dark
embraces her unkindly,
her closed eyes bring
no comfort to her mind.

A bang and slam,
the row restarts,
Alice opens her eyes
to the semi-dark,
the vibrating voice
of her father's bark.

A slither of light appears
from the passageway beyond,
one walks slow
along the carpet's length,
footsteps soft
against the rowing sounds.

The thin maid appears,
stands gawking,
hands red and thin
by her narrow sides.

What you doing here?
Alice shrugs.
Come, the maid says,
this is no place
for tender ears to wait.

Alice hesitates,
then, taking
the proffered hand
walks along the semi-dark,
the voices
like the drowned
upon the sea,
then off along
the lower regions of the house,
where sounds don't reach
so wild, for one such as she,
a little child.

Della holds
tightly in
her stubby

nail bitten
8 fingers
a buttered

slice of toast
taking bites
now and then

then dips it
in the boiled
egg yoke deep

her mother
watches her
Downs daughter

with those kind
Mongoloid
bright blue eyes

how'd you sleep?
My eyes closed
Della says

sleep all night?
Yes all night
did you dream?

Had nightmare
what about?
Froggy's touch

what about
Froggy's touch?
I pretend

I'm asleep
why pretend?
If he thinks

I'm asleep
he won't touch
over much

he touches?
Touches me
tickles you?

Not always
but sometimes?
Della nods

eats her toast
her mother
looks at her

the wide mouth
the broad tongue
touches me

secret place
secret place?
Where abouts?

Della dips
the soldier
of sliced toast

in the yoke
of yellow
prods it down

and then out
and licks it
where abouts

does he touch?
Mother asks
secret place

Froggy says
mustn't tell
where abouts

Loadingdoes he touch?
Froggy said
cousin's can

where abouts
did he touch?
Mother asks

once again
Della stares
at her plate

of boiled egg
and sliced toast
thinking of

Froggy's touch
and promise
she had made

not to blab
(Froggy's word)
about it

the secret
touching place
it's nowhere

Della says
dreamed of it
in my sleep

are you sure?
Mother asks
Della nods

and dips toast
in the yoke
of the egg

thinking on
Froggy's touch
up her leg.

Annona feigns sleep.
Marcus has bored her
With his talk of the

Campaign; droning on
About this aspect
And that and not a

Mark on his body
To show for all the
Dangers he says he’s

Been through. The flowers
He brought lie on her
Lap. Marcus gets up

To leave the room. I
Have forgotten how
Tired you must be,

He says looking at
His wife lovingly,
And me chattering

On and you wanting
Your bed and sleep, he
Adds craftily and

Smiling to himself.
Amy waits outside
The open door; she

Pretends to show her
Disinterest in
It all, holding back

A smile, knowing her
Mistress feigns well this
Tiredness and sleep.

Make sure your mistress
Gets to her chamber
Safely, Marcus tells

Amy bluntly and
Giving her his cold
Eyed stare. She nods and

Bows and watches him
Walk away with his
Usual swagger

And toss of head. If
You knew how I lay
In your wife’s soft bed,

She mutters, seeing
His figure go from
Her sight, how it was

I who kept her warm
And whom she kissed and
Made love to while you

Were away on your
Campaigns, you wouldn’t
Swagger so; would not

Seem so confident
Of your manliness
Or your wife’s fond love

And devotion. She
Smiles and gazes in
At her mistress who

Still feigns sleep, the red
Flowers lying on
Her lap like broken

Promises and frail
Tokens of lost love
After a long fought

Campaign. Amy stands
Waiting patiently
For her mistress to

Open her eyes and
Wishes her master
Were long gone; she wants

To share and sleep in
Her mistress’s bed
And that love again.

Ingrid knows
the absence
of real love,

she 's known it
all 9 years
of her life.

Her mother's
indifference,
her father's

strict and cruel
attention,
the beatings,

the cold stares,
the loud shouts,
the harsh threats,

promises
of spankings.
There is just

the one love:
Benedict
from along

the narrow
balcony
of the flats,

9 years old,
brave of heart,
with his sword

painted blue
(his old man
had made it),

false silver
6 shooter,
cap firing

toy hand gun,
gun holster,
leather belt,

with wide grin,
hazel eyes,
with talk of

cowboy films,
Robin Hood,
Ivanhoe,

and she his
pretty Maid
Marian,

so he  says
or cowgirl
borrowing

his rifle,
to shoot down
bad cowboys

or Injuns.
He takes her
to his haunts:

the bomb sites,
the bombed out
old buildings,

the play parks,
cinemas
to watch films

in the dark,
feeling safe
beside him.

He has seen
her bruises,
her medals

of beatings,
the red welts
on her skin;

understands
the reasons,
who did it,

but not why;
giving her
cruel father

the cold eye
or hard sneer
when he sees

her father
in the Square
or passing

on the stair,
*******
two digits

(up you pal)
gesturing
behind her

father's back.
Ingrid knows
the absence

of real love,
she known it

all 9 years
of her life;
except for

Benedict,
her young knight
with blue sword,

and one day,
when they're grown
and left home,

she'll be his
pretty Maid
Marian

love and wife,
so she dreams
in her bed

in the night
of her sad
childhood life.

Skinny Kid sat
by the white metal table
on the lawn
Anne sat opposite him

her crutches
by her chair
I heard
you puked last night?

Anne said
I did
Skinny kid said
all over the blankets

and pillowcase
nice
said Anne
it was the liver

they made me eat
he said
I told them
it made me ill

but they said
it was good for me
and said
I had to eat it

serves them right
she said
Sister Bridget moaned at me
he said

O her
she's got  a face
on her
like a sufferer

of haemorrhoids
what's haemorrhoids?
he asked
painful

bulging blood vessels
hanging from the ****
she said
he tried not

to picture it
or see it
in the nun's face
feel better now though

he said
good
she replied
my mum's visiting today

he said
good for you
she said
has your mum

visited you yet?
he asked
no I think she's
making the most

of me
not being around
Anne said
it's a kind of holiday

for her
me stuck here
after my fecking leg
was chopped off

he stared
at the area
of her skirt
where no leg appeared

she saw me in the hospital
and brought me grapes
and flowers and stuff
and a bag

of odd socks
he stared
at her one leg
hanging from out

of the skirt
does it hurt?
he asked
it does at times

and I go to rub it
and it isn't there
someone's stolen
me fecking leg

Anne bellowed
to the kids
playing on the swings
and slide

on the lawn
of the nursing home
they looked over
at her

then quickly
looked away
a nun nearby
shook her head

and wagged
a finger
Skinny Kid looked
at the vacant area

of skirt again
what's the matter Kid
want to see my stump?
and she hitched up

her skirt
to reveal the stump
of her leg
and a glimpse

of blue underwear
he blushed
and looked
at his hands in his lap

never mind Kid
she said
good manners
is a load of crap.

You met Janice
going to Baldly's groceries
to get a list of goods
for your mother

how goes it?
you asked
Gran tanned
my backside yesterday

for going
on the bomb site
when she had told me
not to

Janice said
sorry I got
you into trouble
you said

not your fault
I’m responsible
for my own actions
she said

I knew Gran
had told me
not to go
but I chose

to disobey
so paid the price
guess she's annoyed
with me too

you said
I didn't say
who was with me
she said

how did she find out ?
a neighbour saw me
and told her
I was on a bomb site

with other kids
and that was it
where you going?
you asked

got to buy
some cereals
for breakfast
she said
going to Baldly's groceries

but not to get any
with those
free toys inside
why's that?

Gran said it's a gimmick
how about going
to the cinema
this afternoon?

you asked
can't
she said
not allowed

after yesterday
she said
shame
you said

got a good western on
and the good guy
has two guns
and has a neat way

of going for his guns
which I want to copy
and practice
she looked sad

I'd liked to
she said
but maybe
another time

when I'm out
of the dog house
sorry
about the trouble

I've landed you in
you said
my fault
mea culpa

as they say
in mass
mea culpa ?
you said

it means my fault
in Latin
she said
I got my backside tanned

once for peeing
in my toy box
you said
she looked shocked

peed in your toy box?
yes I was trying
to impress a cousin
but he told on me

and that was it
I never told
on you yesterday
she said

thank you
you said
she kissed your cheek
best get on

with the shopping
she said
ok
you said

and so she went
in Baldy's with you
and did the shopping
and afterwards

you walked back
your separate ways
after a few words of farewell
and a wave of hands

hoping to see her
again sometime
after her punishment
for the petty crime.

This is the pond
she called your lake,
trees still surround,
similar sky,
birds sing,
but she has gone,
cancer ridden,
to an early plot.

This is where you sat
and talked
and laughed,
this green grass,
grows still,
flowers near by,
but she had been taken
death's finger
judged her ripe to die.

This is the sky
beneath which
you lay,
eyes focusing
on clouds move
and shape
and size,
but she is no more,
cancer
caressed her
and it gave
deadly kiss;
it is not sky
or bird or flower,
but she you miss.

This is where
she lay
and kissed
and held your hand
and loved you deep,
but she has died
of cancer's curse,
its deadly touch,
she has gone
and is missed
so much.

Helen put dandelions
she had picked
into the pocket
of her dress

present for my mum  
she said
she likes flowers
soon be her birthday

but I don't know
how old she is  
but flowers
is the best to get

don't you think?
Benedict nodded
he'd taken her
to the grass

in the park
where dandelions
grew in abundance
she'll like them

he said
I think so
Helen said
they came out

of Jail Park
and crossed Bath Terrace
and along
by the metal fence

until they came
to Rockingham Street
she talking
about the man

who stopped her
on the way to school
a few says before
and he said

he would take her
to the seaside
if she went with him
there and then

what did you say
to him?
Benedict asked
I didn't know

what to say
he looked so scary
should have gone
to find a copper

Benedict said
I was scared
she said
so what happened?

I just stared at him dumbly
like I was an imbecile
as Dad says to me
when I sit

at the dinner table
with my mouth open
then what?
Benedict said

he took my hand in his
and it was hot
and sweaty
and I screamed at him

and he ran off
she said
good for you
Benedict said

should have
kneed him one
I was too scared
to do anything

that's why
I screamed
they went under
the railway bridge

just as a steam train
went across the bridge
and pushed grey
and white smoke

over the side
and into the sky
and she said
where would he

have taken me
do you think?
God knows
Benedict said

but not to the seaside
but he didn't say where
he kept that
dark image

to himself
and let it stay there.

Della walks
with her father
onto the beach.
Sand, sun,

sea going out.
Sea,
she says
love it.

Her father looks at her,
takes in her smile,
her well kempt hair,
the tip of her tongue

resting there
on her lower lip.
Did your mother
pack your swim gear?

Packed it in my bag.
Where's the bag?
She looks back
towards the car

parked by the road.
You must try
to remember
these things.

I did, then I forgot.
It doesn’t help.
Angry sounds.
He sighs.

Stay here, don't move,
he says
and walks back
towards the car,

over the sand,
hands in the pockets
of his black jeans.
She watches him walk.

Angry walk,
she thinks.
She sees him
most Saturdays,  

sometimes Sundays,
since
the divorce.
He gets to the car

and takes out
her pink bag,
locks the car
and treads back

towards her,
his face dark
and unsmiling.
Like smiling faces.

There you are,
he says.
She takes the bag
and they

walk down
towards the sea.
He gets out
a large beach towel

and lays it down
on the sand.
Here we are.
Sea smells salty.

It does.
If you sniff it
it gets up your nose.
He nods,

gets out a book
and begins to read.
Makes your nose feel salty.
She looks at her father,

he stares at the page
of his book.
Can I go into the sea?
Be careful.

She stare sat him.
Shall I get on
my swimming
costume here?

Yes,
he says,
turning a page.
People will see me.

They do.
Mum holds the towel
up around me.
He sighs and gets up

and gets out
a large coloured towel.
OK then,
get your gear on.

She takes out
her swimming costume
from her bag
and drops the bag

on the sand.
She looks at him.
Mum puts the towel
around

me so people
can't see me.
He sighs
and puts the towel

around her,
stares out
at the beach.
She takes off

her cat patterned top
and drops it down.
Then she removes
her skirt and underwear

and quickly,
but awkwardly
puts on her costume.
He looks at ships

on the horizon.
Seagulls,
bathers,
families and lovers.

She pulls at the costume
to get it comfortable.
Done it.
Good.

He folds the towel,
puts it beside him
and begins to read again.
She stands looking at the waves.

Mum walks me to the waves.
Why?
In case I slip.
You're a big girl now.

What if I slip?
He lifts his eyes
from the page.
You won't.

Mum holds my hand in case.
Your mum does
a lot of things
I don't.

He reads on.
She stares at him
for a few moments,
then unhappily

walks down
towards the waves.
She has her hands out
like a tightrope walker,

to balance herself
over the sharp stones,
here and there.
She reaches the area

where the waves rush in.
She stands there looking out.
She sniffs the air. Salty.
People around her stare.

A child laughs.
Two boys whisper.
She walks into the water.
The sea is warm,

rushes over her feet.
She clutches her hands together,
looks at the boys.
Warm water.

Wet, too.
The boy grins.
She's a Mongol,
the other boy says.

Funny features,
the other says,
big lips, and tongue.
She looks back at her father

reading up on the beach.
She paddles deeper.
Leaves the boys behind.
The waves rush against her knees.

She claps her hands,
hugs herself,
feels hers small *******.
The sea is crowded

with bathers.
Noise, laughter
and shouts fill the air.
She stands still.

A boy splashes her.
She puts her hands
over her face
to keep the water

from her eyes.
He rushes back
towards the beach,
laughing.

The water rushes
to her thighs.
Best not get out too far, deary,
a woman says nearby.

I'm Della,
not Deary,
she says.
The woman nods and smiles,

well be careful, Della.
The sea can be  dangerous.
Mum says
be careful.

Yes, you must.
Mum's not here.
Who's with you?
My dad's with me.

Where is he?
Della points towards the sand
where her father
is reading his book.

Be careful, Della,
the woman says.
Be careful, mum says.
Yes, be careful,

the woman repeats.
The woman gazes at Della.
Sees her vacant expression.
Her daughter died

the year before.
Drowned.
Della  looks back
at her father

sitting reading.
Mum watches me.
So she should.
Dangerous place the sea.

Della stares
at the incoming
rush of waves,
loud shush of the sea.

Your dad should watch you, too,
the woman says.
He reads.
He should watch you.

Della hugs herself tighter.
Best not get in
much deeper, Della dear,
the woman says.

Deep.
Gets to my thighs.
Yes, higher
than you ought to go.

Frightened.
Let's go back,
the woman says.
Della clutches

her arms tighter.
I fell last time,
and got salty water
in my mouth.  

Sickly.
Was sick after.
In the car.
The woman smiles.

Let's walk back  
to your dad.
The woman holds out
a hand.

Della hesitates.
Her father
is reading his book.
She puts out her hand

and holds
the woman's hand
and they walk up
towards the beach.

The warm hand holds her.
Far from
her father's sight
and the deep sea's reach.

That was it
the **** bit
where love ends
where promises are broken
where kisses freeze
on cheeks or lips.

That was it
the tough bit
where cancer creeps
spider like
or slithers through limbs
as snakes through grass
and you die.

That was it
the hard bit
where suffering outweighs
the scales of prayers
and the child cries
for a loss
up the tall stairs.

That was it
the crucifying bit
the nails hammered in
the cross of flesh and bones
the heart plundered
for feelings and sense
the last farewell
no recompense.

Oslo that summer
having left the base camp
and the tent
with the Australian guy

(he was with the Yank girl)
you walked about
looking at the sights
Moira beside you

in her denims
and white tee shirt
and her hair frizzed
after a shower

(which she had taken alone
worse luck)
and she was talking
about the Yank girl

with whom she shared
her tent
O the perfume she wears
I’d rather sleep

in a tent
with a camel
than with her
and her voice

***** my head
and do you know
I've heard about
her love life

from the very beginning
I’d rather spend the night
listening to a duck quack
you nodded

and listened
taking in her fire talk
her four letters words
filling the air

floating there
like black
angry birds
you can share with me

any time
well you could
if I didn't have
the Australian guy there

smelling of beer
and talking about Sheilas
and how he did this
and that

you said
no
Moira said
and have them

talk about me too
no I’m not that
kind of girl
besides

how would we work it
to allow that to be?  
don't get so angry
about things

why do you Scots
get so moody?
it's not just us
she said

it's the ******* world's
view of us
as wee tight *******
when we're not

anyway
she went on
giving you the stare
what do you

know of Scots?
lived in Edinburgh
for a while
you said

nice place
so much history
well there you go
she said

anyway what’s that
got to do
with the Yank *****
and her perfume

and the love life
of a ******* rabbit
nothing I guess
you said

I think she's over here
studying art
O then
that explains it

the way she has
the I-couldn’t-go-a-day
-without- a man's- ****
-in-me

kind of talk
and philosophy
Moira said
spitting out words

like broken teeth
what about a beer?
you said
chill out

and take in a view
and have a smoke
and I can tell you
of my love life?

the beer's a good idea
but I’m not so keen
on the tales
of your **** life

she said
so you found a bar
off a street
and sat outside

with two beers
and a couple of smokes
and you wondering
how she bedded

and how indeed
to get her into your tent
and what to do
with the Australian guy

and the Yank dame
and off she went again
moaning about
the Southend

teacher guy
did you see him
at the from
of the mini bus

giving it all
that talk of history
and that Lancaster *****
all ears and ******* teeth ?

you sat and smiled
listening to her
talking of herself
and the world's grief.

Della lays in bed.
The moon is full
shines through the
window. Her mother

seemed angry, about
her getting into the
car, with the man who
was her mother's friend.

Shouting voice, long words.
The police questioned
the man about it, but
nothing was done, so

he was released with
a warning, not to pick
her up again. She liked
the car. The seat was

comfortable. Springy
over bumps. The man
said: do you want to see
the ducks? She likes ducks,

like the colours, the way
they seem to glide on water.
The man said that she was
very pretty, she liked it

being said she was pretty,
many tell her she's ugly,
a duckling, a plump *****,
whatever that was. She

watches as the moon seems
to drift across the window,
clouds cover it and uncover
it like a magic trick, she smiles.

The man said she had nice
legs and eyes. She liked  him
for saying nice things. Some
boys at school call her monkey

face. She saw the man's hand
touching her leg. She thought
his hand was warm, soft touching.
He never said anything about

her being Downs. He never
seemed to mind her tongue
sitting on her lower lip when
she spoke, never made fun of her

as some girls did when she spoke
to them. She liked seeing the ducks,
the colours, the way they swam.
He held her hand. He said in case

she fell and her mother would be
worried. His hand was hairy, the
hairs tickled her. After the ducks
he put her seatbelt on, leaning over

her. He said her perfume was lovely.
He was kind to kiss her hand; some
boys squeeze it to make her cry.
Her mother is angry, she hasn't told

her mother about the man kissing;
she got so angry about the car ride.
She said nothing more. Looked at
the fire in her mother's eyes; her

shouty voice hurt her ears. She
closes her eyes. The police lady
asked her questions. Some words
she didn't know, she just shook

her head, said nothing more.
Her mother wide eyed crying.
All because of a car ride. Della
liked the car, the colours, the

smell of leather on the seats.
The man had a nice smell; his
voice soft and deep. She hears
the wind outside. Time to sleep.

Sonya in the moments free
of serving the customers
leaning on the serving bench
dark brown eyes

on you
her dark hair
pinned back
said she liked

Mahler’s 4th best
O so exciting
so full of the life
you preferred

the 5th or 2nd
but she said
no no too deep
too long

life is for living
not dozing
to long symphonies
she preferred Kierkegaard

to your Nietzsche
liked his leap of faith
his books on God
and such

you liked her mouth
small
like rose petals
stuck together

her ears visible
and so lickable
(if ever permitted
to do so)

that Nietzsche
she said
went mad
think it

was the pox
stuck his *****
in some *****'s hole
she stopped to serve

a customer
all smiles
and politeness
that butter

wouldn't melt
in her mouth
kind of thing
you carried paint

up from the basement
and shelved it
in colour order
thinking of her

laying in some bed
Mahler's 4th
blaring out
she putting chocolates

one by one
into her small mouth
and licking
her fingers

afterwards
so sexily
one leg
slightly lifted

the other flat
and you imagined her
yakking off
about the Kiergegaard guy

her other hand
not stuffing chocolates
in her mouth
resting over

her ***** hairs
you read Dante?
she asked
having served

the customer
with a smile
and politeness
yes the Purgatory

you said
that is where men belong
she said
unless they take

the leap of faith
she leaned
on the serving bench
eyeing you deeply

what you thinking about?
she asked  
how well you serve
the customers

you lied
thinking of her lips
pressing against yours
her tongue meeting yours

in her mouth
of her body
her hair
her eyes

that is why
I am here
to serve
she said

but she was serving you
differently
inside
your young man's head.

Lara sat
beside him

in the old
city of

Dubrovnik
sipping wine

better than
that coffee

you're drinking
is that so

he replied
gazing at

her beauty
in morning's

bright sunlight
yes it's so

and what's more
healthier

I'm ok
he boasted

even though
you kept me

from my sleep
with demands

for more ***
she sipped wine

small finger
sticking out

kind of posh
can't keep up?

he liked her
long red hair

the dark eyes
the red lips

sipping wine
the milky

coloured ****
yes I can

he replied
but she knew

that he lied
she had to

drag him from
his slumbers

wake up his
slack member

ease it in
to harbour

like a wrecked
old schooner

how's your dreams?
about me?

he sipped slow
his coffee

maybe so
he replied

maybe not
but she knew

that they were
he called out

in his sleep
no more ***

Lara dear
as he lay

on his back
his eyes closed

his member
once more slack

he knew it
knew he had

dreamed of her
her parted

fleshy thighs
and the lips

of her fruit
wanting him

one more time
more coffee?

she asked him
to keep you

from slumber?
I'm ok

he replied
want more wine?

she sipped slow
finger raised

not just now
I am fine

but she lied
he knew it

another night
coming up

more wine drunk
more *** talk

more kisses
but his mind

and member
just ready

just waiting
for slumber.

What's a Mongol?
Della asks Froggie,
her cousin. He sits
beside her on her bed,

flicking through her
CDs. What people
used to call people
with Downs, he says,

taking out a Talking
Heads album, gazing
at the cover. Why?
Who said it? Della

stares at him, tongue
resting on her lower
lip, her eyes bright,
drinking him all in.

Man on the bus said
to me. The *******,
Froggie says. *******?
Della looks at Froggie's

tattooed hands. Not
nice person, he says.
She lays her head on
his tattooed arm. He

flicks some more CDs.
Man said sit elsewhere
to me. If I'd been there,
I'd have floored him.

Floored him? Della
twirls a finger in a lock
of hair. Flattened the
***. She closes her bright

eyes, imagines the man
flattened. Did you? What?
Sit elsewhere. She nods.  
I'd have thrown him off

the fecking bus, Froggie
says, taking out an Oasis
album and turning it over.
She opens her eyes, rubs

her head on the tattooed arm.
Man said I shouldn't be
out in public. Why? Said
they used to lock my type up.

Who was this prat? Don't
know. Stranger on the bus.
Froggie puts down CDs and
rubs her head.  She looks at

him, feels his hand rubbing
her head. Never should have
been locked up years ago,
Froggie says. Were they?

Yes, Uncle said they were,
he worked in a mental hospital
years back. Why? Froggie
kisses her head. People were

ignorant or ashamed; locked
them out of sight. Why?
She hugs Froggie's tattooed
arm. Don't know, Del. She

closes her eyes. Tears seep.
Run her cheek. Froggie wipes
them off with his finger and
licks it. Not worry crying over.

She kisses his arm, hairy,
tattooed, blue and red, yellow.
Put on the Stone Roses. Della
takes the CD and puts it on her

lap top and sits next to Froggie.
They kiss lips and rub noses.

When Christine heard
that he'd tried
to hang himself
in the men's crapper

desperation bells
began to ring
inside her head
then she saw him

on the locked ward
sans laces
or belts
or anything

he may use
to repeat
the performance
and he sat

in the big chair
his eyes dull
and his hair untidy
and with that loose hanging

dressing gown
minus belt
and in pyjamas
like some

Auschwitz guy
and she said
what the ****
you in here for?

sitting in the armchair
next to him
broken heart
broken love

lost love
soul crashing
through all gears
to get back

to base
who knows?
he said
like that huh?

join the club
for what it's worth
we're all ****** up here
like driftwood

on a lonely beach
on some deserted island
she said
he gazed at her

disinterestedly
as if a gnat
had landed
on his hand

they lock
the doors here?
sure do
all the time

what about visitors?
once a week
Sundays
he looked at her

at her dark
long straggly hair
her dull eyes
why you here?

he said
some ****
left me
at the altar

all dressed up
like some nun
in white
she said

he must have been
mad to have left you
anywhere
he said

well he must be
because he did
opposite
an Indian woman

sat crossed legged
picking
at her toes
a red spot

on her forehead
dressed
in long gowns
of bright colours

a plump woman
walked by smoking
eyeing them
suspiciously

foul mouthing
the nurse going by
so how long
you been here?

he asked
week or so
how long you staying?
until they say

I can leave
when will that be?
when they think
I’m better

or cured
or able to be
balanced again
when will that be?

how the ****
do I know
she said
sorry

about the language
anger gets
to my tongue
before I do

you're not going
to hang yourself
again are you?
she asked

don't know
who I am any more
don't know jackshit
about myself

whoever myself is
she nodded
looked at his
handed in slippers

the scar
on his left wrist
not your first time then?
she said

touching the scar
guess not  
he said
welcome to Purgatory

she said
he sensed her finger
on his scar
the female touch

he wanted something
whatever it was
something
to hold on to

O
so very much.

Miryam sits at the bar
sipping a Bacardi,
bumming a smoke
from a packet open
on the bar top.

Hear you went
to Fez today,
she says.

Yes, it was like
something out
of Bible times,
you say,
camels, donkeys,
people in head gear
and gowns and such.

I would have come,
she says,
but I was too
shagged out
after the night before.

You eye her,
the tight curly
red hair,
blue eyes,
red lips.

I made it ok,
you say.

Don't know how,
she says,
you left after I did.

And you didn't come in
the tent
for a goodnight
kiss or more,
she adds,
staring at you.

Thought moaning Minnie
would be back,
you say.

She didn't show
until hours after;
been having it off
with that ex-army guy
of yours.

So that’s where
he went,
you say,
taking a quick sip
of your wine.

I'd have stayed
if I'd known.

Miryam inhales deeply,
then exhales.

Where's Army boy now?
she asks.

No idea,
joined the navy
for all I care,
you say.

We could now
if you like,
she says.

Where?
You take in
her tight blouse,
tight skirt
with a slit
at the side,
showing thigh.

One of those
sand dunes,
they're deep enough
to hide us,
she says.

Now?
Why not?
What if someone
comes over
and sees us?
They see us.

Nothing new
in what we'll be doing.

She drains
her Bacardi,
puts the glass down
on the bar top.

Well?
Under
the Moroccan sun?  
Either you do
or you don't,
she says,
getting off
the bar stool,
showing more thigh,
slim legs, sandals.

You drain your wine,
and follow her
from the bar
of the base camp,
and down
between the tents
and onto the beach
towards the sand dunes.

She has a fine sway
of hips, you note
as she walks in front.

The sun warms you,
sand beneath
your feet, some one
plays a flute
from across the way,
a voice sings.

She finds
a deep sand dune,
and you both
get down inside,
she kisses
straight away,
lips to lips stuff,
tongues,
hands undoing,
and taking
stuff off,
her body drinking
in the sun.

You and the pecker,
ready to go,
and the guys
still singing
from the camp,
flute still playing,
and she smells
of sun oil
and Bacardi
and stale
cigarettes,
but its all go
no time
for regrets.

Lizbeth stares
at her hands

opened up
palms upward

lines across
the skin where

Benedict
had held her

his palm there
squeezing tight

holding on
puts fingers

to her lips
where he kissed

his moisture
there somewhere

wanted more
more of him

inside her
as she's seen

in the book
her friend gave

a picture
of a man

and woman
having ***

he on top
she beneath

the man's ****
beautiful

she had thought
the long legs

benedict
would just kiss

or hold hands
nothing more

we're just kids
he had said

when she had
said they could

in the barn
in the church

in her room
all alone

her mother
out shopping

or maybe
in the field

hidden by corn
but not him

leaving her
feeling numb

unfulfilled
just them there

holding hands
and kissing

no *******
in the field.

Someone special Della’s
mother told her. A Downs
with a lovely smile and
bright, slightly narrow eyes.

She had waited outside
the school grounds when
her mother drove up.

Sorry I’m late, her mother
said, got caught in the traffic.

Della frowned, her tongue
sitting on her lower lip.

Man said you sent him,
Della said. What man?
Man in a car. What man
in a car? Della looked at
her mother, puzzled.

Man in the car. What did
he say? Said you sent him
to pick me up. Called me
Dearie. But I’m Della.

Her mother got out of the
car and went and knelt
down beside her daughter.

You didn’t get in the car did you?
No he drove off fast when
Mrs Penbridge came over.

He said I was Dearie, but
I’m Della. Yes, you are. Not
Dearie. No not Dearie.

He smiled at me. You mustn’t
get in to a stranger’s car
unless I tell you it’s all right.

I didn’t get in. Good. He
drove off, Della said, lowering
her eyes to her new shoes.

He smiled. Yes, but that
doesn’t mean he was nice.

He seemed nice. Yes, but
men like that aren’t. Why?
Della looked at her mother.

Because he may have hurt you.
Why would he hurt me, I’m
special. Yes, you are special.

You are angry with me. No,
not with you. You’ve got
your angry voice. Not with
you. Seems angry with me.

Not you, the man. Why are
you angry with the man?
Because he may have taken
you away from me. Della
looked at her mother’s hair,
newly done. Where? Where
would he have taken me?

Away from me. Why?
Because he’s bad. Her
mother held Della to her
tightly. He didn’t look bad,
he had a nice smile. Nice
car, too. Blue. Nice blue.
Like a summer sky blue.

Never get in a stranger’s car.
Never. You are angry. Not
with you. Sounds angry.

But not with you. Not
with me? No, you are
special. Special. Yes.

Very special? Yes, very
special. Not to get in a
stranger’s car? No. Not in
a stranger’s car. I got in
your friend’s car the other day.

What friend? The man who
brings your groceries and
you and he talk and he makes
you laugh. Her mother stared.

When did you get in his car?
The other day. Why did you
get in his car? He said, you said.
Did he drive off with you? Yes.
The mother held Della out in
front of her. Where to? We
went to look at the ducks in
the pond. Why did you get
in the car? He said, you said.

But I didn’t tell him that.
He said, you said. Did he
touch you? Touch me? Did
he touch you anywhere?

He held my hand to go to
the ducks. Anywhere else?
He said I was special. You
are. Did he touch you anywhere?  
My hand. Anywhere else?

No. Just my hand to feed
the ducks. What happened
after you saw the ducks?

He said I was special. Where
did he drive you? I thought
Mrs Rice was going to pick
you up that day? I went
with your friend. Did he
touch you? He held my hand.

Anywhere else? Della shook
her head. He said I was pretty
and had nice legs. Her mother’s
heart thumped. Am I pretty?
Yes you are, but he shouldn’t
have said so. Why not? He
didn’t mean it nicely. Why?

Because he shouldn’t tell
you that. Why? Because he’s
no right to say you’re pretty.

You say I’m pretty. I love you.
He said I was pretty and had
nice legs. Did he touch your legs?
No he just looked at them.
Nice legs he said and nice eyes.

Have I got nice legs and eyes?
Yes you have but he shouldn’t
say so. You’re angry again.
Not with you. Seems like me.

It’s not. Seems like. I’m not.
Seems like. Never get in his
car again. Della looked at
the sky. I won’t. It looked like rain.

Father Joseph sat in the dark confessional in stunned silence. Either the young girl had told him a pack of lies or she was a budding Lucrezia Borgia. He fiddled with his thumbs; threw the sins she’d confessed around in his head like a juggler, wondering where the extra ***** had come from. It was that Moran girl he was sure. The things she’d said. The times and manners, he mused. On the other side of the confessional, Mary Moran knelt with her eyes closed. She searched through her mind for any sins she may have forgotten to relate like one sorting through a laundry basket for soiled garments for the wash. No, she could remember nothing else. That was it. At least as far as she could recall. She fidgeted on her knees. Scratched her thigh. Breathed heavy against the metal grille. She smelt the scent of polish and after-shave; the odd smell of mothballs that her Da’s suits had when he brought them out for funerals or weddings. She opened her eyes and stared at the semi-dark. Had the priest fallen asleep? she mused, moving from knee to knee, wondering if he’d be long, she was dying for a ***; wanting to get out in the air and light again. She heard the rustle of cloth and sighs, a slight cough, a deeper breath. The priest spoke softly and said things that floated around Mary’s head like smoke; disappeared into the dark corners of the confessional without penetrating her ears or mind. If she were a daughter of his, he mused, in between words of absolution, gazing at the outline of the girl through the grille, letting the familiar words leave his lips, hoping the Crucified was listening and that he’d not be a father to a child like that for all the holy water in Rome. Mary squeezed her knees together; bit her lower lip in desperation. If the father didn’t get a move on there’d be a puddle on the floor; she’d not be the one to clear it up, so she wouldn’t. Did I tell about the truancy? she mused, squeezing the knees tighter, thinking of abandoning the confessional for a quick run; risk purgatory or worse, she couldn’t give a fresh fig. Father Joseph paused; sniffed the air; fiddled with his thumbs again. Was she still there? he wondered, listening to the silence, peering through the grille, making out the outline of the girl’s head. Mary waited for the penance. It reminded her of waiting for her Da to home after her mother threatened to tell him all she’d done; the wait; the tanned backside; the dark room. The priest spoke. His words cutting the air like Sister Thomas’s ruler in mathematics, when she waved it madly above her head if the girls were talking in class. The first chapter of St John’s Gospel. No Aves or Pater Nosters. She sighed. Bit her lip. Rose to her feet, ****** her hand between her thighs. Muttered a Thank You. Pushed opened the door into the church and, after a smile at Magdalene in the pews, walked at a fast pace down the side aisle to the lavatory outside in the passageway beside the statue of St Joseph which lingered by door. Father Joseph stared into the darkness; listened to the silence. The girl had gone. Her scent lingered. Her words hung in his head like harpies. He breathed in deeply. Thanked God for celibacy. Awaited the next girl. Hoped she was a minor saint in the making and not another Lucrezia Borgia and a mouthful of sins. Mary sat in the cubicle and stared at the graffiti on the door of the toilet. References to the priest and Sister Luke were scrawled in red ink; some remarks about Brian Brady, which she hoped, were not true, at least she didn’t recall as true. The smell of after-shave and incense lingered in her nose; the first chapter of St John’s Gospel loomed large; and the sense of relief flowed through her as she smiled at the memory of the priest’s silence after the words about Brady’s hands and intentions in the woods a few days back. That was worth any amount of chapters from gospels or a mouthful of Aves from noon until night, she mused. She smiled; recited a whispered Ave; closed her eyes to the days’ light and the noise from the playground outside the window.

It was the summer of love,
at least that's what they said.
There were guys with long
hair and beards and beads,

with wide trousers, and loud
shirts, and girls with long
hair, and dresses like nuns,
or short skirts, showing off

their not so good legs or thighs.
There was Hendricks, Beatles
and Stones and playing, music
loud, live. Julie was out for

the day; the hospital quacks,
giving her a day pass, no
shooting up, no pill popping.
She met Ben in Trafalgar

Square, tight skirt and top,
hair held in a ponytail, bright
eyed, big smile. He was
by the fountains having a

smoke, eyeing the girls,
listening to some long
haired guy strum a guitar,
his skinny girlfriend doing

a dance, her bony legs
looking breakable, ****
non existent. Been here
long? Julie said. No, just

a few moments, he lied,
not wanting to give her
reasons to moan or row.
She wanted to go for a beer.

So he took her to the bar
off Charing Cross Road
and ordered two cold beers
and lit up some smokes.

She spoke of some nurse
who almost lost her her pass,
all about some **** up, over  
drugs, she’d forgotten to take.

She said the quacks were ok
with it, the tall one is hot,
she said, shouldn’t mind him
poking around in my parlour.

He told her about the Charles
Lloyd jazz album he'd bought,
how he'd met him outside Dobell's,
got a sign copy of the new L.P.

She drained her drink and he
ordered another two, she took
one of  his smokes and lit up
and sat back, crossing her legs,

her black short skirt riding her
thighs, ******* in his eyes.
No place for ***, she said,
unless you know of a bed

and room going cheap for
an hour or so?  No luck,
he said, wishing he did,
remembering the fast shaft,

the quickie in the hospital
broom room, amidst brooms
and brushes and buckets
or boxes and all. She said

her parents rang, and they
argued, and she slammed
down the phone. They said
it was the summer of love,

but where they sat, boozing
and smoking, it fell pretty flat.

All undone,
as he does,

Ingrid knows,
every time

picks on her,
punishes,

nothing new,
but she knows

afterwards
even when

the wounds go
and pain stops,

it will come
like seasons

once again.
Her mother

is too weak
to stop him,

too frightened
to say boo

or say no,
and as she

walks over
the bombsites

with her friend
Benedict,

listening
to his talk

of brave knight
fighting bad

with sharp sword
or strong bow,

or share his
bag of sweets

or soft drinks,
in London’s

50’s streets,
being his

high lady
in distress,

or be there
by her side,

9 years old
as she is

but seeming
much older,

his friendship
and sharing

and boyhood
Robin Hood

sort of love
and sharing,

makes the days
of darkness

of wounding
punishments

easier
and her mind

much bolder.

Magdalene
sits crossed legged

on the floor
as Mary

sings along
with Elvis

as he sings
from the small

transistor
radio

by her bed
Magdalene

loves the way
her eyes shine

as she sings
likes to stare

at the tight
tiny ****

which press firm
against her

white school blouse
also likes

to study
Mary’s thighs

and dreams oft
in her bed

twisting hot
that Mary’s

soft body
and luscious

limbs and heart
lay beside

her in bed
Mary’s not

aware of
Magdalene's

secret wants
but thinks of

the tall boy
whom she met

in the park
and let kiss

her thin lips
but smacked his

ink-stained hand
away from

her tight ****
and other

sensitive
secret bits

knowing that
her father

finding out
would strap her

one and knock
the boy out.

Lydia
watches through
a thin gap
in the dark

brown curtains
her sister
much older
in the bed

holding tight
to her tall
spiv boyfriend
and kissing

his thick lips
then his ears
which even
nine year old

Lydia
finds quite gross
it takes all
her childish

innocence
not to know
what the show
is about

she looking
through the gap
sees the spiv
put his hand

on the ****
buttocks of
her sister
Lydia

looks away
looks out at
the green grass
and the flats

and windows
opposite
ignoring
the giggles

and snorty
sounds she hears
from the bed
behind her

behind dark
brown curtains
how the heck
she got trapped

behind there
in her games
pretending
the window

was a stage
and she a
child actress
awaiting

to begin
when her big
sister came
tiptoeing in

with the spiv
while hiding
unseen there
Lydia

silently
hid her feet
and stealthily
had her peek

now she sees
pigeons walk
or kids play
with skip rope

or football
or cowboys
and Injuns
but behind

the curtains
on the bed
another
game is played

two actors
in combat
by the sounds
her sister

breathlessly
makes beyond
but innocent
Lydia

puts her hands
to cover
her small ears
watching kids

play their games
and joyfully
run about
ignoring

whatever makes
her sister
giggle soft
then loudly
laughing shout.

Milka followed Baruch
along the road
to his parent's house
and up the stairs

to his bedroom
she looking about her
as she climbed
won't your parent’s

be home?
she asked
no they're at work
he said

my mother until
half two
Milka nodded
and thought

of the bewilderment
if they came home
too soon
and what if they did?

they came to the landing
and he showed her
the single bed
by the wall

next to another
by the window
whose bed is that?
she asked

my brother's
Baruch said
he's away
oh

she said looking
at the single bed
by the wall
with the blue bed cover

well?
he said
what do you think?
she looked at the bed

and then at Baruch
it's a bit narrow
she said
it'll be ok

he said
unless you don't want to
he said
she bit her lip

are you sure
no one
will be back early?
sure as sure

he said
he took in
her bright eyes
the hair

shoulder length
and well groomed
the yellow
tight fitting top

and blue jeans
she looked by him
at the window
can anyone see us?

he looked out
the window
I’ll close the curtains
he said

she looked at him there
eyes wide open
and alert
his black jeans

and white shirt
you don't have to
he said
just thought

that after last time
in the barn
it would be better here
she nodded

that was a bit
uncomfortable
she said smiling
hay and straw

in my *******
when I got home
he smiled
yes and that mouse

that ran over
my backside
she laughed
and relaxed

and I screamed
she said
he nodded
and looked at her

standing there
by the bed
we don't have to
if you'd rather not

he said
she looked at him
and said
I want to

it's just the anxiety
that your parents
will come home
and catch us

he stroked her hair
they won't
he said
I'd not risk it

if I thought
they'd be home early
she sat on the bed
and he sat next to her

she kicked off her shoes
and he did so too
she looked at him again
then  stood up

and unzipped her jeans
and took them off
and laid them
on the other bed

he did like wise
she took off the top
over her head
and placed it on top

of her jeans
he took off his shirt
and put it on top
of his jeans

then she unclipped
her bra
and threw it
to the other bed

he stood there
gazing at her
small mounds
the brownish dugs

she removed
her pink *******
and flicked them
to the bed

by the window
where they rested
by the windowsill
he took off his briefs

and threw them over
by his jeans
she breathed out
deeply and slowly

he put a hand
on right breast
felt the softness
ran his fingers

over the dug
she smiled
and touched his pecker
then she lay down

on the bed
and he lay beside her
his hand touching
her thigh

and she saw
the sunlight
through
the uncurtained window

in the bright
midday sky.

Isis knows
the finger

going down
her bony

spine slowly,
belongs to

(without doubt)
her girlfriend

young Jodie.
The finger

moves between
the valley

of her ***,
circling

the soft fuzz,
hovering

just above,
predator

of deep love,
moistening

the fruit cup,
wet mouthing

the dark dugs,
tongue licking

the milk mounds,
ear to breast

hearing soft
the beat thump

of her heart
as her thighs

spread wide like
the Red Sea,

and the hushed
voice and sigh

like buzzing
of the wild
honey bee.

That's it now
the whole show

of his love
all spent out

those bruises
like medals

after war
remind you

he's been there
his call card

the bruising
of both eyes

the split lip
his bouquet

of flowers
red and blue


wrapped in fists
just for you.

Alice walks down
the steps to the dark
passage to the kitchen,
and stands at the door

looking in. Smells of
cooking, heat, bright
lights and sharp sounds.
Mrs Broadbeam in

white, and hair pinned
back, red flushed of face,
gazes at her. What are
you after, Miss Alice?

Mary, take the young
miss to the scullery
and fetch her a small
bowl of dried fruit,

she bellows over her
shoulder. The thin maid
comes over, red hands,
wet, eyes beaming.

She nods and takes
Alice's small hand,
and takes her across
the passage to the large

scullery, and lifts her
onto the bench. Sit there,
and please don't budge,
or I’m for it if you fall,

and goes off to the kitchen
to get a bowl of dried fruit.
Alice sits there, feeling
the hardness of the bench

under her bottom, no
longer painful where her
father smacked. She eyes
the large room with pots

and pans and plates and
dishes, knives and forks
and spoons of all sizes,
having been washed or

about to be washed. She
looks at the three large
sinks which come up to
her chin. The windows look

out onto the courtyard and
the small chapel with its
solitary bell. She can hear
voices from the kitchen,

banging of pots and pans,
sizzling and steam sounds.
She looks at the woods
beyond the chapel. She has

escaped the new nanny
with her beady eyes and
dark hair and moaning voice.
Her mother cried that morning

when she saw her after waking;
her eyes red and blotchy.
Her father shouting, storming
from the room, his eyes fire

and flamy. The thin maid enters
carrying a bowl of dried fruit.
Here you are, she says, be
careful not to choke, and hands

the little girl the small bowl.
Thank you, Mary, she says,
taking in the eyes and smile
and hair in a frizz. She eats

the dried fruit. The maid
watches, then carries on
washing the dishes, humming
a hymn, her hands becoming

redder as the water soaks.
A voice sounds in the passage
way, a voice calling Alice's
name, heavy tread, clapping

of hands. Alice freezes,
enlarges her eyes, holds
the bowl shaking. The maid
puts a finger to her lips and

walks out to the passageway.
Seen Miss Alice about here?
the nanny asks firmly. No,
can't say I have, the thin maid

says, hands dripping water,
eyes vacant, hair looking dull.
Well if you see her tell her to
go back to the schoolroom,

the nanny says, her voice brittle.
Will do, if I see her, the maid says,
indifferently, scratching her thigh.
The nanny goes off mumbling,

her footsteps echoing until gone.
What an ****, the maid says.
****? Alice says. Never you
mind about that, deary, best get

eating up and I'll take you another
way after. She smiles and touches
Alice’s cheek, leaving a damp
patch behind, a tiny tingle.

Alice eats the dried fruit,
ears cocked, eyes bright,
eyeing the thin maid as she
washes and stacks the dishes

high. She likes the hands that
rise and fall in slow motion as
if blessing, just like her mother's,
sans redness, when caressing.

Judy lies
on the double bed
having made love
for the second time round

that early afternoon
Benedict lies beside her
gazing out the window
at the afternoon sky

she talking about
the grocery store
and the customers
and the bottom pinching

manager
the creepy ****
she says
Benedict turns his gaze

to the profile
of her breast
knowing he shouldn't
but likes

her left one best
following the contour
of her ribs
and the pelvic sweep

the brown ***** patch
sticky
with ***** leak
she eyeing

his hazel eyes
the quiff of hair
him laying there
his sleeping pecker

resting on the leg
he eyeing her thigh
the dark bite of love
the pantyline

still there
she saying
she'll have to go
her mother will wonder

why she wasn't home
on her half day off
from work
he saying yes

his mother'd be home
from work
on the next bus
from town

they share
a deep frown
no more love making
least not that day

she laying back
her skirt hitched up
around her waist
her blouse open

all the way down
her ******* on the floor
by the bedroom door
one more kiss

before we go
she says
lips soft waiting
and meeting touch

she wanting to
but time running out
he wishing time
would stand still

to allow one more go
she noticing
the sleeping pecker
beginning to stir

their lips press
and tongues touch
soon to be going time
to stay too short

the afternoon sky
a cloudy grey
he kissing her
once more

wishing she could stay
not now
she says
another time and day

and so they rise
and dress
and she takes her leave
walking out

the back gate
and home
and he waving
her goodbye

goes back in
to make up
the double bed
carrying her image

and their love
in his afternoon head.

Alice walks with
the thin maid
to the stables, holding
the thin hand with

red knuckles, the
mild limp crossing
the narrow path like
a wounded ship. Do

you like the horses,
then? the maid asks,
bringing the eyes
upon the child,

holding tight the
pale pink hand.
Alice nods, yes,
I like the black one,

like its dark eyes
and coat. The maid
eyes the pinafore,
the hair tidy and neat,

the shiny shoes, the
tiny hand in hers.
Have you ridden
any yet? the maid

asks. No, not allowed
as yet, Alice says,
feeling the red thumb
rub the back of her

hand. Shame, the maid
says, perhaps soon.
Alice doesn't think so,
neither her father nor

the new nanny will
permit that; her mother
says she may, but that
amounts to little, in

the motions of things.
She can smell the
horses, hay and dung.
The red hand lets her

loose. The stable master
stares at her, his thick
brows bordering his
dark brown eyes,

conker like in their
hardness and colour.
Have you come to
look at the horses?

he says, holding a
horse near to her.
She nods, stares
at the horse, brown,

tall, sweating,
loudly snorting.
The maid stares
at the horse, stands

next to the child,
hand on the arm.
You're not to ride
them yet, he says,

but you can view,
I'm told. Alice runs
her small palm down
the horse's leg and

belly, warm, smooth,
the horse indifferent,
snorting, moving the
groom master aside.

The maid holds the
child close to her.
Be all right, he won't
harm, he says, smiling.

He leads the horse away,
the horse swaying to
a secret music, clip-
clop-clip-clop. Alice

watches the departing
horse. Come on, the
maid says, let's see
the others and lifts

the child up to view
the other horse in the
stable over the half
open door, then along

to see others in other
half doors. Alice smiles
at the sight and smells
and sounds. She senses

the red hands holding
her up, strong yet thin,
the fingers around her
waist. Having seen them

all, the maid puts her
down gently. Ain't that
good? the maid says.
Alice smiles, yes, love

them, she  says. She
feels the thin hand, hold
her pale pink one again,
as they make their way

back to the house, the
slow trot of the limping
gait, the maid's thumb
rubbing her hand, smiling

through eyes and lips,
the morning sun blessing
their heads through the
trees and branches above.

if only, Alice thinks, looking
sidelong on at the thin
maid's smile, her father
did this, and showed such love.

Geraldine
riding home

on the bus
after work

sitting there
in the crowd

thinking of
her lover

sweet Holly
lying there

in the ****
all the night

her small globes
kiss ready

legs parted
hotly moist

waiting for
Geraldine's

snake like tongue
spider like

*******
between thighs

watery
sea blue eyes

uttering words
I love you

between the
oohs and ahs

whispered sighs
of just there

gets me hot
just that spot

she sways slow
to bus's swerve

a bell's pressed
at the front

but all that
Geraldine

can think of
is Holly

and Holly's
moistful ****.

Elaine feels
as if she's the center
of the world,
as if

she was
standing there
in all her frumpish ******
for all the world to see.

She stands
against the fence
in the girls' playground
as the boys stream by

to theirs.
She knows John
was on the school bus;
he was across the aisle,

but she hadn't looked,
she gazed out the window
the whole way.
She had stood

by the the steps
of the bus
after she'd got off
hoping he would

speak to her
or touch her arm
or ...or what?
her inner voice asks

kiss you again?
his lips on yours
in view of all?
Silly fool.

She stands there,
hands in the pockets
of her dark green coat,
eyes lowered,

*******
a boiled sweet.
Morning Frumpy,
two passing girls say,

have *** last night?
They walk on
giggling.
What is ***?

she'd asked
her mother
some months back
***** things,

don’t' indulge
or talk about it
came the reply.
She stuffed

the words in a box
in her head
marked: *****,
do not open.

Have ***? she muses,
was it a kind of gift
given wrapped?
She looks at the two girls

walking away,
arms linked,
giggling together,
dark green coats,

white socks,
blacks shoes,
shoulder to shoulder.
John had kissed her

the day before.
What was it for?
For real? A joke?
The impression

of his lips
presses still
on her lip’s skin.
She licks to see

if he's still there,
lingering
in some spittle
somewhere.  

She can't get him
or his kiss
from her mind,
he resides there

like a secret tenant,
being,
moving about,
not heeding her,

not paying rent.
She feels the ends
of her black shoes
pressing on the tips

of her toes,
too tight, not right.
He presses against
the tips

of her soul
and heart,
slowly ripping
each apart.

Alice chalks
secretly, in
red and white,
a caricature

of the new
nanny her
father has hired.
The stick like

figure is spread
eagled across
the side wall
of the house,

red hair, eyes
and mouth,
white long
protruding

teeth and
four fingers
on each hand.
She has heard

her parents row;
the new nanny
took her by
her small hand

to the nursery
and sat her in
a chair; stay
there, she said.

She draws a
thin white line
of chalk through
the nanny's heart.

She stares, smiles,
and wipes her
hands on her
pinafore and

put her hands
behind her back.
Her father had
punished; her

mother had
cried and rowed
and now Alice
waits outside,

by the wall,
staring at the
caricature, the
stick nanny

with an arrow
through her heart.
The sun is dull;
rain threatens;

birds sing; the
thin maid walks
with a mild limp.
Alice waits for

rain; her hands
sense the area
of punishment
pain. Mother

loves and hugs
and kisses. Her
Father glares
and shouts

and smacks
and never misses.