Miss Wren
was there again.
He watched her
from his table

sipping the cappuccino,
she window shopping,
her head slightly bent,
shoulders stooping,

wearing that nice
two piece again
with umbrella
in case of rain.

He studied her
as an artist,
took in the way
she stood,

shape of frame,
size of *****,
hips, way the legs
moved in gentle steps.

He sipped some more,
watched as she brushed
fingers through her hair,
stood upright,

hands to her back,
aching or no
he didn't know.
He wondered what thoughts

raced through her head,
what items in store
her eyes took hold,
what clothing would

she wish to wear,
he sipped slowly,
sitting there.
Now she moved on,

another window
took her sight,
she stopped and stared.
Hands in pockets,

legs together,
knees touching,
her mind elsewhere,
buying mentally,

wearing the dress
she'd seen,
doing an inner twirl.
He imagined her,

in all her beauty,
lying on his bed,
hands behind her head,
her ******* without bra,

her figure at an angle,
waiting for she knows
not what or whom,
who dreams of her,

who takes her
in his nightly sleep,
and puts away
the images

with the ones
he's had before,
sipped his cappuccino,
elbows on the table.

Miss Wren had gone,
he knew not where,
just the vacant space
where she had been,
hollow and bare.

Mrs Parton said
come on round
my husband's out
for the day
and won't be home for lunch

so Baruch went around
on his afternoon off
forsaking the relaxation
of listening to Delius

forgoing two glasses of wine
and a closed eyes
lie down on his bed
he visited Mrs Parton instead

walking up her street
eyes behind curtains
watching him he supposed
she opened her door

and let him in
there
she said
sit on the sofa

and hey take off
your jacket
so he took off
his jacket

and she laid it
on an armchair
a dog barked nearby
o pay him no mind

that's just Brownie our mutt
I locked him outside
o right
Baruch said

looking up
at the window
across the room
where the sound

came from
you want a drink?
she asked
yes ok

he said
I'll get you one later
she said
and she leaned into him

and kissed his cheek
he felt it and sensed
the passion behind it
but didn't expect it

after all
she was 40
to his 28
( why did I come

around? he mused)
she leaned back
and gazed at him
her eyes hawk-like

taking in
his uncertainty
don't look so surprised
she said

after all
you did come around
yes
he said

of course
she kissed him
on the lips
and shut out

any more words
he might have had
he closed his eyes
tried to remember

a bit of Delius
some aspect
of his music
to make sense

of his moments
their lips parted  
she placed a hand
on his upper thigh

moved it to his crotch
(Mrs Cleves would have
got him at this stage
of operations a scotch)

his eyes lit up
his pecker stirred
I can sense movement
in the jungle

she said
how about here
on the sofa
I don't want to

on the marital bed?
Baruch tried to calm
the pecker
attempted to think

on higher things
are you sure?
he said
right now?

why waste time
she said
and proceeded to
lift up her skirt

and take off
her underwear
he sat
with an uncertain stare  

come on
she said
let's get on
before the kids

get home from school
school?
he muttered
yes they'll be home

in an hour or so
she said
she lay back
and pulled him

close to her
he fiddled to undress
thought of how
Mrs Cleves

would have got him
nigh on hooked on
***** first
before she pounced

he lay on her
(Mrs Parton)
his lips touching hers
but the pecker

wouldn't stir
it lay slumped
like a drunk
come on

she said
don't you want to?
I do but Percy doesn't
he said

Percy?
she muttered
he pointed downwards
o

she said
her voice
indicating disappointment
maybe I was too rushed

she said
maybe
he said
and sat back down

on the sofa
and she sat up
how about a drink?
that might stir him

she said
ok sure
Baruch said
she walked off

towards the kitchen
he sat studying the room
he put away his pecker
zipped up the fly

the mutt barked
the sound of a bottle
being uncorked
a voice singing

he thought of Mrs Cleves
**** naked
on the rug
19 years his senior

but my God
he thought
she made it all
so much easier.

One legged Anne
sat in her wheel chair
by the white table
on the lawn

watching the other kids
at play
on the swing
and slide

or sitting around
playing I Spy
hey Kid
she said to you

push me out
to the beach
I can't watch this crap
makes me

want to throw up
with all this
goody two shoes stuff
so you pushed her wheelchair

along the back path way
towards the back gate
where you going?
Malcolm asked

away from you lot
as far as possible
she replied
o

Malcolm said
what will Sister Paul say?
couldn't give a fig
what she says

Anne said
push on Kid
she said
so you pushed on

along the path
I'm going to tell her
Malcolm bellowed
go kiss her backside

for all I care
she bellowed back
come on Kid
push push

so you pushed
and out the back gate
and on to the path
that led by the beach

you smelt the sea
the sound of gulls
you moved along
the path pushing

the wheelchair on
here here will do Kid
she said
pointing to an area

of beach
so you wheeled her
onto the beach
but got stuck

in the sands
ok ok here will do Kid
so you stood behind her
and stared out

at the sea
and the horizon
thanks Kid
she said

here come stand beside me
and so you stood beside her
her one leg sticking out
from the short blue skirt

the stump just visible
out of the skirt's hem
thanks Kid for being a friend
she said

that's ok
you replied
thank you for helping me
out of the bath last night

she said
didn't want those pesky nuns
getting me out
with their constant

mutterings and prayers
that's ok
you said
recalling the bath episode

she calling you in
the bathroom
sitting there
in the bath

she beckoning you over
don't shut your **** eyes
how can you see
to help me out

with your
******* eyes shut
she'd said
so you remembered

putting a hand
under her arm
and she was able
to get up and out

and said
hey bring me that towel
so you recalled
bringing the towel

your head averted
here
you said
and she took it smiling

and covered herself
and began drying
and said
ok you can go now Kid

and you left
and closed the door
behind you without
looking back

see that horizon Kid?
see the seascape?
she asked
yes

you said
well that's what I want
to be like
free and open

not some hemmed in girl
with a thousand hormones
bashing against my skull
hormones? you said

what are they?
never mind
she said
you'll know

when they kick in
and she gazed out
at the sea
her black hair moved

by the slight wind
her hands on the side of the chair
just you and she
silently being there.

Janice undid
the budgie’s cage
and put in
her slim finger

and the bird hopped on
and she pulled out
her finger with the bird
still there not moving

not flying through the air
see
she said
she will not go

you stood watching
with your back
to the door
hands on

the wooden panel
she spoke to the bird
it cocked its head
she muttered

nonsense sounds
the bird moved
its wings
but didn’t attempt

to fly
just stared her
in the eye
I often get her out

to feel freedom
Janice said
moving around the room
the bird balancing

itself as she moved  
what if the bird flew away?
you asked
it won’t

she said
but what if it did?
you said
Janice moved her head

to one side
in imitation
of the bird
her red beret

still in place
ah then
Gran would tan my hide
redder than my beret

she said
the bird walked
along her finger
but it won’t go

Janice said
and walked
to the open window
and held the bird there

the bird looked out
winking an eye
or so seeming
and looked away

but some time
you said
it might take flight
Janice walked

across the room
to the cage
and put the bird back
and closed the door

with a soft click
she smiled
maybe
she said

maybe
you moved away
from the door
and her gran came in

with sandwiches
on a large white plate
and put them
on the table

has Janice shown you
the budgie?
her gran asked
yes

you said
Janice looked at you
eyebrows raised
she didn’t open the cage

and get it out did she?
Janice looked away
no no
you said

she just pointed it out
and we spoke to her
o good
because she has

the terrible habit
of taking it out
when my backs turned
and one of these days

it will fly away
Gran moved back
to the kitchen
to fetch the other

tea things
Janice said
you lied for me
well I didn’t want

you to get into trouble
you said
Janice pulled a face
lies can land us

in Hell
she said
well it’s either Hell
or a good tanning

you said
she smiled
and sat at the table
and you sat beside her

hearing her gran
in the kitchen
with cups and saucers
and the kettle

whistling loud and clear
Janice’s hand
touched yours  
and she whispered

in your ear
( so gran
wouldn’t hear)
you are a dear.

It was Shlomit
who fell from the seesaw
in the park

and grazed her knee
and elbow
Baruch who

was on the other end
jumped off
and helped her up

trying to console her
patting her
on the back

as she leaned over
dabbing at
her bloodied knee

and crying said
look at the hole
in my jumper

o my God
Mum’s going to **** me
o look at my knee

Baruch took her
to the old dame
who took shelter

in the first aid place
and sorted out
minor injuries

there there
the old dame said
we’ll soon put that right

and took Shlomit in
and sat her on one
of the chairs

and got out
her first aid box
and cleaned off

the dirt and wound
with some yellow stuff
which made Shlomit

cringe and cry  
o my my
said the old dame

its hurts
but it cleans out
the baddies

Baruch watched helpless
taking in
the lopsided

hair band
on Shlomit’s head
the blood red

jumper sleeve
the grazed knee
the old dame

wiping it clean
Shlomit in tears
looking up at him

her glasses crooked
o my God
what will Daddy say?

she uttered
o he’ll understand
the old dame said

don’t think he will
Baruch thought
he isn’t that type

of guy
leather her
most probably

he mused
watching the old dame’s fingers
putting on white lint

and placing pink plasters
over the top
to keep it on

now the elbow
the dame said
pulling up

Shlomit’s jumper sleeve
the elbow was badly grazed
the hole of the jumper

stuck to the wound
take hold
of her hand

Sonny
the old dame said
this might hurt

so Baruch took hold
of Shlomit’s hand
and watched

as the old dame
cleaned up
the elbow

with the yellow liquid
and cotton wool
Shlomit’s small hand

grabbed his own
the fingers
with bitten nails

clung tight to his own
he noticed she swung
her legs back and forth

under the chair
the plastered knee
came in and out

of sight
the window brought in
and allowed to fall

upon her knees
the bright morning light.

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

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

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

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

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

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

are there people here still?
she asked
no
you said

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

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

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

but rats
she said
I hate them
she put fingers

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

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

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

went through
and into the factory
the smell
she said

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

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

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

and looked around
at the places
where once
machines had been

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

she hesitated
at your side
she squeezed your hand
look

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

and eat them
on the grass
by Banks House
ok

she said
her eyes brightening
she followed you
through the factory

looking at the walls
and benches
and spaces
where old tools

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

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

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

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

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

with your hand
sensed her hand
in yours
looking out

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

You used to watch your mother
boiling the washing
in the steel copper
then heave it out  

with the wooden copper stick
and into the ringer
where you'd help
to pull it through

as it pushed out
the water
into a bowl underneath
you took in

her red hands
the steam rising
from her fingers
the sweat on brow

the tired gaze
the tied around apron
flowered blue
and yellow and white

and the red patterned top
black skirt
then you watched
as she leant back

and put her hands
to the small of her back
to ease the ache
and some days

( if bored with cowboy games
or too wet to go out)
you watched her
make a cake

in a mixing bowl
adding the ingredients
one by one
( giving you a handful

of dried fruit
if you asked)
and put the mixture
in a large round tin

and then place in the oven
with a sigh and run
her fingers through her
dark hair

on other  days
you'd watch her
iron clothes
( using the old iron

which had been heated
on the stove)
on the ironing board
running it over carefully

each item in turn
taking care
not to burn
and you liked to watch

the steam rise
like incense
before your eyes
back in the old days

when you were a boy
in short trousers
and white shirt
with that curious stare

but now your mother
the lady who laboured hard
has passed away
and those washed

and ironed clothes
and cakes
are no longer there.

You and Ingrid
bummed a ride
on the back
of the coal truck

the spring holiday underway
Ok
said the coal truck driver
but keep

your heads down
don't want to get
pulled over
by the rozzers

and so you both
climbed in the back
of the truck
settling down

between sacks of coal
covered over
by tarpaulin
with just a slit

for light and air
and you and she
just sitting there
she clothed

in an old green dress
and  cardigan of grey
brown scuffed shoes
and grey socks

you in jeans
and blue shirt
open necked
and sleeveless

patterned jumper
never been
in the back
of a coal truck before

Ingrid said
mustn't get too *****
in case Dad finds out
and leathers me one

you watched
as she sat there
in the semi-dark
gazing out

through the slit
at the thin
aspect of sky
hands on her knees

biting her lip
been once before
with Jimmy
but then it rained

and we got drenched
you said
what did your parents say?
Ingrid asked

nothing much
you replied
Mum moaned a bit
but the old man said nothing

just stared
as he blew smoke
from his cigarette
through his nose

God my dad'd go mad
if I had done that
she said
pulling her knees

together hands
holding on the top
I'd not be able
to sit for a week  

he'd beat me such
she added
moving
with the movement

of the truck
you said nothing
knowing her old man
seeing him often

walking through the Square
swaying with the *****
or seeing her mother
bruised and battered

crossing to the shops
enduring neighbours' whispers
for a while she was silent
looking through the slit

as the sky drifted by
as the truck moved
you swayed
side to side

her shoulder
against yours
her arm touching yours
the smell of wet washing

and of yesterday's dinner
captured on her clothes
seeping in your nose
now and then

she spoke
of this and that
of kids at school
of names called

of hair pulled
and how she liked it
when she saw you
enter school

and your kind words
and helpful ways
and when the driver
pulled off the tarpaulin
to get out sacks of coal
daylight blew out
your eyes
and made you smile

and cheered your hearts
you shared the sandwiches
you'd brought
and bottle of lemonade

factory made
sitting on the truck floor
she nibbling a sandwich
and drinking shyly

from the lemonade bottle
after you'd wiped
the top with the palm
of your hand

her eyes on you
her lips open for words
her knees pressing together
to keep the balance

as the truck
moved on and away
just you and she
on a bright spring day.

There was something
about the peasant in her
as she lay there
in the tall grass
the sun shining on her
the white clouds overhead

birds in flight
there was that aspect
of the peasant
in the simplicity

of her manner
the gesture of hands
the look
of the big blue eyes

and the skirt pulled up
nakedness revealed
and he
lying beside her

taking in
her whole aspect
the summery smell
the heat

the almost airlessness
about them
distant train
steam sounds

and she said
you're to tell
no one of this
( she had said that

about the first kiss)
and he said
of course not
whom would I tell?

he lay his head
on her soft *******
cushion like
as if afloat

she murmuring
more words
he lost
in the softness

of her
the scent
of her mother
(borrowed lavender scent

from the dressing table)
if my mother ever heard
she said
there'd be hell to pay

so say nothing
my lips are sealed
he said
nosing between her *******

muffled words
a rush of birds overhead
her hands on him
resting on his back

he tongued her
breathing her in
you're my first
she said

at doing this
say nothing lad
his inner voice
suggested

words wound
say nowt
he felt her hips
fingers running over

finger tips sensing
smoothness
moving lower
sensed thighs

she breathed harder
words gone
utterings wordless
she spread herself

like a butterfly in flight
he pinned her there
in the tall grass
as he'd seen

butterflies pinned
to a board
in the glass box
at school

he breathed in
she breathed out
he smelt apples of her
mixture of lavender

and apples
and that earthly scent
of bodies in motion
the tall grass

became an ocean
waves moved and sank
she sighed
he uttered wordless sounds

she kissed his shoulder
bit flesh
he kissed her neck
lip bit

****** skin
the summery sky
the birds silent
clouds drifted

she saw them
white over blue
over white
her palms on him

pressing
caressing
he journeying
to a heaven

birds gone
sky above him
unseen
just the ocean moving

a huge expanse
of green.

Mrs Parker
at Christmas time
behind

her husband's back
while sitting
on the sofa

felt your thigh
gave you the eye
smiled

her fingers tightening
arousing
her daughter

catching sight
said nothing
gazed at you

you looked away
and sensed
Mrs Parker's fingers

release their grip
then tried to unzip
the finger and thumb

tight holding
you looked down
she intent

her husband
putting on
some Christmas carols LP

tried to lower the noise
by waving his hands
as if

he were about to fly
her other children
gathered here

and there
about the tree
or by the fireside

or on the sofa
beside their mother
whose finger and thumb

discreetly unzipped
and felt inside
rousing your pecker

from deep sleep
the carol singers
from the LP

filled the room
the others adding voice
or chatter or loud laughter

but the one daughter
seeing all
her mother's fingers

engaged at play
blushing looked away
drink young man?  

Mrs Parker's husband asked
gesturing with a hand
held out

yes beer please
you replied
sensing your pecker

stirring in its cage
Mrs Parker's fingers
digging deeper

her face averted
eyes on her husband's
wanderings

smiling all the while
singing carol verses
she knew by heart or rote

but you sat
aroused below
and sang not a note.

Spank me
Mrs Cleves said
it was all part
of her ****** foreplay

rather than some
Freudian slip
of a childhood probing
stuck inside

her head
OK
Baruck said
willing to oblige

to keep the show
on the road
the game in play
and she

19 years older
and 15 pounds
heavier
and he a novice

of the way it goes
the music
from the lounge
easing through the air

the wine seeping
through his head
trying to keep her words
and image

and her body
on the bed
she above him
he beneath

wondering what
the priest would say
if seeing him now
hand pounding flesh

moving to the music
and lust
doing
what a young guy

must
the Mahlerian
symphonic sounds
the sounding springs

the echoing voice
of her demands
and needs and pleads
come on more more

Mrs Cleves said
and he recalls
that Lucien Freud painting
he'd seen

of the fat dame
lying on a couch
naked as the day
she was born

seductively reclined
her huge *******
and ample flesh
her body crushing thighs

and thinking such
he smiled
and closed his eyes
and thought of Rome

and the Roman ******
he'd read of somewhere
and the smell of perfume
and wine

and he and she
moving
quickly and sexually
there.

It was near Christmas time
and you went along
to see old Pete
who lived alone

in a two up
two down house
not far
from where you lived

he was about 96 or so
and still went
to mass each day
and did the collection

at mass on Sundays
dressed in his best
suit and tie
you knocked

on his door
and after a while
he opened the door
come in

he said
and you followed him
into the main room
where he had a fire going

and sat
in an old armchair
sit down
he said

so you sat
on a chair
beside him
there was a cat

on the mat
in front
of the fireplace
sleeping

want a whisky?
sure
you said
( you used to drink

back then)
the bottle's
in the sideboard
over there

there's a glass
in the kitchen
so you went
to the kitchen

and took a glass
from the draining board
and took the bottle
out of the sideboard

pour yourself a drink
he said
what about you?
you asked

can't drink
I'm on too many pills
ok
you said

and poured
a couple of fingers worth
more than that
he said

what are you
some kind of woman?
so you poured
half the glass

and put the bottle
on the small table
beside you
Pete sipped

his milky tea
well here's to Christmas
he said
and raised

his mug of tea
you raised your glass
and said
here's to you

and you sipped your drinks
he talked of his wife
who had died
some years before

he spoke of his son
(without much affection)
and his grandson
whom he seemed

to speak well of
and his grandson's wife
who he said
was quite pretty

but not as beautiful
as my wife
Pete said
she was one

in a million
he went quiet
he sipped his tea
and you sipped

your whisky
he talked about
his master builder days
when he worked long hours

and over six days
and saved money
where and when
he could

he became silent
my son is always
on the want
he knows

I have money
and he is always
asking
for this and that

he drained
his mug of tea
you drained
your glass of whisky

want another?
he asked
I must be going
you said

have another first
he said
so you poured
more whisky

into the glass
( half a glass again
he having insisted)
and he talked

of the women he knew
and how he teased them
and flirted with them
and made them laugh

you know those old dears
like to be flirted with it
makes them
feel young again

he said
when they laugh
you can see the light
flash in their old grey eyes

and their dead dugs
tremble with memories
and he laughed
and drank

from a bottle
of mineral water
by his armchair
he sat gazing

into the fire
you sat draining
the whisky
from the glass

the room smelt
of cooking meat
and wet cat
and you said

look Pete I best go
the wife will wonder
where I've gone
OK

he said
and so you washed
the glass in the sink
and put the bottle away

in the sideboard
and patted his shoulder
see you around
in church

he said
sure
you replied
and walked swaying

up the road
you'd only went
to Pete's
to wish him well

and to deliver a card
and framed picture
of a female saint
he liked

but the whisky
had been a bonus
a kind of
THANK YOU

for being
a friend
to an old man
it was the sort of gift

you liked back then
the whisky kind
sorting the boys
from men.

The charge nurse closes
the door behind Yiska.
Can I go home? Not yet.
When? When you are

well enough. I am well
enough. We think not.
Who are we? The nurses
and the doctors and I,

think you are not well
enough. But I feel well
enough. You are on the
inside looking out, we

are on the outside of
you looking in. So? We
see things from a much
different angle. But I feel

well. Feelings can betray.
But I feel well. You think
you are well. I am. We think
not. But what do you know?

We are professionals. But
I know what I feel inside.
The charge nurse taps his
pen on the desk, Yiska coldly

stares at him. You tried to
cut your wrists. Tried yes,
but I stopped. Not soon
enough. I am here aren’t I?

The fact you decided to
cut your wrists says you
are unwell. It was how I
felt then. Feelings again.

It was a dark time. Wait
until you are better when
the dark days have gone.
You mean ECT? It helps.

Not me. Some it does.
Not me though. We saw
Improvement, we think.
You think? We professionals.

I get headaches. Side effect.
I feel sick afterwards. More
side effect. Yiska screws
her hands in her lap. The

charge nurse stares at her.
You mix well with Baruch.
He’s kind. He’s a patient.
He is unwell like you. I like

him. He has his problems.
Don’t we all? He will not
help you. You don’t help
me. He will not. I like him.

So we are informed. You
spy? We watch. Spy. We
need to watch all of our
patients. I want to go.

When you are well. Now
I want to leave here.
The hospital? Yes. No.
The room then. Here.

Yes. Ok. Yiska gets up
from the chair. The
charge nurse sits there
watching her. She draws

her nightgown tightly
about her as she leaves
the room. We are still
watching you and Baruch.

Yiska says nothing. The
door closes. She sighs.
The charge nurse folds
his fingers over his large

paunch and stares at the
door and folds away his
captured image of her
naked as he has before.

She called through
the cloth of the tent
are you in there?
no

you replied
I'm not
and she laughed
and said

thought we were going
down to the beach?
thought you wanted
to see the sunset?

sure I do
you said
just getting dressed
dressed?

she said
you are naked?
not now
but I was

a few moments ago
****
she said
should have just

unzipped your tent
and poke my head in
too late now Mamie
you said

and you unzipped the tent
and climbed out
and stared around
the camp base

at the bar
and other tents
and the odd
palm tree here and there

thought you were going
to come over to my tent
this afternoon?
she said

didn't know if Fussy Annie
was still there
you said
didn't want to crowd

you both out
she laughed
she's off someplace
looking at mosques

o
you said
wish I'd known
I could have come over

and we could have done
some exploring
of our own
yes

she said
but there you go
that's life
opportunities

come and go
if you miss out
you miss out
anyway let's go

down to the beach
and see this sunset
and so you followed her
down to the beach

her hand holding yours
her fingers gripping
you tightly in case
you ran off

what's she like
Fussy Annie?
you asked
fussy

Mamie said
all the time
she's on about
something or other

not being right
or someone having
did such and such
and o God

the toilets
you should have heard her
ranting about
the two bricks

you have to stand on
to do your business
yes comes as a bit
of a shock to see

those two **** bricks
you said
the beach was reached
the horizon

was like a world
on fire
she kept close
to you

her hip
touching yours
full of unexplored
desire.

Cogan said
he was going bust

your nose
but he never did

because when
he took off his glasses

to fight
he couldn't see

**** all of you
to hit

except the blurry bit
by which time

you'd caught him
on the jaw

and put him quickly
on the floor

but he always
came back

for more
as if he had

a memory loss
or he couldn't

give a toss
and it was usually

in the playground
or outside school

by the front steps
after the mums had left

and each time he lost
or you never bothered

to turn up
or wait for him

to come out
of class

then one day
you read

he'd been taken off
by some bloke

gone missing
even his mother was upset

and beside herself
in the papers

but he showed up
in Brighton
safe and sound

unharmed by the geezer
who took him off

and you were glad
he was safe and sound

even if you didn't like
the ****** being around

but at least
he was all right

ready for the next threat
of a punched nose

and losing the next
after school fight.

You walked home
from school
with Sutcliffe
(O’Brien was off

with dysentery
which Eddie thought
was a load of ****)
along the New Kent Road

by the shop from which
you bought
a stamp album
and the silver looking

6 shooter gun
and holster
with the belt
with pretend bullets

all around
in little holders
and Eddie said
his big sister

was beginning to spend
too much time
in the washroom
getting herself

all geared up
for her boyfriend
and that his dad
banged on the door

wanting to get in
for his shave
( she’d used all
the hot water

her mother had boiled
in the copper
for the family bath
that night

and his sister
had bellowed back
I’ve got to look my best
I can’t go out

smelling
like a dead rat
and Eddie laughed
(his buck teeth showing)

and Dad told her
she’d feel his hand
across her backside
if she got  

too mouthy with him
so she shut her noise
and came out
all dolled up you

her hair all piled high
her lipstick bright red
her tight skirt
and Dad said

if you think you’re going out
dressed like that
you can think again
but she did

and that was it
and Mum said to him
she's only young once
but he just shaved

and moaned
and I could hear him
muttering to himself
and so Eddie went on

(O’Brien would have
baited him about his sister
would have riled him bad
but he was away

and Eddie was glad)
and so you got
to the corner
of Deacon Way

where Sutcliffe lived
and so you walked
across the road
to Meadow Row

and he waved
and you watched
his blonde cropped hair
and black uniform

disappear from sight
and walked towards home
hands in pockets
satchel on your back

scuffed shoes
kicking stones
onto the bombsite
home to tea

of bread and jam
then out with Ingrid
on the balcony
looking down

over the ledge
at the people passing
or kids playing
making a din

until her father
called her
with his rough voice
and she went back in.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the cigarette
the pink nails
the unbitten nails
the slim hands

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

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

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

snuck into that
small room
where they kept
brooms and such

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

listening out
for sounds
hoping a domestic
didn’t come

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

but would do her
no harm.

Ingrid sat on the brick wall
of the bomb site
her hands in her lap
her untidy hair

held in place
with wire grips
the plain grey
cardigan and dress

had food stains
here and there
you sat beside her
in jeans

and bought for you
cowboy shirt
the Saturday film
matinée

just seen
suppose I'd best be home
Ingrid said
before Dad gets back

he doesn't know
I went to the pictures
and he'll say
it's a waste of money

but it's only 6d
you said
surely he wouldn't
begrudge you that?

she said nothing
but stood up
and brushed down
her dress

best go
she said
wait a while
you said

let's buy some chips
before you leave
I've no more money
she said

I have
you replied
patting your jean's pocket
*******

the 6 shooter
toy gun
hanging
at your waist

best not
she said
if Dad sees me
he'll go off

the deep end
she stood there
half undecided
chips with salt

and vinegar
and maybe
an onion or two
you added

giving her a look
your head to one side
she bit her lip
as she fingered

her cardigan
but Mum said
not to be late
Ingrid said

sometimes
they throw in
a slice of bread
and butter

you said
especially for kids
if you give them
I'm starved look

she smiled
her hands going
into the cardigan pockets
what if he sees me

go in there?
she said
he won't
you said

he couldn't see
the end of his nose
without getting dizzy
you said

anyway he might not
be back until later
she shrugged
and then said

ok if we're quick
and so you stood up
and walked her
up Meadow Row

and across the road
to the fish and chip shop
and bought
2 bags of chips

and onions
and 2 slices
of bread and butter
because you both gave

that we're starved gaze
you walked her back
down Meadow Row
eating in silence

she eating ravenously
her fingers busy
her mouth opening
and closing

once you'd finished
and you'd stuffed
the waste chip papers
into a bin

by the grocer's shop
she said
thank you
that was scrumptious

and she kissed your cheek
and walked off
and across
Rockingham Street

towards the Square
at the top
by the entrance
with arms crossed

grim face  
Ingrid's father
stood scowling
standing there.

Milka liked it
when Baruch
took her hand
and they walked

to bridge over the river
and talked
or went to see
the peacocks along

the other lane
with the tall trees.
Her  brothers knew now,
but said nothing,

being Baruch's friend's,
they took it
he'd lost hold
of his senses.

She smiled
when one said this.
She didn't say
about the kiss.

Just the one,
that one time,
last time,
unexpectedly.

She liked
that her mother
didn't object
when Baruch came

to pick her up;
her look said it:
no hanky-panky,
you're still 14

even if he's 16,
her gaze said all that,
she assumed
as Baruch nodded his head

when he came
and her mother smiled.
Milka liked it
when her hand

felt his, his soft flesh
on hers, his thumb rubbing
the back of her hand
in slow movement.

He talked
of the latest Elvis film
or LP he'd bought
(promised to take her

to the cinema to see
or his home to hear
the new LP
(she'd have to see).

She talked
of her brothers' teasing
or the girls at school
who suggested she did

such and such
(even though she knew
she'd never) trying to be
with it or clever.

She liked watching
the river flow
beneath the bridge
as they stood and talked,

their hands holding,
their bodies near,
the summer sun above.
Was this for real?

Was this love?
She liked it
when they watched
the peacocks strutting,

their calls, their tails
and feathers,
and Baruch near,
his closeness warming,

his hand keeping her close,
hip to hip, her body alive
to every touch.
But no hanky-panky,

at least not so far,
not beyond
the limits set,
least not, not yet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No matter how much you try,
You can still hear your baby cry.

The doctors and nurses
Fussed about, gave advice,
Gave cold comfort words that
Fell from you like dying birds.

Maybe you imagine your baby
Lived, that secretly they stole her
And took to give to some other
****** up drained out mother.

You dream you have her in your
Arms and she comes to life with
A cough and splutter and opens
Blue eyes; her small lips wanting
To **** the dried up dugs, seeking
The absent milk, the warmth of hold.

Then you wake up with tired eyes
To dark dawn feeling the biting cold.

Some nights you feel her about drop,
The ghostly babe, and crouching by a
Wall, wait and feel the phantom pain.

Men passing by think you want to ****,
But all you want is love and baby back.

At Auschwitz she died.
Some say along the wires
Her sad soul sings still.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Benedict came in
from the pumps
at the gas station
having served
the Indian guy
with the Rolls Royce
who gave him a tip.

He put the money in the till
and closed it
and pocketed
the coins of tip.

Miss Billings stood
at the doorway
of the small front office,
hand on her hip,
head to one side.

Benny Boy,
do you think
the men who come in here
fancy me?

I don't know,
Benedict said.

Do you think they'd
like to shaft me?

He looked non-plus,
shrugged his shoulders,
don't know,
he said.

She smiled.
Would you like
to shaft me, Benny Boy?
She did a turn,
hands on hips,
eyes bright open.

Shaft?
He repeated.
What do you mean?

She smiled more,
white teeth showing,
hips swaying.
Well, when that Riley
comes in, he often says,
I could give you
a good rogering.

Do you know
what he means,
Benny Boy?

No,
Benedict said.

It means having ***
with someone, Kid,
having it off.
She laughed.

Would you like that?
I can see it now
in the headlines,
and she made movements
with her finger to suggest
newspaper headlines
in the air.
Boy of 15 shafts
22 year old woman
in back of Bentley
in gas station.

Benedict watched her
as she stood,
hands on hips,
smiling at him.

Well, not to worry, Kid,
because you won't get
the chance,
and she walked off
swaying her hips
in Monroe fashion,
her blonde hair
flowing free,
her white clothed backside
moving side to side
and disappeared
in the back office
to do the accounts.

He stood watching
the door swing shut,
the image of her
still stuck in his mind,
the swaying backside and hips,
the hair flowing blonde and free.

He smiled.
In his bed at night,
between the sheets,
lights out,
moonlight glowing,
he had *** with her,
freely, slowly,
without her knowing.

Her mother prepared lunch
in the kitchen
as you and Christina
sat and talked

in the lounge
she looked back
at the kitchen door
and whispered

she's in one
of her depressing moods
she doesn't say much
when she like this

that's ok
you said
I'm just glad
to be here with you

you said
you put your hand
on her thigh
moving her grey skirt

she turned
and kissed you quickly
listening for the sound
of her mother's movement

in the kitchen
her lips on yours
her hand on your leg
her body close to yours

you could feel
her heartbeat against you
her warm hand
on your leg

the pulse of her
getting to you
and the sound
of her mother

banging about
in the kitchen
you paused from kissing
and sat back

her hands
in her lap
your hands
by your side

on the sofa
you couldn't believe
you were there
beside her

next to her body
her eyes focusing on you
you taking in her hair
and eyes

and the sound
of her mother's footsteps
getting nearer
her voice muttering

her approach coming near
and you moved over
and kissed Christina's cheek
the warm flesh

bearing away
on your lips
packed away
in your mind

like some treasure trove
as her mother came in
and brought two plates
and cokes

and put them down
and walked away
no words said
just that look

she gave
that eying
you up and down
that wondering

if you had or not
or if you would
behind her back
as she returned

to the kitchen's span
her ears alert
for sounds
you might make

the touching of lips
the smack of flesh engaged
her mind on edge
her nerves taut

as high wire
but you
and her daughter
just sat and ate

hoping to get down
to other things
(****** or otherwise)
at a later date.

She had taken you
to a field
near her father's house
you could see it

as you lay
in the tall grass
the summer school recess
having begun

the brain washing
over for a while
and Judith said
I had to sneak away

before Mother got me
into chores and such
and she glanced over
at the house

with her big blue eyes
glad we're here
you said
touching her hand

your finger running
along her soft skin
if she'd seen me
it would have been

just do this
or just do that
and the morning
would have gone

and you
would have waited
and waited
like a spare *****

at a wedding
as my brother
often says
she said

without turning
her head
she lay back
on the grass

her brown hair
spread amidst the green
you gazed at her eyes
looking up at you

and that smile
beginning to open
and her words
waiting to spring out

I'd have waited
you said
spare *****
or whatever

and she laughed
and as she laughed
you loved her more
and kissed her forehead

and her cheek
and moving lips
and still she laughed
and said

sorry can't help it
it's the way
you said it
and her laughter

frightened birds
into flight
and the echo
of her laughter

almost reached
the house you imagined
and saw
in your mind's eye

her mother looking
towards the field
hearing the echo
of laughter

and she frowning
her thin lips tightening
she imagining
whatever

her worse fears were
(****** not ******)
up there in the field
but looking over

at the house
it sat still and silent
with no one looking out
or over

her mother not knowing
where her daughter was
being kissed and such
beautifully in the tall clover.

I never saw you today
in the playground
through the playground fence
you said as you boarded

the school bus
I was at the other end
Jane said with other girls
playing skip rope

o I wondered
where you were
you said
she sat

by the window
and you sat
next to her
well they asked me

to play and I didn't
want to say no
she said
who were you with?

West mostly
he came back  
from lunch early
and we played cards

by the metalwork rooms
not betting were you?
she asked
no

you said
if we had been
I'd have lost
as it was

I only lost cards
not money
o I see
she said

there was a fine quality
to her voice
and her words
were like a kind of music

you noticed her hands
in her lap
one laying on top
of the other

the fingernails
cut neat and pink
you wanted to hold them
but didn't want

the other kids
in the bus
to see
so you just looked

at the hands and fingers
as she talked
of some butterfly
she'd seen

in her garden
and her father
had told her
what it was

and how beautiful
it was
the colours
and the way it flew

and how it was all
a part of God's plan
and creation
but you were only

half listening
you noticed
gazing at her profile
how fine her lips were

when she spoke
how they moved
how her tongue
moved like some dancer

how her eyes
opened wide
at certain words
as if some inner explosion

had brought them to life
and they blazed
like a new world
being born

and you lost
the meaning
of her words
they were as music playing

in another sphere
you sitting there
gazing like a soul
lost at sea

at a far off ship
going a different way
and any S.O.S
you may send

was lost
in the air of the day.

At school
Moorcraft said
about joining
the boy scouts with him

(the only scouts
you were interested in
were those who rode
ahead of the cavalry

in western films
and who got themselves
scalped by Injuns)
but he went on

about how they taught you
to tie knots
and light fires
with two sticks

of wood
and how to sing songs
around a camp fire
and be a good kid

and do Bob a Job
for old ladies
and he went on about it
quite a bit

and so you said
ok pick me up later
and so after teatime
of bread and jam

and a mug of tea
and biscuit
you went with Moorcraft
to the church hall

where the scouts met
and this tall scouts master
in short trousers
and hairy legs

and glasses
took you off
to join the rest
and introduced you both

and some kid
showed you how
to tie these knots
and climb ropes

and how to set up
a tent and make camp
and so on
until some kid

pushed you off
the ropes
and you pushed him back
and he punched you

on the shoulder
and you hit him
on the jaw
and then you were both

on the floor
and the good kids
were saying oh and gosh
and crowding round

until the scout master came
and asked what
was going on
and that good scouts

didn’t fight
and threw you out
of the hall
leaving Moorcraft behind

tying knots
and climbing ropes
but you didn’t  
give a fig at all

and Moorcraft still in there
not knowing why
and you walked home alone
under an evening sky.

Carole was one
of the shortest girls
in class;
she had blonde

short cropped hair
and sat next to Miss Pretty,
and was always yakking,
always giving her opinion

on  something or other,
her voice was high
( as if someone had
grabbed her ****

Reynard said),
her eyes blue,
her compact body
(seen from behind)

was clothed in the cardigan
and skirt and blouse
of the uniform of the school.
You watched her

as she put a hand
to the side of her mouth
and whispered to Miss Pretty.
Her thin small hand

hid her mouth;
just the whispering sound
hung on the air.
Can you be quiet, Carole,

Miss Graham, the teacher said.
Reynard whispered,
fancy being married to her;
she'd wear your ears away,

with her non-stop tongue.
And looked at her backside,
imagine that lying next
to you in bed each morning,

he added.
You tried not to,
imagine that is,
not that at least,

Miss Pretty maybe,
you thought,
taking in her thin frame
beside short ***  Carole

sitting next to her.
Miss Graham put on
the Mozart LP
on the record player

and the class sat
bemused or bored,
except Miss Pretty
whose head nodded slowly,

whose foot tapped
a silent beat
and shorty Carole
whose mouth was sealed,

arms crossed,
elbows on the desk,
sat with eyes fixed
on the record player.

While Reynard muttered comments
about both the girls,
debating in whispered voice,
who had the biggest backside,

or smallest *******,
who he would least like
to kiss, while you,
wondering how long

it took for the Mozart guy
to compose the stuff,
noticing Miss Pretty's
pointing finger

conducting,
some imagined orchestra,
her long wrist moving
like a moving swan,

her head to one side,
stirring momentarily,
an odd feeling within you,
which you had to hide.

Fay met Buruch
by the entrance to the Square,
waiting by the wall,
eyes tearful,
fair hair in disarray.

She had shopping in her arms,
hands holding bread rolls
close to her breast.
Buruch took in her eyes,
the hair unkempt, unusual.

You ok? He asked.
They are rowing again, she said.
Who? He asked.
The parents, she said.

You got to take that home?
He asked pointing to the shopping
in her arms.

Yes, she said, I dropped the last rolls
and he sent me out for more,
after hitting me,
after the rows began again.

I’ll walk back with you, he said.
They walked to the stairs
and climbed up side by side.

Don’t you have shopping to get?
She asked.
I can get it later, he said, no rush.

They reached her landing
and he waited
while she went in the door.
Loud voices, shouts, crying.

He waited, hands in pockets,
wondering how she was,
wishing he could knock
and ask her out.

He waited,
looked over the balcony,
looked back at the door.

He knocked the door.
The door opened.
Fay’s father stood there.
What you want kid? He said.

Can Fay come out to play? Buruch asked.
The father stood staring,
hands by his sides.

Who wants to know?
I do, Buruch said.
She’s busy, the father said,
got things to do.

All day? Buruch asked.
If I say so, the father said.
Buruch stood staring,
hands in pockets,
head to one side.

So she’s not coming out? He said.
The father sighed.
Do your parents know
you pester people?
Buruch said,
Yes, pretty much.

The father said, beat it kid.
I’ll wait, Buruch said,
touching his toy 6 shooter
in the holster at his side.

You’ll have a long wait,
the father said.
Buruch leaned against the wall,
pushed the cowboy hat at a tilt.

Ain’t you that Jewish kid
from downstairs?  The father said.
Aren’t you the Catholic
who beats his wife and kid?

The father stood full stretch,
his eyes darkening,
his hands becoming fists.

Scram kid before I beat you,
the father said.
Buruch pulled out
his 6 shooter.

Touch me and I’ll fill you
full of lead, Buruch said.
The father closed his eyes,
then closed the door.

Buruch waited;
more loud voices and cries,
as were before.

Hey Skinny Kid
one legged Anne said
have you ever seen
a *******?

no
you said
thinking it
some kind

of fish
she nibbled
at her scrambled egg
on toast

at the table
in the children's
nursing home
you mouthed

Cornflakes and milk
Anne was next to you
eyeing
the nursing nun nearby

would you like
to see a *******?
Anne asked
in whispered voice

thinking it
some rare find
you said
yes ok

where will I see it?
the beach?
she almost choked
on her scrambled egg

are you all right Anne?
the nun asked
coming over
her black and white habit

swishing as she walked
yes
Anne said
egg went down

the wrong way
well be careful
the nun said
and walked off again

yes the beach
if you like
Anne whispered
trying to keep

a straight face
but you're sure
you've not seen one?
you nodded your head

not that I know of
you said
have you asked Sister Bridget?
you added

giving the nun
a look
o yes she's seen one
Anne said

straining the muscles
in her face
did she say so?
you said

o I know she has
Anne said
you mouthed
more Cornflakes

and milk
little Miss Sad
sat nibbling
at her toast

her tiny fingers
holding hard
the other kids eating
their breakfasts

the morning sunshine
shining through
the windows
after we've finished

I'll show you
Anne said
show him what?
Malcolm asked

who was sitting
on Anne's other side
never you mind prat face
Anne said

only special people
can this see
what I'm showing
Skinny Kid

then I'll tell Sister Bridget
Malcolm said
kiss my backside
and drop dead

Anne replied
Sister Bridget
Anne swore at me
Malcolm said

the nun shook her head
and said
Anne it's a sin to swear
God is listening

you know
and so you sat
and wondered
if you'd ever see

what it was
one legged Anne
was going
to show.

Broderick was the smallest kid
in the class
but the girls liked him

and he had this
mass of blacks curls
and big dark eyes

and had this way with him
that the girls liked
and they would gather round him

when the teacher
was out of the room
leaning over

his shoulders
whispering things
into his small ears

and he'd say something
and they wet themselves
laughing

putting fingers
to mouths or bellies
and saying

oh my God
or
I've never heard

such a thing
and then put their hands
to their virginal groins

but you and Reynard
saw no great humour in him
or saw what it was

that creased the girls up
to the degree
of ***** wetting

(Reynard's expression)
because out in
the boy's playground

he never said jackshit
or made a sound
or joined in ball games

or cards flicking
or conker smashing
he just hung around

the fence
peering out
at the girls

on the playing field
playing hockey
or some other

ball games
in their short
green skirts

that showed
their green underwear
when they jumped

or ran along with sticks
and some guys would say
hey Broderick

what about us guys
what about joining in
with our games

or talk with us
but he never did
and Reynard said

he must have something
the girls like
small Broderick

possibly his big dark eyes
you said
or his humour

Reynard said
or promise
of his big ****.

Aubrey took in the dame
in the red dress, her hams
moving under the tight cloth,
her ringed fingers showing

as she moved her hands, the
pointed dugs like small noses
pressed against the redness.
He took in her hair, noticed

the colour, the waves, the  
highlights. He sipped coffee.
Cappuccino, white froth on
his upper lip, wiped off with

the back of his hand. She
stood window shopping;
stood moving her legs, her
hams in **** motion still.

He leaned back. He eased
against the chair. She had
stooped forward. Her eyes
price gauging, hands behind

her back, holding a hand
bag, rings showing. He
settled on her neckline.
A necklace, silver, a cross

without a Christ. She turned
and gazed up the shopping
mall. She sighed. He watched.
Sipped coffee. The waitress

who brought it walked with
a wiggle. Tiny backside, tight,
she thin as if some Modigliani
dame. She walked by holding

an empty tray. Wiggled, head
level. The dame in the red dress
turned and faced him. Their
eyes met; green on brown;

hers on his. She looked away
taking nothing of him. He
drank in her eyes and mouth;
lingered in his darkroom mind.

He sipped again. She folded
her arms, handbag hanging,
eyeing her small gold watch.
Aubrey took in her legs,

the hairlessness, the silk
smooth suntanned legs.
Younger he may have
drooled; now he just

gazed and gazed. She
looked up the long mall.
He sat up and downed
his coffee. Her Romeo,

if such, arrived. They
embraced; he swung
her around. Excitement,
bright eyes, smiles.

They walked off. Aubrey
watched her go, not
unhappy or ill, he'd had
his sight and had his fill.

After Friday school
after two boring lessons
with Mr Finn
you went home

with Janice for tea
and to see
her gran's new canary
and she told you

the blue one
had died
and her gran
had bought

a new one
and you told her
about the Ivanhoe book
you'd bought

out of your pocket money
about this Saxon
and King Richard 1
and you said

your old man
had made you a sword
out of metal
at his work place

and painted it blue
and you wore it
through your elastic belt
with the snake buckle

and she listened politely
as she always did
even if she was bored
which she probably was

and when you got
to her gran's place
she took you in
and her gran said

glad you could come
I saw your mother
the other day
and she said it was ok

for you to come
and Janice showed you
the new canary
in the cage

hanging from the holder
over by the window
and she asked her gran
if she could get

the bird out
and her gran said
she could but be careful
it don't fly away

and so Janice let
the canary out
of the cage
and it flew around

the room a few times
then settled on
her red beret
and started pecking

at it
what's the bird called?
you asked
Gran's started calling it yellow

Janice said
because its colour
is yellow
you watched the bird

pecking at her beret
and her eyes looked upwards
and she held out a finger
and the bird flew down on it

and perched there
and she stroked its beak
and then after a while
she put it back

in its cage  
and shut the door
and her gran said
what would you like for tea?

and you said
bread and jam
would be fine
and a mug of tea

to go with it
and her gran said
is that all?
nothing cooked?

Janice said she was having
scrambled egg on toast
and some rice pudding
for afterwards

and so you said
ok that sounded good
and her gran went off
and you sat with Janice

and she turned on the radio
and listened
to some classical music
which bored the hell

out of you
but at least
you were with Janice
and she smiled

and looked at you
all kind of seriously
and you liked her red beret
and her white blouse

and grey skirt
and her fair hair
touching her shoulders
and her thin fingers

reaching out
and touching your
slightly ink-stained ones
and she talked

of the names
of the children
she was going to have
when she grew up

and how many
boys and girls
she was going to have
and you nodded

and took nothing in
except the beauty
of her lips as she spoke
and her gran called

from the kitchen
lay the table ready Janice
and she got up
leaving your fingers

to tingle
which you guessed
was nice.

Doronit would spit fire
and Baruch knew it
he'd had it before
that time she'd gave him

the hard time because
he'd sat watching
some dame
in a caravan opposite

hanging out washing
on a make shift line
fancy her do you?
Doronit said

why don't you go over
and chat her up
but Baruch told her
he wasn't interested

and that he was just
observing the washing
hanging process
looking at her smalls

I suppose?
she said  
no he said he hadn't
but he had been looking

at the fine movement
of the dame's ****
but he never told
Doronit that

yes she'd spit fire
she'd lay the words on him
and that time
she saw this

other dame's name
in his note book
and when he came home
for lunch

she said
who's this then?
you having it off
with her?

Baruch told her
it was some dame
he was watching at work
all about

security and such
and she began
throwing stuff at him
shoes coat hangers knives

forks and spoons
whatever she could lay
her hands on and some
of it came down the stairs

like missiles
and he went up
and pinned her down
on the bed to calm her

and she relaxed
and said
was that all? no affair?
no

he said
no affair
nothing
just security

at work
and she smiled
and kissed him
and that was that

all over
fire spat and done
but this time
the fire

would be for real
and Baruch knew it
and he watched her go
about her work that day

hoovering dusting
cleaning the floor
and he waved goodbye
at the door

and never looked back
all over
no more fire
no more

Doronit had done it
for the last time
and he recalled her
that last moment

she with her cigarette smoking
her hair tied back
her eyes full
of dull fires

burning embers
and that is all
looking back
he remembers.

What would
your mother say
Sutcliffe

if you caught her
at it
with your old man?

O'Brien said
Davis chuckled
into his sleeve

at what?
Sutcliffe asked
giving

his blue eyed stare
having it off
O'Brien said

you noticed prefects
at the school gate
ready to haul off

those who were late
having what off?
Suttcliffe said

eyes larger
his blonde
cropped hair

convict style
*** ***
you stupid *******

O'Brien said
running his
ink stained hand

over Eddie's head
Davis lowered his gaze
at the school gate

you eyed
the tall prefect
with acne

and a pretend
moustache
who stared you back

with evil stare
o'
Eddie said

I see what you mean
o she'd slap me silly
if I saw that

you all went through
the school gate
just on time

not a moment late
wondering how silly
Suttcliffe could get

and how often
he'd seen
or when

or where
and when
you looked back

the acne prefect
still gave
his evil stare.

Over the hills of Lough,
The boys go now
With their pockets

Full of promises;
And their heels kicking
The dust from their feet,

Like fathers pushing away
The years shown in their greying hair.
Listen. The voices carry.

The boys have shouldered
The labours of centuries;
And now over the hills of Lough

They go now,
With their caps
On their heads

And over the brow;
Leaving the girls
To their maidenhood

And the old men
Who once climbed
The hills, but soon

Came back again.

You stopped outside
this shop window
on the New Kent Road
and peered in

there were lots
of merchandise
with labels saying
To Clear on them

and you saw
this stamp album
with a packet
of stamps attached

for 1/6d
so you went in
and asked the old guy
behind the counter

for the stamp album
and stamps
and he reached in
the window

and took it out
and you gave him
the 1/6d
and he handed you

the album
and he said
ain't you the kid
who came in here

last week
and bought
the cap gun and holster?
yes I am

you said
why?
you must have
diverse tastes kid

he said
guess so
you said
and walked out

into the street
where Helen
was waiting for you
what did you buy?

she asked
a stamp album
and stamps
you replied

you showed her
what you'd bought
you don't look like
the kind of kid

who'd buy
a stamp album
or who
collected stamps

she said
what's a kid
who collects stamps
look like?

you asked
she looked at you
her head
slightly

to one side
I don't know
someone with glasses
with black plastered

down hair
with a posh voice
she said
you gazed at her

standing there
in her red
and yellow
flowered dress

and brown hair
in tied bunches
and her thick
lens glasses

you wear glasses
you said
you don't
collect stamps

but I'm not a boy
she said
only boys collect stamps
you shook your head

and smiled
anyway lets go
to my house
and drop theses off

and go to the park
and have fun
you said
ok

she said
and you walked with her
to your home
you with your stamp album

and stamps
and she with her
battered doll Betty
in her right hand

swinging it along
and you humming
some Roy Rogers
cowboy song.

The water won’t really
Wash him away, but you
Try and now dry between
Toes. Thoughts of him
And what he did and said

Pollute your body and inside
Your head. An hour in the bath
Has not erased him at all, not
Undone him, not unfelt his
Fingers from your flesh.

The flesh tingles where
The brush scrubbed,
The pores hold onto his
Feel and touch, too imbedded,
All too much. You want him

Gone, want all of him to be
Sluiced away down the sink,
The down the drain, away
From you, with all his
Hurtfulness and all that pain.

Ingrid sat next to you
on the school hired coach
to the Tower of London
sun poured

through the window
making you feel hotter
and Ingrid
who usually smelt

of dampness
smelt of oranges
fresh peeled  
her usual well worn

raincoat and cardigan
were gone
and she was clothed
in a creamy blouse

and green skirt
and off white socks
and plimsolls
(her shoes in

the shoe smith
being mended
she had said)
and you in  a grey

open neck shirt
and grey flannel
short trousers
( no jeans

the teacher said
the day before)
and once all the kids
were aboard

and the teachers
had counted heads
the coach took off
and the talking erupted

and voices filled the air
and laughter and chatter
and you looked by Ingrid
at the passing view

she looked out too
her hair you noticed
washed and combed
and on her lap

in a bag
her packed lunch
and she held
the bag tightly

and you noticed
her fingers
the nails bitten
but the ink stains gone

and she turned
and said how excited
she was and that
she'd never been

to the Tower before
and that her dad had said
she wouldn't have gone
if her mother hadn't paid

and moaning
about the cost
and don't we have enough
to pay what with

one thing and another
and she lowered
her voice
and whispered

that her dad had hit her
for wanting to go
and her mother too
for interfering

and she pulled up
her skirt and showed you
a bruise on her thigh
then she looked away

and was silent
and you thought
that if you saw him
you'd have pop him

one with your cap gun
(symbolic of course)
then she turned
and said not

to tell anyone
and you said
you wouldn't
and she smiled

and squeezed your hand
and you hoped
none of the boys about
saw her hand

but you were glad
she had and you felt
kind of grown up
with a girlfriend

of your own
like those in the films
you'd seen where
the cowboy gets his girl

in those usual boring bits
you tended to hate
but there again
you and she were

just good friends
and only eight.

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

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

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

was running out
to eat
but  
Yiska nibbled hers

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

nibbling gently
Naaman watched her
his sandwich held
but uneaten

smelt
viewed
but held away
from lips

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

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

the white teeth
and her eyes
unfocused
her nightgown

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

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

but then
the foreign woman
distracted him
by taking

her sandwich apart
opening it
between fingers
sniffing the contents

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

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

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

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

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

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

was darkening
through the locked
ward windows
the bright electric lights

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

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

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

technique
the similar lipping
routine
and the missing button

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

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

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

The tattoo dame
on the tube train

young
skirted

tee-shirted
and those tattoos

all over her
(least where

you could see)
and the pressed up

people to you
the motion

of the train
bodies colliding

smells
odours

perfume
human sweat

and she swaying
holding a bag

between her legs
and you

wanting to snap her
on your

camera phone
but unable

to get
to your pocket

pressed in
from both sides

trying
to remember her

and the tattoos
and where

they were
and what of

and colours
and such

and she
looking down

not up
and the small ****

pressed in
the small cups.

Miryam walked with you
through Tangiers
miles from the base camp
still feeling tired

from the previous night
after the late evening
on the beach
hugging and kissing

each to each
not going further
that time
back to the tent

(your tent colleague out)
you and she
lay there
almost making out

but then he was back
and she had to leave
mouthing words to you
as she left

behind his back
then the morning ride
to Tangiers
on the back

of the truck
the smell of the city
the aromas
the people

almost Biblical
the snake charmers
the shops in alleys
the kids

trying to sell you
hashish on corners
and she held your hand
clutching her bag

with her other hand
her curly hair
orangey red
and she talking

of bags and clothes
and how back home
there was
so much more

to buy
and her hand
warm in yours
her small thumb

on the back
of your hand rubbing
as she walked
and you felt

and sensed her
and recalled her
a few days back
on the beach posing

for a photo
with a camel
and a Moroccan guy
in that skimpy

bathing suit
( giving the guy
the heat)
and you taking

the photo
with the borrowed camera
and she stopped
in a side street

looking at clothing
beautiful colours  
and this guy
brought out

two cups of mint tea
while she decided
what she wanted  
and you sat there

beside her
smelling her perfume
looking at her hair
and lips

and how she held
the small cup
in her hands
sipping

breathing
talking
her eyes
bright lights

her small **** pushing
against the cloth
of her purple top
and the tightness

of her jeans
on her thighs
and the whole scene
like something

you'd seen
in one of those
coloured pictures
in the Bible

the people passing
some with donkeys
one guy
with a camel loaded

and you watched
her sipping
her hands holding
the fingers curved

about the cup
and she talking
of what to buy
and you drinking

her in
all aspects
with your greedy
all too human eye.

Nima splashed water from one
of the fountains in Trafalgar Square
over Baruch. Laughing she did
it again, but he side-stepped, like

one out of rain, hands wide as if
to bless. He'd met her a few moments
before; by Nelson's Column, she’d
written from her hospital bed, drug

taking recovering (so said), cold
turkey or whatever she'd scribed.
Finishing the ablutions, she walked
on, he followed, stepping beside

her, catching her in profile, taking
in her cropped hair, brown, washed
and washed. She talked of the nursing
staff, who talked of her behind her

back, some at least, she added, chat
of the *** cupboard we used, that
time you came, she said, laughing,
walking out of the Square, along by

the gallery, her voice too loud, he
thought, but sounded out by the
traffic passing. She was clothed in
a blue dress, too short, he thought,

seeing her thighs, sans stockings or
tights, sandaled feet. They went into
Leicester Square, she talking of one
of the quacks she'd seen, head case,

foreign, fancies himself, she added.
Baruch, spied the billboards, new
films, merchandise, drinks, cigarettes,
lowering his eyes, watching her sway

her hips and ****, hands swinging,
gesturing.  She stopped by a bench
and sat down, he did likewise, ears
catching her words, holding them in

his mind, something about them being
jealous of my sexuality she added,
giving Baruch the eye, maybe thinking
me a *****, a druggie slapper, she

said laughing, her hand rubbing against
the top of his, he sensing skin on skin,
remembering, the quickie in the side
room, cupboard size, just off the ward.

He talked of his boring job, the mind
numbing labours, the Coltrane jazz LP,
played on and on, he said, eyes closed.
She lay her head on his shoulder, he felt,

smelt the combination of expensive scent
and hospital smell (soaps or disinfectants),
felt her fingers rubbing his. She took out
a cigarette, offered him one, he took and

she lit up with red plastic lighter. Inhaled,
exhaled, inhaled, silence, her hand wrestled
with his, watching smoke rise, upwards,
twirling, in the hot summer spread skies.

The way
Miss Manners

sat
on the school desk

when the teacher
was out

of the room
or before

he came in
hands on each side

of her thighs
flat

on the desk top
her white socks

hugging her carves  
and black shoes

toe touching
and the knees rubbing

each on each
and Boxy said

nudging you
giving her

the eye
wouldn’t mind being

her bicycle seat
and the sunlight

lit up her hair
angel like

sitting there you thought
the hands small

palms down
the fingers

slightly spread
the nails

pinkie white
unchewed

and Boxy whispered
bet she’s *******

his breath
easing out

sweetness
of bubblegum

wouldn’t mind
kissing her ***

he sniggered
there was

where the sunlight
caught her profile

that contrast
of light and shade

the nose
the lips

slight spread
and where

the sun lit her
a halo shone

around her
****** head.

Milka escaped
from the farmhouse
without
her mother seeing

so she said
and her brothers
were out fishing
so she persuaded

Benedict to allow her
to tag along behind
(beside) him
what about your mother?

he asked
o it will only be
chores she
wants doing

Milka said
they walked
to the place
where the peacocks

were kept
and stared
through the wire
at them

the colourful *****
but dull
as mud hens
making their calls

proudly walking
beautiful plumage
she drew up
close to Benedict

her hand hovering
near to his
but not touching
like a bird

in mid flight waiting
she talked
of the dullness
of the hens

and brightness
of the *****
he listened to her
smelling the perfume

she’d liberated
from her mother’s bag
he said he’d wanted
a job on a farm nearby

but he didn’t get it
she put her arm
under his
and squeezed

him close
she was glad
her brothers
were fishing

or they’d
be with Benedict instead
practising the judo
or karate out back

at the farm
she wanted him
to hold her tight
to draw her nearer

than she was
she’d put on
the shorter dress
when she saw him  

at the door
asking her mother
about her brothers
earlier that morning

and had rushed
to dress
to catch him
up the road

without her mother
seeing her go
they moved on
from the peacock place

and walked the road
and crossed a field
he touching her hand
the sky blue

and cloudless
he silent
she talking
of seeing

the latest
Elvis film
wanting him
to ask her out

but he didn’t
he climbed the style
and through the woods
by the small river

and his hand
holding hers
she feeling
his fingers

on her skin
his thumb rubbing
the back
of her hand

and maybe
she thought
he’ll stop
and kiss

and hold
but he didn’t
he walked on
through the woods

breathing in
the smell
of flowers
and water

and air
touched by birds
and heat
she wanting

a heaven
but having
firm earth
beneath her feet.

You want to look how Mother looked.
Makeup she used to use lies on her
Dressing table in the room father has
Had locked up. You have secreted the
Key and unlocked and closing the door,
Are sitting facing your image in the mirror’s
Glass you’ve propped against a chair. You
Do not have your mother’s hair. You have
Her eyes, Father said, although he says it
Less now since her death, as if stealing
From the dead. You want to transform
Yourself into her; be the woman she was;
Have her beauty; have her smile; her gentle
Manner. Cancer took her like thief at night;
Reduced her to a bag of bones and hanging
Skin, pale and thin. Forget that image, Father
Chides, cast it away, lock behind the mind’s
Dark doors. You want to look how Mother
Looked before her sad demise, before cold
Cancer’s deceit and lies. Still a child, Father
Says, you have all your life to live; leave your
Grief behind, but you want to be as Mother
Was, like the coloured picture in your mind.

After the snow
had cleared
Miss Billings said
hey kid you got

a girl friend yet?
you said no
although you did
in a kind of way

but she needn’t
know that
you thought
why’s that?

she asked
why haven’t you
got a girl friend?
you said you needed

a rest from girls
but she just laughed
and said girls
had had enough

of you I expect
anyways look out
for incoming cars
this is

a petrol station
not a love nest
and she wiggled
her backside

back to her office
a poor man’s Monroe
and the door closed
and you wondered

what the guys who came
to the petrol station
saw in her
and how they

drooled over her
when they dropped
in now and then
and she lapped

it up putting on
her Marilyn thing
that blonde hair
bright eyed stare

and a laugh
that would undress
a man’s mind
not that you’d

say no but there you go
you mused
standing in
the small front office

waiting for a punter
to come get
some petrol
or oil

or have their tyres
checked and blown
and looking out
the window

at the passing traffic
you wondered
how many men
she’d bedded

and what she
looked like
without her
white overalls

and red dress
and black stockings
and ankle boots
and sans her spectacles

and thought how
she’d ****** you dry
right down
to your 15yr old *****.

It was she, Buruch
remembered, it was

Shlomit, who during
a nature study class


at school, had raised
a hand to be excused

to go to the loo (other
kids would have said

the lavatory or toilet
depending on their

breeding or class),
but the teacher, Miss

Ashdown, said, no
you should have gone

before. A few minutes
later, Buruch recalled,

she peed on her chair
and floor and a boy

nearby the scene said,
Shlomit's **** herself

Miss. There was a sea
of sounds around and

the teacher frowned
and with beady stare

told her to get out of
there, and told another

girl to go with her to
the nurse to wash and

change (nothing worse)
and sobbing left the room.

Yes, it had been she,
Buruch remembered,

and she hadn't returned
anymore that afternoon.

Gone home, he now
suspected, in borrowed

underwear, her others
washed through by nurse

who said, that will have
to do; and home to her

parents, mother's chide
and father's hand or belt

(who firmly with either dealt).
But to day, after lunch

in the upstairs hall, he'd
gone with her to Bedlam

Park, and showed her
his killer brown conker

on threaded string, a
three penny piece his

grandfather gave, and
she showed him the new

handkerchief her mother
bought her, flowered

with red border. And
she'd kissed him shyly

on the cheek and he
smiled and looked to

the ground, hoping none
of the boys were around.

Yes, it had been Shlomit
who had wet herself

and chair and floor and
been sent away, but she

was dry now and had
kissed his cheek today.

The rain
had not stopped
all day
and so

you wandered
around
the school
assembly hall

like others
equally bored
peering
now and then

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

and you walked
with Boxall
and one
of his cronies

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

when Christina
came over
and taking you
by the arm

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

where
you could both
be alone
and away

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

she still holding
your arm
and you looking
about you

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

and into a small
deserted room
off
the dark passageway

and once inside
she shut the door
and leant
against it  

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

she said
but at least
we can be
alone here

for a while
she released
your arm
and moved

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

listen out
for prefects
or the caretaker
whose room it is

she said
you looked at her
standing there
her eyes focused

on you
her hair neat
and well brushed
and some scent

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

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

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

of course
you said
and kissed her lips
putting your hands

about her waist
and she
did likewise
and it was strange

being there
with her alone
not having
others nearby

or other eyes
watching
and the kiss
seemed surreal

even though
her lips
were on yours
it seemed

like a dream
her hands
pressed you
close to her

and you sensing
her waist
in your hands
feeling her hips

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

pressed on
your chest
and the semi dark
of the room

and her scent
and flesh
and hands
and lips

and you listening
to her words
and footsteps
along the passage

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

sensing her there
and hearing words
not hers
outside the door

and you both
broke apart
and hid
behind the door

as it opened
and the caretaker
entered
leaving

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

his junk
and you both
standing there
holding hands

lips burning
breathing in the air.