All together now

James
(£100 a week saved for the past two weeks
and the rest of his earnings
spent
on wine)

Joe
(finding himself
after two years lost. Playing
with James’s hair and
laughing)

Annie
(full of her first day in sixth form.
Loving it
and
Christian, re-tuning the guitar)

Ben-and-Linda
joined
at the hip

James, Joe, Annie, Ben-and-Linda and me.

James raids cupboards
and the fridge. Cooks tortellini
(ricotta and spinach) and a sauce made of tuna,
chillis, white wine and garlic. Offers
tuna to the cat.
(The cat, suspicious, suddenly has to wash
her back leg.)

Joe tucks himself
under the duvet. Watches TV for a while. Goes
to the cashpoint.

Annie goes
to bed.

Ben-and-Linda leaves.

A strong wind
blows.

The interview (afternoon) 2

What would you do if you
were asked to do
something you thought
was wrong?

I wouldn’t do it.

What if your boss
was doing
the asking?

I’d explain. Work
on a compromise.

What if there was no compromise
to be had? What if there was only
the impossible
thing?

I wouldn’t do it.

What if doing the wrong thing
meant the difference
between feeding your children, keeping
the roof
over your heads, and
not?

No.

Oh and one last thing
. . . if a child
approached you sexually

A child? What kind of child? How old
is
this child?

What would you do?

In the garden

In the garden a ginger cat
chatters
his teeth

watches
the dragonfly on the washing line,
the Russian vine twining
over the fence

and butterflies

(At the cricket, wickets fall
applause
hangs in the wind)

The cat matches
the stones
he lies on. Stretches
his length,
soaks up the sun.

The dragonfly (orange) drying its wings
flings itself into the air then
lands, a little further along.

A tiny insect drowns
in my wine. I light
another cigarette,
turn the page.

(Someone else is out. Shouts
carry on the breeze. A police car’s siren

wails.)

In the garden two empty lager cans,
broken clothes pegs, dead leaves
lie.
Next door’s ivy climbs, tumbles over
the wall
carpets the pathway,
hauls itself skywards, blocks
my light.

Floor exercise (Beijing Olympics, 2008)

There was time (I thought)
when I fell
to consider all sorts
of options

(I’d been watching the gymnasts
tumble. Poised at one corner of the square,
tall,
then three steps and a blur
of turning

Their air held them up
Their floor was a trampoline
of bounce.)

I had time to think
Oh!
The double front somersault with twists.
I’ll land it on my feet. Throw a smile
and my arms up, triumphant,
then twirl on my toes, show perfect
control.
There will be applause and high
scores.

I landed
on one knee. Scraped it
through my trousers (the black ones
with interesting embroidery). Twice.

My Love Your Library bag flew. Spilled
its books on the pavement
as I let it
go and hoped no
-one
noticed.

The interview (afternoon)

Tell us about your family.
Was it your mother you were closest to, or
your father?
Were you happy
as a child?

Tell us
about a good time
and another that was
bad

(There are no right answers)

Why was the caravan such fun
when it was full of daddy-long-legs?

Were you ever bullied?

If someone told you ‘Do this’,
would you
if you
thought it was wrong?

(There are no right answers)

They are slightly sinister, the askers.
They have a list.

The interview (morning)

Turn right into Millfleet. Left into Church Street
then right onto Boal Quay.
See the river.

See 18 miles at 24.2p each.

There is no parking,
not even in marked
bays
and time
is tight

Right at the top (mind the white
van)
cling tight
to the bend
and
stop.

Feed the machine: it’s only short stay
so all day
's expensive.

Push the door. It’s dark blue, heavy.
A tiny blonde behind the glass
smiles. ‘It’s Sue you want’, she says.

Sue has a pass.

There is history in the room Sue shows me to
(it’s in guidebooks
and tour groups look
through its windows)
and five women, nervous.

Coffee in long thin sachets. Hot
water in a flask act-
ivated by a firm press on top.
Nobody moves.

Fliss and Lottie arrive, jolly.
‘Hello!’ they say.
‘We’re here to tell you
what it’s like. There’ll be two short written exercises
during the course of the morning and the rest
of the time
we can deal with your questions.’

There are no right answers,
apparently.

The best place to sit is directly opposite
Fliss while
Lottie smiles.

I am to the right of Fliss, watching.

Prescription

The pharmacist has streaked spiky hair
and a smile

Address?
she says and hands over
medicine
in a box

The medicine makes it matter less
but not much

not nearly much

enough