The Adams are next.

I’ve been handling divorces for fifteen years and I boy can I spot a couple in the throes of despair, smell them like a rat smells rotted peelings in the trash, sniff sniff and I’m there, card ready after I do the ‘bump.’

Six months ago in Morrison’s I spotted the Adam’s, three of them, was four, now three. Snooped around a bit and found the son had high-tailed it to the Borders. Ignored the daughter, whiny, annoying so blocked her out. Mum and Dad, I search the eyes, and the eyes were cold, dead, battered over the head, fish dead, dead skimmed and deboned, ready for eating. Dead I tell you, dead.

Bump.

  Hello, I’m Tony, No 42 St. Mary’s close, their nodding donkeys back to me. Am I right in believing your not far from me.

Indeed, No.14 Tooting St. Nice area, remarks the husband. The pair nod like blanks in a gun. Their mine all mine, I’ll handle this divorce. The wife’ll leave, they always do. Men cheat,  wife’s leave.

   Me, Oh I’m a Solicitor, handle all sorts. I says, divorces, oh I know it’s always a shame, but they don’t need to be painful. Nah, i says as they lean in keen. Pride myself in being gentle, smoothing things over, I’m the UN of understanding. But I do other stuff as well, usual solicitor stuff, here’s my card, if ever you need me, you know wills and stuff. Oh how the raced for it, he got it first, but she’ll get her own back by calling early.   

            Got‘ um snared and rolled for the bagging.   

Listen

A five minute free-write. (vaguely unedited)  -    Listen

Listen, I’m not involved in this haired brained scheme, I just know the fella who’s like conjured it up. Listen, seriously now, cos I ain’t got long, gotta go to Boot’s get me mum’s prescription like, so if you go to the boozer say around eight big Jim will be propping up the bar, usually on the left side, cos he can see the TV and keep an eye on who’s coming in. Just in case, you know the score you look like the kinda guy that knows his way round. So like, as i say, listen right just listen, cos you really need to prick up those ears cos, like a lot of people, heavy people mind are gonna be counting on you, so you can’t mess it up, so like as I say, listen, cos Big Jim, right, he’s got a really quiet voice. 

Zebus and Miriam.

Activity 2.2 OU - Zebus and Miriam

Like an endless carousel the photographs numbly revolved in Zebus’ hands, those faces, grinning awkwardly with fixed camera smiles that always seemed to take the genuine out of peoples expressions, Zebus thought it afflicted  the British more than others. I was one of them once; he shuddered, once forty odd years ago.

He recognised the church, it was the one at the top of his grandmothers’ street, a dowdy old thing, a brick work of crumbling sand constantly soaked with rain, it was a wonder that soft-shoe crabs hadn’t taken residents. The bell had fell through the roof, it’s replacements apparently an awful tape sounding cast through a tinny speaker. He remembered being dragged by his grandmother and those other old biddies, his arm red and sore Zebus surprised himself with a giggle at the reminder the photographs gave him.

‘What’s you laughing at? ’ Miriam asked, after swallowing some morning tea. 
Zebus leaned over to her, she was twenty years younger but at forty-three she still had her figure in shape. A man searches for years to find such a woman to have an understanding. She kept him from going insane, which he knew he surely would, sleeping night after night in such a large double bed alone.  

‘Well, stop staring at me like a hungry dog, will you. What you have in that post?’ Miriam tsked putting down her tea cup and folding her hands into her lap.

‘Family Miriam. Long forgotten wounds and faces. I’m jotting down a reply.’

‘Now I know you, straight forward and –‘

‘Nowt wrong in straight forward Miriam.’

She shook her head and rolled her eyes, for the umpteenth time ‘you’ she stabbed her finger ‘have no diplomatic nature. People don’t like such a thing. Let me see that reply.’

Zebus handed it over, ‘it’s just a first draft.’

She took the sheaf of paper and eyed him suspiciously ‘Mmm hm.’ she sounded through her closed lips.

‘What in the name. What a way to start a letter, and to family… God’s sake man. It’s your nephew’s wedding. They look beautiful, even if it’s raining.’

Zebus slurped his coffee and chewed some toast ‘well it’s true, that mother of his looks like death in a back-draft. Never seen her decent smile on her face ever.’

‘It’s raining that’ll be why, rain spoiling such a great day.’ Miriam eased up on the rocking of her chair and wiped crumbs off he piny.

‘Nah, zebus huffed ‘that woman, look at that face, like she’s got shit for a moustache. The girl Lizzy, ain’t good enough for her kin, that’s what’s going through the bints mind.’

‘Well…’ Miriam re-examined the wedding photographs, they all stood in line at the church doors, rain pouring with smile’s brave but telling. Inwardly she conceded old Zebus was right, what an upturned face his old sister has.    

    ‘See told ye, you know it to. Thank god I never had the money to go back home, imagine turning out like that lot. Beside wouldn’t have you to snuggle with when the desire takes, eh.’

‘They’re still your family you odd old dog. No matter how the years and the distance of water separates. Be nice, for once… and what you mean snuggles with me, you ain’t got that far mister.’

‘Whatdaya mean for once! I’m always nice.’ Zebus clunked his feet on the ground bringing the rockin’ chair to halt the porch shuddering.@and its about time we did get that far!'

‘They glad probably.’ Miriam laughed and struggled out of her seat, ‘you didn’t go back,' she headed for the kitchen in search of fresh iced water, 'you pain in the ass you.’    

The life history of Guillermo Brown

The church clock strikes eight, so those villagers who are awake know without checking that it is six. A cock crows. A body lies across the doorstep of the church, a line of crumb-carrying ants’ march across the fedora, there is a serene, momentary quiet after the chimes cease.

‘Agh, i don’t deserve this,’ Guillermo slobbered over himself, ‘a gutful of bad whiskey, these are not my sins i drown.’

He looked up as sweat dripped from his face and saw his daughter, Esmeralda, watching from behind wall. Her bike resting against her thigh. He felt her hopeful brown eyes wishing each breath was his last. My own daughter he said to himself, born only to kill me, stab my heart humiliate my pride.

‘I feel your eyes,’ words soundless fell from his dry cracked lips, ‘bore into me, demanding my instant death. Pah.’

Guillermo’s heart sheared within his chest, she’s no daughter to me, spite’s me at every turn, given herself to the boy of the man who ruined me. He spat in her direction, his hate long outweighed his love.

Two wheezes more and his body slid awkwardly down the white stones, he landed and his ass gave-out a last involuntary gasp of fumes and follow through, sitting in his own shit Guillermo died.

Esmeralda sniffed indignantly… So, she smiled, he died as he lived.

She got on her bike and glided over the cobbles, away from the crows and howling babies into the small ridge of mountains that shadowed the village.

‘He’s gone, and gone for good.’ She got of her bike and ran to Pedro, kissing his smooth cheek, squeezed her arms around him before placing her head side aways on his shoulder. ‘There’s no coming back for him now.’

            ‘Thank god that’s over with.’ He kissed Esmeralda’s brown hair as it warmed against his shoulder and held her tight. Around them the warming gecko’s began stretching and tail flicking as their blood heated, crickets began chirping, and the green from the scattered brush started glistening.

In Pedro’s lair, nuzzled in his sleeping bag; she circled with finger then tongue before tracing her own nipples around Pedro’s. They licked, kissed and bite each other before she climbed on top and finished the morning with a slow long fuck.  

The gas stove spurted on its dying fumes as Pedro made breakfast and Esmeralda boiled the black coffee, they eat and drank. The church bells echoed through the canyon, Pedro gulped as did Esmeralda, there was no more putting off the next step.

  Together they marched back into the village, which had gathered around Guillermo Brown. Esmeralda and Pedro heard the flies buzzing around the dead man’s underside, the whirling faces of villagers turned to them, a vortex of contorted gums and slanted eyes against the burning sun smiled at the couple.

            ‘He should be buried next to your father Pedro’ said the sheriff ‘so it can be a lesson to future generations that love only conquers all, when its enemies are dead.’     

The new dawn - Freewrite and resulting poem

Freewrite/stream of conscious
Helmut newtons bodies in velvet ropes and rooms of amber porcelain silk stocking three sheets to the wind hung candlesticks glinting sweaty windows of six foot tall love. see-through front covers and wrapping fags of woodbine pleasure sitting naked on velvet boxes with deals made in music drugstores on stages with bowties. knee's sore but pleasure gripped with the velvet ruby and amber nest with silly purples, sickly like an infant in a blaze of fields open to the winds where cameras take people on holidays of Amsterdam. We danced the cha cha till the feet broke poor velvet rugs never stood a chance for the yak from Peru needs a hug with the stars, as Tara Lynn and Albert E made out on Kat Dennings nipples like lions in the night surrounding the moon peoples watering-holes.

The new dawn. 

Skinny, tail bushy
Awkward, but ready to learn.
Leaned his back into the velveteen,
watching us wrapping, mixing
movements and hidden moments. Till the
Sharing became shuddering.

Skinny begins to buckle, but firmly
led by me, the mage,
Amber Porcelain, 
into silk stocking rooms.

Before he hits the floor, his clothes
are cornered. Knee’s sore
But pleasure gripped. We bite like lions
Birthing him into his second phase.

Alone,
I take his hands
Bring him to his feet,
Hold him clean.
Till sun-rise, softly,
We dance the cha cha.

Activity 9.3 – They were all together in one room and she felt tired and claustrophobic.

Her fathers eyes  were nailed to the cheap floor, fiddling with invisible things. Silent, staring into nowhere, Elsie still had her mothers heart monitor pounding in her head, causing the walls to close in.

 ‘God its dim in here, isn’t it.’ Elsie bristled

‘Sit down love, the lights are fine.’ Her Father looked up eyes red, the strain etched across his face.

‘Okay’ for once she did as told and sat on the god-damn awful chair ‘what happened.’ She felt slightly strange in asking.

‘She just didn’t wake-up.’ Her dad pinched the tears from his eyes ‘happen sooner or later, suppose. ’ The corner lamp flickered and the walls loomed over all the more.

‘She’s not in any pain at least.’ Elsie tugged slightly on her dads shoulder, she really wanted to throw that bloody lamp across the room, she gave it a quick shake ‘things going out, stupid thing.’

‘I shouldn’t be in here, I should be by her side.’ He nodded at the lamp ‘needs a new bulb is all. No point you doing that.’

The lamp buzzed for a second then gave up and died