Friday Fairy Cakes

I lift my

the cloth of my

shirt

my T-shirt

my drenched T-shirt

*

three o’clock

three

Friday

and she

triangulates the kitchen

with busy-ness

waiting for the homecoming of us

on the four o’clock bus

pondering tea

and so she

anticipating hunger

reaches into the centre

cupboard

for the large gripstand bowl

and fetches

fat and eggs

from the Lec

in the scullery

stands them next

to the range to warm

washes her hands at the kitchen sink

by the window

glancing up the garden

to the point she knows

in an hour we will become

visible

to see beneath my

under my right ribs

a gaping hole in

wrenched in

the flesh of me

where

*

they

therefore

they

because it was

the preparation day

that the bodies

should not remain

upon the cross

on the Sabbath day

besought him that

their legs might be broken

and that they

might be taken

away

so came the soldiers

to brake the legs of the first

and of the other

which was crucified with him

but when they came to Jesus

and saw that he was dead 

already

they brake not his legs

but one of the soldiers

with a lance

pierced his side

and forthwith

came there out

blood

and water

where the guts

the guts have been

and the heart

the heart has been

they have been

damaged

*

four ounces

four

each of caster sugar

and soft unsalted butter

creamed together

with an ancient wooden spoon

then eggs, two,

free range

beaten and added

by drop

by drop

with a teaspoonful of essence -

Madagascan Vanilla -

followed by flour

another four ounces

self-raising, sifted and weighed

folded

into the glossy mixture

and then the batter

dolloped

by spoon

by soft spoonful

on top of a finger of scarlet jam

in the bases

of paper cases

stood

in the tarnished indents

of a well-used muffin tray

then posted

into the oven

preheated to

three hundred and seventy five degrees

Fahrenheit

until domes of golden cake

glisten proudly above tulips of paper

ready to be

lifted gingerly

and lined up uniformly

on the waiting

mesh cooling-rack

through loss

through injury

injuries

and through loss

*

it was the consultant haematologist

who

in maybe some clumsy attempt to

comfort her

had pointed out

that as she

had older children they

would after her death be

able to attend to

the infant

with whom she

was now

pregnant

and the triangular

the triangular blade

the wound made by

the triangular

bayonet blade

is such

that the sides

the sides of the cut flesh

cannot be

drawn

together

 to staunch

the flow

* 

six o’clock

six

and at tea

there are ham sandwiches

and soft-boiled eggs we pass over

before we

can peel the papers

from the waiting fairy cakes

to reveal the terrifying

broken heart of jam

that has burst into the sponge

to leave a chasm of syrupy sweetness

blood red and oozing

while she pours tea

while she still can

from the aluminium teapot

its dull tannin-stained

surfaces scoured

to a shine

in the last few moments

transfigured

before we arrived

home

and the

wound

the wound thus fails to

it bleeds

it still bleeds

and thus

fails to

it fails to

 heal

to heal

sock drawer

Is this the drawer

where Grandad

kept his gun

wrapped in an old crepe bandage?

This drawer

with tortured walnut veneer 

where I now keep my socks?

An old service revolver

from his time in the war

the Great War

wrapped in a crepe bandage

and tucked at the back

of this drawer

next to a small cardboard box

of ammunition.

And did you find it once

when, aged fourteen,

on a cold Sunday afternoon

you were searching 

in forbidden places

for string

or a thimble

or some such thing?

And did you

when you spoke to him later

of your find

and though the sharp rebuke had

stung your ear

then understand what he had

had in mind

during the dark days

of 1941

when Hitler seemed invincible

when the War seemed lost

when he had promised you

and Joyce

and Grandma

that Adolf would never

take his family alive?

mouse

I just felt I should 
draw to your attention

that it gives me 
very little pleasure 
to mention

that the animal 
I described 
as a 
small 
brown 
mouse

and that you described 
as a 
figment 
of my imagination

is currently partaking 
of the packet of biscuits

you left 
on the dining table

to enjoy after luncheon

Enfin, nous avons décoré la cuisine

after we had had

the kitchen done

the plaster on the walls

took several days to dry

turning slowly in patches

from muscovado to soft brown

to a light coffee stucco

the slightly 

less than competent plasterer

had left small arcing ridges

as he smoothed his float

over the silky surface

they crossed

they interrupted each other

after the plaster was dry

there was only one real decision to make

so we sought out colour charts

from do-it-yourself shops

such as Homebase

B and Q

there were many

Crown

Berger

Dulux

we would choose a colour to wrap ourselves in together

Heritage

we would choose a colour to swamp our lives

a verdant sage green perhaps

we would choose a colour to heighten our ecstasy

a vermillion

a burnt orange

sexy hot pink was however not available

in the Kitchen & Bathroom Range

too steamy

should we matchpot?

we considered tiles

thick and small

deep blues, buffs and siennas

terracottas and tomato tartines

offering the rustic charm of

an Italian farmhouse kitchen

spattered with pasta sauce

and yet the decision could not be made

there was tension

in the new kitchen

we crossed 

we interrupted each other

which remained

undecorated

for ten years

taking on the aspect of 

a Sheffield terrace offshot

spattered with pasta sauce

until the prospect of

a French exchange student

called Sandrine

staying chez nous

for eight days

finally

drove us to

off-white

the first language of love

of love

there are five languages

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the people in this picture were all murdered

by an F16 strike on the building

in which they were

in which they were sheltering

this picture is all that remains of the family

the people

in this picture

were all murdered

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for this is the first

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of love

brain food

life is but a

melancholy flower

life is

and from youth the matter

suffers a decline

from the airy sanguine

through choleric blood

to the melancholic earth

life is butter

the phlegmatic young

may be enjoyed lightly inspired

life is but a melon

yellow bile

honeydew

black bile

piel de sapo

but with individuals displaying

a darker humour

other culinary techniques must be employed

up to the testing of by fire

for best results

look for a cream colouration

indicating a level of maturation

blood and phlegm

life is but a melon

Cantaloupe

Charentais

Galia

Galen

Water

Too, too solid Air

but not yet too advanced

while the firm flesh should offer

some light resistance

life is but a melancholy flower

blood, yellow bile, black bile, and phlegm

as the palpating fingertips

carefully check each ventricle

for blemishes and irritations

pineal parasites, pests and aberrations

Other    Dark    Spots

the frogskin of encasing leaves

should be removed

and the stem severed at the base

to thus allow extraction

from the cranium case

having washed the whole

separate the lobes

parietal

occipital

frontal

temporal

a melancholy flower

and with a sharp blade

sever the cortex

right through the stem

"Basal ganglia" by Mikael Häggström and Andrew Gillies*
 https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File
:Basal_ganglia.svg#/media/File:Basal_ganglia.svg

from each segment

incise slices

no more and yet no less

than a centimetre thick

the which lay flat in your pan

non-stick

life is butter-melon

medulla oblongata

drizzle with a fine

extra virgin olive oil

or spread with rich butter

spice with whole cumin seed

then salt liberally

life is but a melon

a steady temperature

http://ohmyveggies.com/wp-content/uploads
/2012/08/cajun_roasted-cauliflower_steaks.jpg

Gas Mark 6 to 7

depending on the

thermal efficiency of your oven

will be sufficient

to tenderise the flesh

and caramelise the cauliflower

life is but a

life is but a

melancholy flower

melancholy flower

life is butter melon

life is but a melon

cauliflower

cauliflower

*

- Made in Inkscape. The following raster image was used for modelling:Basal-ganglia-coronal-sections-large.png (By Andrew Gillies/User:Anaru; Creative Commons Attribution ShareAlike + GFDL license). Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons - 

In the Queue - Cashier Number Five, Please

“Is it your birthday, Doreen?”

“It is my birthday.”

“I saw your badge.”

Doreen’s wearing a “Birthday girl” pin badge.  She perches on her stool counting out the woman’s money.

“I’m taking tomorrow off, Jean,” Doreen smiles, “making a long weekend of it. Might have a facial.”

“Ooh! That’s nice.  Is it a big one?”

“Not particularly,” says Doreen.  She mouths “forty-five” through the glass.

“Oh, I had you as older?” says Jean.

Doreen stops smiling.

“How much did you want, then?” Doreen asks

“I’ll have the full two hundred.  I’ve gave up smoking and every week I’ve been putting it aside – twenty pounds a week.  Now I’ve got two hundred!  Just from not smoking.”

“Amazing,” says Doreen.

“I’m still doing them e-ciggies though.”

“Right, but they’re much cheaper, aren’t they.”

“Oh, so much cheaper”

Crystal is serving me.  She’s new.  There’s a sign above her window “Staff in training. Please be kind.”  I push the banking under the glass as kindly as I can.  A small rubber band rolls out of the cloth bag, too.

“I’ve just got some banking to do and a bit of change – oh, and a small rubber band,” I tell her.

“Oh, haha!” says Crystal.  “Er…”

Dawn has been spring-cleaning the shelves on our side: one by one emptying them off, wiping them down with a J-cloth and a bit of spray, then popping the things back on exactly the way they were but without the dust.  She comes up to the counter to talk to Crystal.

“Have you not done banking before?”

“No,” says Crystal.

“You’ll be fine.  Doreen, soon as you’ve finished Jean off can you help Crystal?”

“’Course I can, lovey.  I’ll help you, lovey, I’ll just finish Jean off, you’ll soon get the hang.”

“Here,” says Dawn to me, “look at the colour of my hands,” she spreads her fingers out to show me their blackened tips.

“That’s me done,” says Jean.  “ Bye all!” and she walks out struggling to close her purse around her two hundred.

A man walks up behind me heading for Doreen who has sidled across to look at what Crystal is doing.

“Hello, Len,” they all say.  He’s a regular I’m guessing.
“Hello, girls,” says Len.

Crystal is occupied slowly counting out my twenties into piles of four and wrapping a fifth around them, so Doreen slips back over and sidles her bottom onto her stool to serve Len.  Len puts his card in the card machine.

“How much do you want?” says Doreen.

“All of it,” says Len “soon as I can remember my number, er… .”

Dawn has taken the rolls of silver wrapping paper off the high shelf above where Len is standing.  Now she tries to put them back but they topple off and one hits Len on the head.

“Oh!!  Watch out skies a-falling!” says Len.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, Len!” says Dawn and another roll topples down.

“Wo-oah,” says Len “you take your life in your hands in here!  ‘Sallright Dawn I won’t sue you.”

Dawn picks up one of the rolls from the floor and taps him a hollow knock on the head.

“Steady on, lass,” says Len, “that’s my weakest point! Oh, hang on…” he’s remembered his number and presses it carefully into the machine. “Had to be rattling round in there somewhere! I’m obliged to you.”

Crystal’s been picking up speed; she’s finished the tens, and fives too, and is just fiddling the loose change onto her little coin rack.

“Did you get them bees, Len?” asks Dawn

“What?” says Doreen.  “Bees?  What bees?”

“Oh, did I not tell you,” says Len, “got chatting to a man over Wombwell way last Sunday.  Beekeeper chap.  BMW they used to call him - Bee Man of Wombwell.  But he’s ninety three and he’s giving it up.”

“And you fancied a bit of honey on your porridge, didn’t you Len!” says Dawn.

“Eh, it’s not just that,” says Len.  “I do, like, but it’s not just that.  He says he’s got hundred thousand bees but he wants to give them away.  So I says, well I’ll have ‘em.”

“ Blimey!” says Doreen

“I know!  With all the equipment, like.”

“Hundred thousand!  That’s ever so many.” Doreen can’t quite believe it.

“But you took them back,” Dawn chimes in, “’cause when you got them home there was one missing!”

“You’ve not done it before though, Len,” says Doreen

“No, no,” says Len, “no, not done it before – don’t know one end of a bee from t’other.”

“Haha!” says Dawn, “well I reckon you’ll find that one out soon enough, Len.  Eh?”

“Oh, be-hive yourself!”  says Len.  “Be-hive yourself!”

"Eh!  I'm Queen Bee around here, aren't I Dor?"

"Oh, yes."

Dawn grabs her midriff in her hands and wobbles it.

"Look you can tell I've had too much of that royal what d'you call it, y'know..."

"Jelly," says Len

"Ay, that's it," says Dawn, "royal jelly.  Too much royal jelly!"