YAAKOVA IN BELGIUM.

A BOY AND GIRL IN BELGIUM BASE CAMP IN 1974.

Yaakova said the caravan
we slept in
was too crowded.

It was Belgium
on the outskirts
of Zeebrugge,
some base camp,
no tents
arrived for us.

Couldn't move legs
without touching others,
she said.

I'd seen her in the night;
I had slept on the floor,
near the door, draft,
chill, legs stiff.

Frightened I kick
some one in my sleep,
she said.

We were in
the base camp café
eating breakfast
and drinking cokes.

No tents, why is that?
She asked.

C**k up, somewhere,
I said.

What is the c**k up,
as you say?
She said.

Poor planning
and execution of plans,
I said.

Execution?
She said,
my father he talked
about executions
in old days.

He said his uncle executed
in Stalin's time.

I lit a cigarette
and inhaled.

I didn't mean
that kind of execution,
I said,
I meant the carrying out
of plans made.

I like to sleep
with more room,
she said,
at home I sleep
in big bed.

I can imagine,
I said.

I could.
Even what type of bed
it was and what
colour sheets
she'd have and covers.

She ate her bacon and eggs;
I sipped my coke.

How you imagine
my big bed?
She asked,
you not see
my big bed.

Imagination,
I said,
I can picture it.

She looked at me
with her big brown eyes.

You think of me?

No, your bed,
I said.

Although I could imagine her
in her bed
all laid out there
arms spread wide,
legs too,
but I didn't
tell her that,
I just sipped
the coke
and inhaled
my cigarette.

She talked of her home,
her family,
but she lying there
in her bed,
that image,
I couldn't forget.