She walks and talks at the same time
Muttering to herself
Or shouting her opinions
At anyone who cares to listen
Her shambling gait
And aimless wandering
Daily through the precinct
An habitual routine
A normal fixture
And commuter landmark
For regular travellers
Dishevelled and dirty
Unkempt and unwashed
Her florid face still lit with a smile
Remnant of a faded beauty
Now swaddled in layers of clothing
Thick coat and floppy hat
Cardigans and jumpers
Skirts and tights
Her gloved hands and fingers
Gripping, grasping tightly
The string-crossed bags
Which she carries with her
Wherever she goes
She asks for nothing
Demanding only time to listen
Never seeking shelter
But slides off somewhere every night
Living by her own her lights
By her logic and on her wits
A modern crazy lady
Seeming not unhappy
But sometimes over-loud
Creating awkward nuisance
Which passers-by seek to ignore
But who can tell
Who is the more uncomfortable?
Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2012
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