‘Hey crazy lady go shag a donkey’
came a yell from a suped-up hatchback.
The boys cackled like jackals
and roared towards the horizon.
The subject of their abuse skipped on,
her layers of tattered cardigans armour
against their infantile words.
She swung her carrier bags by her knees
and swigged from her bottle
despite the early hour.
I grew nearer and glanced her way
trying to express that impossible look
of non-patronising sympathy.
Her wavering, faltering eyes met mine
and she collapsed into giggles.
Rolling, inward chuckles
and childlike titters.
I watched her leave and couldn’t
help feel envious
that even if she wasn’t all there,
the best part of her was.