Hey Crazy Lady

‘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.

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