There was a woman
Screaming at the wall.
One two till six.
Rage and anger bulged
In the veins of her neck
It was outside a pub
Though she wasn\'t drunk
She was just outside it
Pacing, lamenting
She raged at the wall
At the person she thought it was
About paedophilia
And trafficking.
A crowd of social smokers laughed
She\'s local, a regular.
One two till six
One two till six
She repeated
There were wisps of sense
Just wisps
And once they were spoken
The disappeared into the wind
And I wondered if I had ever heard them at all.
I recognised her as a woman
Who asked me for change once.
One two till six.
A man came out the pub
Lit a cigarette and said
Come on Emma, give it up
The wall isn\'t talking back
But she raged on
Voice hoarse
One two till six
Then asked a passer-by for a quid
Before turning back to the wall
Perhaps it is coincidence
That the address of the pub
Stencilled on the wall
Said 1-2-6.
Emma picked up her bag
She walked as if nothing had happened.
Maybe there was, is, truth
Entwined with the rambling.
Wound so tightly together
That the truth is lost forever.
We might never know.
Whether Emma does
And simply can\'t say
Is something else entirely.