One two till six

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.