In her old black widow's bonnet <br />And her ragged skirt of brown <br />And her boots of different size <br />And woollen shawl, <br />She went slowly through the back streets <br />Of the Mile with eyes cast down, <br />Seeking fumbled thrillers' coins <br />That they'd let fall. <br /> <br />Past the alleys, dark, ungodly <br />And the taverns sour and hot, <br />Vacant mind and empty purse <br />Back to the yard, <br />Where the decent never lingered <br />And the hansoms loathed to trot, <br />And when cautious sunbeams crept <br />They found it hard. <br /> <br />Inside the narrow entrance with <br />A lantern he was kneeling <br />Next a heap of something laid <br />Out near the well, <br />And both his hands were working as <br />Though rifling or stealing, <br />But the things that he removed <br />He could not sell. <br /> <br />As she stood and gazed quite calmly, <br />He then slowly turned his head, <br />And he realised that he <br />Had been found out. <br />With a language coarse, indecent, <br />Furious fingers dipped in red, <br />He was on her like a flash <br />With angry shout. <br /> <br />His arm was 'cross her windpipe then <br />He pinned her fast with madness, <br />Obsidian frenzied eyes and <br />Foam-spit seeping, <br />And nose to nose he searched her face, <br />Then stopped, held head with sadness, <br />Cried in anguish for his mother <br />Then ran weeping. <br /> <br />Mary stood and set her bonnet <br />And smoothed down her ragged skirt <br />And picked the dirty shawl from <br />In the gutter. <br />Then she climbed the rancid stairway, <br />Not quite knowing why she hurt, <br />Found a tallow stub and chewed bread <br />As it sputtered.<br /><br />Kevin Eaglesfield<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/jack-the-ripper-3/
