Green bag

Her routine was just the same day in day out
At 8.30am on the dot she would emerge
A quick peek up and down the street
Tuck her hanky into her sleeve
Shut the front door then make her way down to the rusty front gate
Look in my direction tip her walking stick
I would nod back
The only thing that would change was the colour of her scarf around her neck
Sometimes bright red
sometimes blue or green
A different colour every day.
I liked her scarfs
Glasses perched on her pointy nose, thick fawn tights, brown lace up shoes
Off she'd go, up to the corner shop at a good clip
Walking stick always at the ready for that pesky mutt at number 29
She would always tense up as she got close to number 29
Didn't blame her though, I hated that bloody mongrel as well
You could see her toy with crossing the road just to avoid that dog
Yes could see her thinking out loud
Though she never did she just put her head down and stuck to the outside of the footpath

She always carried the same shopping bag, an old green canvas number
I never saw what she put in that old bag, as I never saw her return trip, but I always wondered
For two whole years I watched her, she never missed a beat
Not till the Ambulance took her away that cold May Day
Twirling lights, bright white uniforms on that drab May day
It just didn't fit on that weary street
I waited and waited every day for her to poke her nose out at 8.30
Even sneaked a look in her window one day.
She never did though, cause they put up a "For Sale" sign a couple of months later
Funny I miss that old lady more now than I did then
Didn't even know her name, but what really intrigues me most
Is just what she carried home in that old green bag every day