Her name was Woodbine Emmeline
And she’d really earned her name
She used to trawl through cobbled streets
Past death-grey queues for buses
She was never really willing for a shilling
But she’d go for broke for a smoke

She was never really willing for a shilling
You were never on safe ground with a pound
But give her a Capstan and a match to light her fire
And she was anybody’s bike to ride around

She could hack and cough her guts up
And spit into the rusty bucket by the bed
Never treated her face with make up
Her tousled hair unbrushed and tatty
Flecked with specks of grey, floating
Upon crashing, tobacco-scented waves

She was never really willing for a shilling
And she’d never go to ground for a pound
But with a smoke between her lips, another tucked behind her ear
She was everybody’s bike to ride around

There was one-shilling-Kate by the school gates
Half-a-crown-Sue around the town
But the grandest of them all, who put her lungs before the fall
Was the beauty who was Woodbine Emmeline

This was written in October 1998 and revisited recently before I decided to publish here. I tweaked it a little, always a temptation when I go back to my earlier work. I'm much happier with the finished piece now, it's something a little different. Not from my 'usual box of tricks', which is a good thing. I'm trying to challenge myself more as a writer and not just occasionally peer over the parapet of my comfort zone.