by KELLY ASMUSSEN
At night she walks –
hobbling through the centre of town,
recognising those who pass.
Early on park benches,
she sits and ponders,
and smiles when she finds an eye –
each encounter she knows.
Afternoons rimming the outskirts,
she learns routines of those in ‘the zone’.
They say her mate,
now a grave man,
didn’t feel the snake bite.
He spent days with the time bomb
before the venom finally hit.
Forever she walks,
always alone.