she waited for someone to step on her hand
for the guy in the next pitch to get up
to score so she could move further under the bridge
she waited for the turned-away heads the rain the piss
for someone to snatch her blanket for one hello
one coin she waited for the moon which shines she thought
on everyone a path on the wet pavement to the door of a house
up the stairs to the turned down bed the lamps
she waited for tears which had all dried up she waited
for the soup nuns she waited for the thin edge of the red sun
like a flag which could never quite unfurl waver between the piers
touch the high-rise flats miss entirely her waiting face
.
Ruth Hobson
Picture Rupert Loydell
.