Jack The Ripper Poem by Kevin Eaglesfield

In her old black widow's bonnet
And her ragged skirt of brown
And her boots of different size
And woollen shawl,
She went slowly through the back streets
Of the Mile with eyes cast down,
Seeking fumbled thrillers' coins
That they'd let fall.

Past the alleys, dark, ungodly
And the taverns sour and hot,
Vacant mind and empty purse
Back to the yard,
Where the decent never lingered
And the hansoms loathed to trot,
And when cautious sunbeams crept
They found it hard.

Inside the narrow entrance with
A lantern he was kneeling
Next a heap of something laid
Out near the well,
And both his hands were working as
Though rifling or stealing,
But the things that he removed
He could not sell.

As she stood and gazed quite calmly,
He then slowly turned his head,
And he realised that he
Had been found out.
With a language coarse, indecent,
Furious fingers dipped in red,
He was on her like a flash
With angry shout.

His arm was 'cross her windpipe then
He pinned her fast with madness,
Obsidian frenzied eyes and
Foam-spit seeping,
And nose to nose he searched her face,
Then stopped, held head with sadness,
Cried in anguish for his mother
Then ran weeping.

Mary stood and set her bonnet
And smoothed down her ragged skirt
And picked the dirty shawl from
In the gutter.
Then she climbed the rancid stairway,
Not quite knowing why she hurt,
Found a tallow stub and chewed bread
As it sputtered.