Untold Story

For Stuart

A friend reminded me

Of a woman long ago

In Brighton days

We called the ‘saucepan lady’.

Unkempt in Kemp Town,

We’d watch her hurry by,

Pan tied on her head

With coloured scarf,

Defying our student theories.

If someone asked,

We’d smile and say her name,

As if we knew her.

When they found her dead,

Some said the pan was stuffed with cash,

Though personally, I wonder.

What we can’t take with us,

We leave behind

For others to ponder.