The Woman From Number Twelve.

How strange she seems
Each time she appears,
Glancing left and then right,
Left and then right every time.
Dartingly fast, she checks no-ones there,
Before cautiously leaving the house.

How odd, I surmise.
As I peer through my blinds,
Why doesn't she lock it and go?
Instead she rattles,
The handle again,
For what seems the millionth time.

How awful, I gasp.
As she gives us a glimpse,
Of the skin on her arms,
Blistered and raw,
From the bleach that she pours,
In a desperate attempt,
To kill the germs that could harm.

She's ill, are the words,
That fall from my lips.
When my curious children say,
Why does Callum and Laura's Mum,
Run down the street?
And why can they not come to play?