Emptily enough she seems afraid.
Last seen in Camden town,
leaving nothing but the photograph they used.
It was a clue, a plea for help, "come find me",
a decision to be different from the others,
the usual, the drug addict from Brixton that did so well in school,
(who smiles laughably unaware, a picture of life.)
Missing. Probably dead- invisible lemon juice words.
Assumed, presumed, sad but true.
Have you seen Milly?

At 77 she knew the fate of her picture;
obligingly vulnerable, playing a concerto on the heartstrings.
It stares unblinkingly from shop windows and tube stations,
becomes an uncomfortable piece of reading material on the commute,
a mildly unsettling city statistic for the tourists.
"Oh, but don't worry, it didn't ruin our day, our trip.
We rode a bus, the eye, saw that great big clock.
Missing, 77, from Camden town. We soon forgot."