Every morning, half past five

The burning sunlight pierces and shines

The golden rays sew intricate designs

Birds sing in unison, fragile rhymes.

Baby blues complimented by a sandy undertone

Illuminate the heavens with a warm microphone

Declaring all to rise within every home

And all awaken with a faint and tired moan.

Under sheets green as grass

Under the covers she will thrash

Hoping for the sunlight to quickly pass

For something as bright cannot possibly last.

She opens her eyes, palm to the sun

Robins glide by one-by-one

Until her weariness has finally gone

Again and again daylight has won.

There is much to do

The house is empty too

She only has but a few

Minutes left before she is due

At work where she must wear

A tight band pulling back her hair

As she tends and she cares

For the customers in fear.

She adjusts her glasses, black as night

Constantly suppressing her fright

Always conscious of the other woman who might

Roar and shout out of any small spite

And that gentlemen too

Because it was ever so rarely that she actually knew

Who exactly would be the one to

Cause her worry to renew

Deep breaths were really all she could do.

Deep inside she honestly understood

That such fears were really no good

But that little voice continued to command as loud as it could

"They all hate you just as you should!"

Eyes darting nervously

She smiles out of courtesy

Her finger tapping repeatedly

Even without a reason to be so antsy.

The woman's sharp eyes lock on to hers

The anxiety digging in like spurs

Around her neck, forcing her to whisper

Reaffirming all her doubts as sure.

Now the claws slowly emerge

The other lady's teeth have begun to surge

Reality and fable begin to merge

But when will peace finally re-emerge?

But then the unexpected happened

The woman's glare had certainly lessened

"How are you?" she questioned

And with those words she was suddenly less frightened.

The beast was gone

As quick as it had come

Because this old woman was not the one

But she herself had undone

The fabric that wove the fake situation

Because her thoughts were overrun by imagination.

Her mind had made its own alterations

To something so simple, requiring no such vexations.

___________________________________________

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.