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.