the morning has not yet started
Quietly, showering and dressing for work
so as to not wake anyone in her stead
A dark drive, yawning
The sun has not yet risen
Turning the corner to the street
Where she spends nine hours a day
Walking in the gate to work
Hearing nothing but quiet
for most of the town still sleeps
as her footsteps echo through the alley
Turning on the computer
Where she will stare and stare
To begin another day
Of frivolous activities
For each and every day
is a wild goose chase
What will happen today?
The same thing that happened yesterday.
Always looking for something new
Never finding anything different
