She listens to the sweet electronic musings of Queen,
Slippery with sweat in oppressive humidity.
She rushes through the morning in time with the music,
Dozy with sleep from a night of tossing and turning.
She rubs her aching temples, but doesn’t turn the music down,
Taking her time,
Headachey in the air you could slice with a cleaver.
She sits, poised in position, perching on a wooden chair,
Unmovingly kinetic, staccato notes in the atmosphere.
She gingerly crosses leg over leg, limbs sticking together,
Waiting for the day,
Frustratingly fixated on the image in the mirror.
She distracts and delays, uses every tool in her toolbox,
Joyfully successful in her pursuit of balance.