Puppet

That's what life treats you like sometimes.

I'm running down Beacon Street
Listening to the click, click click of high heels
Muted murmers of pedestrians
Cracking jackhammers
And a crosswalk meter beeping
    (warning) Hurry up, hurry up!

A quick business transaction
And I'm sprinting back
Dodging a taxi and checking the time.
    Three minutes of five.
    Of course I'm running late.

Back through the doors and up five flights
To the office.
My boss doesn't see me dash in
To gather my things and leave.

I push through the crowd
Making my way through closing subway doors.
A man's hand settles near my face
A woman's shoulder presses my arm.
I struggle to move.

Then it's back to the tiny apartment
To work work work some more.
Run errands.
Make phone calls.

    Just another day in Boston.

As the sun sets and my energy dwindles
I strip off the makeup.
Throw off the heels.
Take off the fancy clothes
And look in the mirror.

For the first time today
    I see me.