T I M E
She inches along in an excruciating way when I am in a hurry.
I wait for her to catch up, but she speeds past.
Always on her own schedule, not caring about my feelings.
She is a contention every weekday morning.
I stare at numbers in the afternoon, wondering why she is crawling.
She makes me crazy some days; other days I am excitedly anticipating her.
She cares not about my feelings, doing things on her internal schedule.
Bringing the calendar and the clock into the forefront of her own table.
I have to admire her tenacity, and her confidence. She is time.
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