Dauntless daughter, don’t the whites of the eyes
of your friends mean anything to you?
Rise early, shower quickly, instant coffee.
When they’re gaping like fish about another pursuit
which diverts you from all of the fun?
Strict schedule, poem at lunch, meetings, plans.
Do you know they say that you’re out of your mind,
that you’re wearing yourself to the ground?
6:00 traffic, feed the cat, writing time,
dinner and precisely one hour to read,
bed early, repeat.
Does it bother you to think they’re right to gawk
at your relentlessly structured climb?
Do you think you’re missing out on livelier scenes,
killing yourself, slaving away?
Dauntless daughter, do you think they’ll ever know
your secret triumphs, when you’ve gone?