She charges for the door
pulling on her jacket
grabbing her bag
in the background
her mother's voice
"Are you going to eat?"
"No time, I'm late."
Quickly through the doorway
the illusion of haste intact
she runs down the drive
relieved
escaped again
Before her mother's judgment
on her hair,
her makeup,
her clothes,
whatever else observed
Thoughts of warm toast
with jam
a bowl of cereal
temptation from the kitchen
The thought of confrontation
Her pace kept quick
The end of the driveway
screened from the house
by bush's at the roadside
pace slowed
facade shifted
look cool
The school bus is coming
over the rise in the road
another day begun.
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