she lives in the woods
you wouldn’t think so
seeing her in the suit
but when the clock strikes five,
she is wild.

her hair golden among the green
a forest nymph or perhaps a fox
she runs barefooted
the ground is hard,
but her feet are harder.

the air is cold and it burns her throat
the cold electrifies her
she screams with life
until late in the night,
she lies among the dirt and leaves.

before the sun is up
she is up
she washes in the stream
donning her suit once again,
she is society.