The lady is a train ready to derail,
consumed by her confusion;
she asks herself if it was a dream,
or did she simply create something
to stir into the confused concoction
of her cacophony?  Joining
day-to-day events with news
programs and soap operas,
like a recipe, a batter to blend,
her mind but a muddled mess
of musings.  There’ll be no baked scones
in her future to enjoy with afternoon tea.