Typhoid Mary of Flames

There she is
With her hair singed,
Having barely survived
Another fiery ordeal.
The woman is constantly
Scurrying around
Putting out fires,
Dealing with emergencies
Of one sort
Or another,
Running herself ragged.
She is perpetually
On the brink of exhaustion,
Always vigilant,
Fearful that each new flame
Might get out of hand.
In spite of all
Her heroic efforts,
She often leaves
A place or situation
In smoldering ruins.
It is almost as if
The neighborhood
Suddenly erupts
In spontaneous combustion
Whenever she is around.
She’s a regular
Typhoid Mary of flame,
With no idea
She’s the center of the fires.