The rational me had lost control of
the steering, my hands unsure where 
to be, feeling in my fingertips intensified
by desire and greed. Our legs 
tangled, and we didn’t know when,
if ever, to apply the brakes. Here was 
the clutch, his palm on my breast. His
lips pressed my mouth, my neck.
It took two for this excursion on an
unmarked path along which
we improvised signals.
 
We cared where we’d end up, yet 
the journey was almost all. We somehow
stayed on track, never landing in a ditch. Each
of us both key and ignition switch, the accelerator 
pressed down, then let up. That journey we
took together was a long while ago, a trip 
I had only understood in theory until then, the road
map having been withheld—although, I doubt it 
would have helped. Student drivers, we passed
the test, the one requirement, our willingness.
                        

Patience doesn’t tap a foot or jiggle 
a leg or let out long slow breaths meant 
to be audible.  It doesn’t shake its 
head or turn its head away or roll its eyes or 
knock its head against a wall.  Patience 
doesn’t say “Hey, hurry up,” or 
“Get a move on.”  It isn’t prone to keep
repeating “What?” voice rising, tone grown
harsh, when someone speaks too 
softly to be clear. It says “I didn’t 
catch what you were saying. Could you please 
repeat?”  It’s willing to articulate long detailed 
sentences, provide instructions several times if 
needed.  It will give encouragement, such as, 
“Don’t worry, everyone internalizes
what they learn at their own pace,” rather than 
“Would it help if I tattooed this on your arm?”  
Like a doctor, patience takes an oath to do no harm.  
It is the antithesis of the urge, which Impatience 
indulges, to snap and snarl.  It does not pace.  It 
takes a casual stroll, and back home, places loose
tea in the cup, then closes both eyes, meditates 
rather than watch the water in the pot.  Its weave 
has no overt objection to the meandering thread.  
When pressed or pulled, it is able to
stretch. It’s like a crack in the pale parched
desert trusting that rain will fall.