If I ask often enough, I hope she will give in, even if I
have no right to ask, the friend of a friend who should not want what I want,
and yet, I want it anyway, asking the way the kick in the back seat asks “are
we there yet?” over a trip of too many miles.
I am relentless, even if I am also impatient, like a burglar
who keeps trying every combination to her safe with hope to hear the tumblers
click and the dark chamber to open before me to come in.
I think if I ask and ask again, she might give in, even if
it is just to be ride of me, and yet, as much as I want it, I ache for something
more than just access and foolishly think “am I there yet,?” holding out for
that moment when we arrive.
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