She doesn’t throw open her gate for me ,though I wait at the
traffic light, desperate for it to turn green, rev-ing my engine, engaging my gears
for the moment when the light changes and I can plunge ahead into the midst of a
traffic jam. I am only one of the contenders, but one she keeps in a closed
lane, while she lets others drive on through, leaving me to wonder why she
insists to make me wait, this red light taking so long to change I fear I might
run out of gas, although I know I won’t, fueled on fumes of my own making, knowing
when the light changes, I will explode
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