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Learn to Drive


Your hand purposefully rests by your side,
Forgetting this is automatic,
The other hand grasps the wheel.
We feel as though we are not even moving:
80 miles per hour.
Hazy orange warns us,
Expect delays ahead in three miles.
Everyone sees.
Red tail lights are diffracted,
through each droplet on the shield.
And wipers whisper their humble beat.
Beat slowly, slowly,
Rain intermittent on this drive.
On this drive.
On this drive.

I left it in the glove box.
I left it in the glove box, my dear.
I wish I could have told you.
I wish I could have made it more clear.

I do the things I ought to do:
I idly play with air vents flaps;
change radio stations.
Why does your car only have a tape player?
People no longer have cassettes.
I can not look at you whilst you are driving.
I believe this will break your concentration.
Although I know this is not true,
Just a reoccurring schism in my own mind.
The thought of looking at you,
Is something I repeat within myself.
Though the thought is empty and false.
Three lanes separated by two sets of dotted lines,
that lead to where we are going.
Where we are going.
Where we are going.

I left it in the glove box.
I left it in the glove box, my dear.
I wish I could have told you.
I wish I could have made it more clear.

Already half way there and I stupidly realise,
The passenger seat is pushed forward.
I grasp the handle below giving,
Myself more leg room.
There is no one in the back.
You smile from the corner of your mouth,
You don't say it: that I should learn to drive.
I feel You scream it with gentle, soft words:
Learn to drive.
Numbers on signs say miles are eaten.
Each minute we edge closer to our destination,
You and I.
And you are driving. You are the driver.
You drive me.
You drive me.

Estar.
Estar todo.

I left it in the glove box.
I left it in the glove box, my dear.
I wish I could have told you.
I wish I could have made it more clear.

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