My mother used to chastise me
For never having patience
All the while, she herself screamed
to get her way.

My dad used to yell at me
When I ran in circles on the
living room rug
While staring off into space

My bike chains used to groan
Protesting the speed I wanted
Squeaking along, drenched in mass
amounts of iron oxide

But he? He used to laugh when I
got excited
Speaking fifty miles a minute
Flitting back and forth like a
hummingbird.

He said, "You have passion in your
soul. You're going to go places."
But that was before he "passed on"
A fancy synonym for death.

By then, patience was all I had
left
Waiting for the minutes to tick by
to night
So I could see him in my dreams.

Patience and passion, which one is
which?
Which one do I have?
He still thinks I have both...