The wisdom of age while eating breadsticks at Olive Garden

An open letter to ambition:

don't believe me
because I don't know
what it is I want
and who does?

What I want
is the aftertaste of a grapefruit
bitter, fleeting
inexplicable

You pick at me
for a laugh
and embarrassingly
I just have to take it
while you enjoy your meal

Poke at me all you want
she's going to be mine
no matter what you think
or say
or what "wisdom" is contained in your
peach fuzzed head

You two laugh
and privately complain
I laugh and privately
silently
hope

I move up
you plateau or diminish

At some point
I will have the high ground
what then,
will you say to me
red faced and aging
what then?