Circuitous Peugeot Apology

wincing and rambling
on top of, along
spiraling freeway’s rock
strewn shoulder,
we crawl in cars
like sheep dazed
mashed dizzy,
all wooly in throngs of congestion,
glancing your way now, you look a little older,
we might mince our words stuck in such traffic,
prancing in France like this I feel slightly bolder:
altho’ we all admittedly in our mildness refrained
(no question),
as the twin daughters of cowardice and denial
dampened courage like rain,
if truth be disclosed,
we should have told you
he’d expired on the table,
while plentiful strong staff,
able like a fortress,
helplessly surrounded
his great puffed up
pink swollen
bulk of a body,
the whole damn townsfolk,
(even skinny spinster school marm named Mabel)
knew of his tragic
theatric dissolution,
his premature evacuation
became a foregone conclusion,
his completely forgettable
undeniable demise,
a rarefied kind of quasi-resolution,
his dramatic upending
I saw with open eyes
days prior to you darling,
and yes no doubt
let’s no longer pretend,
that was clearly unfair,
inconsiderate to send
you off on an errand
while he breathed
and heaved hard
his last sputtering
sigh.

Where and how we might journey
from here in bad weather,
in our quaint silver Peugeot
with your untimely grief
and my flagon of guilt,
well, whether the south
coast of old Spain
or Idaho’s golden hills,
at this very second
as we swerve on s-curves,
it isn’t so clear dear
if I’ve ample nerve
to comfort you through
the circles concentric
ahead,
pray tell me how
to help regain
your muscle,
our verve.