A green wagon late model
that carried her in the lanes
couldn’t stop the bus either. 

When three bodies cratered up on the bank
& public pure-white sheets
covered over on slate gray asphalt, 

did she drive wrong? A mangled hub cap
from her frame shimmied while another car 
with blinkers danced across the lines

her four pads of fingernails trapped
in the crackle of glass through
blood metal. Morning dew light

made magical mirror out of bumper
& panel. She semi groaned when
the damaged door caved on her 

like a noiseless tongue wagging down memories.
The sound of red sirens hailed her. 
She lay here, waiting

her labors in everything:
perhaps a child’s toy & blanket
torn apart like a utility bill 

I want her to walk again, 
to dance on floors, 
to be twirled by notes

that would rock her like two-step
but she only laid in a gasoline pool
like a rare & tender chair