“She steered her Fiat Spider head on into an oncoming truck.”-Michelle Boisseau.”

We don’t know why that occurred,
the poet refused to tell us.
We’re left sitting in our chair,
confused.

Twenty years ago,
she lost her life
due to the poet.
We’re still planted in our seats
wondering.

Wondering what happened.
Wondering the cause,
an argument in their house,
over a boy? Money?
She avoids telling us
like a detective avoiding leaking the details of a crime scene.
Wondering about this awful event.

Whatever it was,
It lead to a tragic accident.
Suicide.
Suicide slithers, taking people over,
a deranged criminal.

I don’t know why,
It makes readers cry,
an audience with not a single dry eye.
But you don’t realize, the poet is the cause
She rests on her bed in the dark,
Weeping.
Wondering why she did what she did.
Wondering why.