Sheila, can I be honest with you and your personal assistant?

The rich irony of a monster truck’s windshield

Smeared with road ice and goldfish crackers

Is something a cider-sipping Cleopatra

Like yourself should be able to appreciate

The first time I saw your wedding ring and butterfly net

I was certain we would become friends and trading partners

The music box in my head played “They Call the Wind Mariah,”

Foreshadowing the role I would take in helping you

Chase your own unique vision of wilderness diving

But having the truck towed back here was unfortunate

How are we at Thaxton Motors responsible

For your late night, pub-crawl pileup?

Whether the vehicle runs or not should not be the question

How you look behind the wheel must outweigh all other considerations

And you, my platinum, sequin-jeaned prison wife, sparkle like diamonds

Draw strength from your ear buds and conjugal visits

Remember the sign of the cross and your antipsychotics

Reimagine life as a peaceful drive down a country road

And know that if I’ve been deceptive in any way

It was without doubt for your benefit