I Backed Into the Telephone Poll, Tears Roll, Tears Roll

On an eve in February, As I placed my gears I peruse What words I have lying around, What comes to me so heavily Is the memory of my old crushed car. So why did my foot go forward not backward And why did the flivver slap the old telephone pole, And throw me against my face. Just why did I do that, Just why did Son 2 think he must put down his mighty foot? I (almost unconsciously) lie against my back, What is the next step, I am vilified, shattered, Fingers pointing, she is old as I How long, how inconvenienced will I be? How dependent am I, am I?