We, Redux

I talk about we
as though there is something
we share.
I use the word recklessly,
as though I’m drunk
and behind the wheel,
and I swerve always
into that lane of oncoming
traffic, and only after I have
crashed into a reality-model
semi, and only after am I
ejected through the window
of my illusion do I land hard
in the gravel with my face
de-gloved and my body
rattled to pieces at every
vertebrae.

It is most unsettling
when I wake up alone
and realize it is not we
who suffer, it is not we
who ache, it is not we
who wish for a second
chance – but it is I
and I alone
still telling the medics
that you were in the
car wreck, too.