Metal Box - the poem

Round and round and round she traversed
Looking at the metal box

At the dash and blue interior
Hints of dogs hairs, little clocks

Was it really? Could it be?
After all these empty years

Looking closer at the number
Checking, yes it clearly was

Old faithful where it all had happened
Where her life had been played out

Sitting in the front she conjured
How and when it all had been

Memory returned at once
As how he could no longer cope

How the family had suffered
How for him it had gone sour

How his job was now at risk
And that he could go on no more

Round and round the metal box
Lost in thoughts so long ago

How she wished it had been piled up
On some dark and wintry night

With its owner in the front seat
Terrified and stiff with fright

But perhaps on more reflection
it was best it was that way

So the little metal box would go on
"C'est la vie", the French would say