True Art Evokes Emotion

The wreck came to rest in an art museum.
Having signed its John Hancock in rubber
on the asphalt of the interstate,
it kissed two sedans and a sport-ute goodbye
and cut the guardrail like a grand-opening ribbon—
down the ravine, making good use of all six sides
and came to rest with a climactic crunch
on the lawn of the Grounds for Sculpture.

And the patrons crowded round
(as people are wont to do)
until the police gave the wreck its due privacy;
nobody understood why,
since the one who should be embarrassed
was in no state to know it.
Later that day they removed the wreck.

And the onlookers were left to wonder
why the only piece of metal
that caused everyone to hush
              ("I can't believe the way the front is rolled up!")
and speak in awed whispers
              ("What incredible patterns in the glass!")
at the severe craftsmanship of it
              ("You can't even tell where the metal ends and the body begins!")
was the only one not on display;

and why the countless bits of marble and clay
trying so hard to outline the human figure
were left instead of the one piece
that embodied the human limits.