A Poem that Says "O"

Driving through the
country, having laughs
with my wife while
the kids mysteriously sleep
in the backseat. It's
sweet.
I could easily invent
a plastic backdrop here
and unshroud a previously
shrouded shroud.
Perhaps there are sharp
turns in the country road,
and bumps. Perhaps
their metaphorical qualities
are alluded to but
left unexplored because
what's there is too
too.
What kind of poetry is this?
What kind of veer is this?
I say to my wife
when the road buckles
and I can see what she looked
like in 1987. She's
laughing and her hair
is huge. There's no claw
emerging from the forehead
but there's a foresty
vibe, a comfortable nest.
O bird. O Big Bird.
O sleeping demon
denied.