The speaker pauses to pay tribute to Maureen, a woman who seems to live by instinct and nerve. She buys a truck for a dollar, tucks a gun in the glove box, leaves Lawrence, and ends up on Venice beach, working night shifts at a women's prison where she becomes an "honorary inmate." The poem circles back to that truck and that drive a second time, as if the speaker can't stop retelling it.
The tone is warm, admiring, and a little amused. Maureen came to the speaker's wedding, which the poem says "would not be possible" at the time, and later she posts a cheeky selfie between two painted, naked women just after the Supreme Court ruling on marriage. She also takes in hungry strangers at Denny's. The short final line, that she "has seen impossible things," feels like both a compliment and a quiet marvel. Overall the mood is affectionate, playful, and grateful.