The speaker is a widow, as the title tells us, and the poem is an argument with a memory. It opens with a sharp command, "Get out of my hair," as if the dead partner were a pest that won't go away. But the details that follow are tender: a "hypnotic whistle," a laugh still audible. The anger looks like a cover for longing.
The middle lines show the pair as a team who "never gave up," "never gave in," "never gave out," a run of short, stubborn statements that sound like pride and loss at once. Then the speaker admits, "I played it cool, I always do," before dropping the act with "I can't get over you." Half a decade has passed, and nothing has faded. Repeating the opening line at the end makes the poem circle back on itself, which suggests the speaker is stuck. The mood is wry, raw and quietly heartbroken, with humor used as a shield.