One evening by the fire, one last confusing question for Andrew -
his chest shouldering an ache into a waiting cushion.
Did Dr Punja tell you when? said Ann, squinting at the photo on the mantle.
Smile, it said to her, smile like you did in that confetti flash,
holding his hand, the hired ferris wheel in the background
with those couples spun high, brightly blurred against a penciled in sky
while the ones scraping the dirt are hidden behind Andrew's solid, suited chest.