Perhaps there is an explanation, dear,
but you’re not here to set my mind at rest.
Death puts a stop to questions, so I fear
this one must stay unanswered or addressed.
Among your things I found a photograph:
it must be recent, you look hardly changed.
A stranger smiles beside you as you laugh,
your hair and solemn features disarranged.
In looking closer I can ascertain
you two are linked: there is a recklessness
about your pose, while he is cool, urbane.
It pains me so, this photograph, and yes,
our marriage wasn’t perfect: I would stray,
but, posthumously, you’ve made sure I pay.
Richard Fleming
Image : Pixabay - Free-Photos
