A Christmas Story

Wynona pleases well. You shouldn’t have

she says, unwrapping. Thank you . . . overlapping

with Mr. Stone who drones, You shouldn’t have

but thank you, did you see? to Mrs. Stone

who didn’t see but says she did, then does.

Before you shouldn’t have she mastered glee,

the giddy gig, to fare absurdities

from enterprising elves to fairy hoarders—

myths she’d washed her hands of years before

she found the stash, heard muffled cussing, late,

as Mr. Stone bungled some unforeseen

assembly. Still, Wynona played along,

surprise reprised, half-understanding life

over and over would require this

belief in things after they don’t exist.