In the mind, there’s a photo-album
stamped on the cover, My Photos?
with a question-mark –
the stranger’s profile, immortalised
as they waited at the crossing lights;
the face crumpled with laughter
at the joke you missed, as
you boarded the bus;
the first glimpse of a future lover’s
stance, expression meaningless:
strangely unattractive,
insignificant yet remembered;
whose photographs are these?
it’s as if some other mind
borrowed your camera without your consent,
to leave taunting hints of timelessness.
Michael Shepherd
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/whose-photos/
