Click, clunk, clonk, snap,
the cheesy smile and the
flicker and flash,
of the eyesore splash of
photography.
Sometimes I feel like a fisherman,
quietly waiting for the light to bite,
or just the shadow of my prey to
take up the bait of my camera.
I set out like an elephant hunter,
armed with lenses as
large as their trunks,
or macro to magnify a mating midge,
always hoping for that
moment when a scene
seen a hundred times,
is caught napping in unusual light,
or covered with snow;
every object rounded off,
or puffed up like a
perfect meringue.
Then there is the blasted
temperamental sea,
with its sharp shore and
expletive waves
frothed into a furious foam
by an out of sight storm,
it can’t fit in my camera
I print my family in six by four,
they lie flat and obedient,
their age stuck and
glossed over.
Occasionally I am printed.
The colour of my hair
changes like the seasons,
and wrinkles edge in like
crevices in tree trunks.
The negative film’s sons and daughters,
and deceased relatives,
are cropped and edited;
red-eyed pixies deleted,
before they multiply like mating frogs.
Nature has a clear picture of me.
Snap!
