'the blackbirds are rough today
like ingrown toenails
in an overnight jail'
charles bukowski
i was pleased with myself
i had taken a good photograph
it was as if i had forgotten about it
then
found
it
on a bad flat day
so
i was actually almost elated
like i had made a diamond
from an ordinary bathroom turd
with talent
and
mad alchemy
the photo was of a boy
on the street
an xmas morning
he is small like a mouse is small
flats tower behind him
he is watching an old car drive away
maybe like its his innocence
leaving inevitable as a tide
there is something
of the poor little rich boy
about him
something of an ending there
on the empty street
he seems deep in events bigger
than his learned posture
and eggshell mind
but its the man coming into the frame
stage left
hurrying
like a late beginning
guilt
haste
even love
in the blur of his legs
that gives the picture a life
and a story
there is a paper wrapped package
in his arms
somehow there is no doubt
he is running to the boy
its all of it in those old shades
of delicate and faded
copper and gold
like an autumn that went too close
to the sun
their clothes are formal
too formal
and as i wake
i realise i never took this photograph
nor is it a memory either
it was just a dream
i was never there
and neither were they
i only photo my back yard hedges
and the mean birds out there
eating
my
grain
then flying away again
civil war child photo for sale on ebay
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