for real

lobster legs, and sausage arms and a pie face
staring straight into the sunshine, smiling into whatever camera
snapped a lens shut on the seashore, when it turned you into a picture
that burns my eyes

like a bright light that blinks at me under this darkened door
i’m so surprised, because i couldn’t see a thing before

these crazy photos, that i stole out of a drawer a little while ago
now they’re a mess down on the floor

like here’s one at your favorite intersection
we had some dumb star-shaped glasses and fanny packs on our asses
someone said “let’s capture the moment,”
so we imposed on a passer-by for a flash and some red-eye

but it turned out to be some silly stranger’s mixed-up memory
and you and me are just an outline we can hardly see

you crazy photo, i had to steal ya back from some long time ago
because there’s certain things i don’t remember,
but i guess it’s just as well i don’t remember
what with all i’ve got to tell you

like:
this was a quiet room, and this place was
the really rowdy one, and this
guy was so patient with me, and
this girl couldn’t wait one more minute,
this was the crowd i grew up with,
and this face stares me down

through the years.
the corners are all grey and doggy eared
it looks for real, so i need someone real to hit me in the eye
and give my eye something that it can feel
and ask me why, does it just take one touch to tell me that i’m here?

© 2002 c holford

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